Sylvain Reynard - Gabriel’s Redemption

Julia heard a muffled noise in the background, then heard her father whisper, “It’s going to be all right, honey. It’s going to be all right. Don’t cry.”

“Is that Diane?”

“Yes.” Tom sounded strained.

“I’m so sorry, Dad. What did the doctor say?”

“We just met with the cardiologist. He says that the baby has hypoplastic left heart syndrome.”

“I’ve never heard of that before. What is it?”

“It means he only has half a heart.” He inhaled slowly. “It’s fatal, Jules.”

“Oh my God.” A tear spilled onto her cheek.

“He won’t survive without surgery. So they’ll have to operate after he’s born. That is, if Diane can carry him to term. Sometimes . . .” Tom’s voice trailed off.

“Can they fix it?”

“The surgery can make his heart do what it needs to do, but it can’t give him a normal heart. They say it will take three different surgeries and a lifetime of medication. No one knows how well he’ll do or if he’ll—” Tom began to cough.

“What can I do?”

“There’s nothing anyone can do. Except pray.”

Julia began to cry, and Gabriel gently removed the telephone from her hand.

“Tom? It’s Gabriel. I’m sorry about the baby. Let me book you a hotel near the hospital.”

“We don’t need—” Tom stopped abruptly, and Gabriel could hear Diane speaking in the background.

Tom sighed. “Okay. That would be good.”

“I’ll make the arrangements and email you the information. Do you want to go to New York for a second opinion? I can make airline reservations for both of you. We can get you a referral to another hospital.”

“The doctors here seem to know what they’re doing. We have a meeting with the pediatric cardiac team tomorrow.”

Gabriel’s eyes fixed earnestly on his wife’s.

“Do you need Julianne?”

“There isn’t much she can do right now.”

“Be that as it may, she’s your daughter and the baby is her brother. You say the word, she’ll be there.”

“Thanks.” Tom sounded gruff. “Things are up in the air right now.”

Julia wiped at her tears and gestured to the telephone.

“She wants to speak with you. Take care, Tom.”

Gabriel handed her the phone.

“Dad. Please keep in touch and let me know what’s going on.”

“Will do.”

“I hate to bring this up, but what about the wedding?”

“We don’t know, Jules.”

“We’ll plan on spending Labor Day in Selinsgrove. I can be there before that, if you and Diane need me.”

“Good.”

“Do you want me to tell Richard?”

Tom hesitated.

“Might as well. The fewer people I have to have this conversation with the better. Diane was on the phone with her mother earlier and her sister, Melissa.”

A tear slid down Julia’s nose.

“I love you, Dad. Give my love to Diane.”

“Will do. Bye, Jules.”

Julia quietly put down the phone. Then she was in Gabriel’s arms.

“They were so happy about the baby.”

He squeezed her tightly as she clutched at his shirt.

“They’re at a good hospital.”

“They’re devastated. It sounds like even if the heart problem can be corrected, the baby still will have health problems.”

“Doctors make predictions, but they’re guided by probabilities. Every patient is different.”

He straightened suddenly, as if something had just occurred to him.

“Does Tom have any health problems?”

“Not that I know of. Both of his parents had heart disease.”

She looked up at him. “You don’t think this is genetic, do you?”

“I don’t know.” He held her more closely. “There are few days when being an MD is infinitely better than being a PhD. This would be one of them.”

More tears streaked down Julianne’s cheeks. It had never occurred to her that something could be wrong with the baby. She’d been so happy to be having a sibling that any of the risks were unthinkable.

As she cried in the arms of her husband, she realized that whatever grief she was feeling, Tom and Diane must be feeling tenfold.

“How could they have prepared themselves for this?” she croaked. “They’re devastated.”

Julianne leaned against Gabriel, not noticing the expression on his face or the sudden flash of horror in his eyes.

August 2003

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Gabriel? Baby, it’s time to get up.”

A soft, feminine hand stroked the stubble on his face and for a moment, he relaxed. He wasn’t sure where he was or who was lying naked beside him, but she had a sexy voice and a light touch. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

“Hi, baby.” Her large blue eyes stared down at him in devotion.

“Paulina,” he groaned, closing his eyes. He had a pounding headache and all he wanted to do was sleep. But Professor Pearson didn’t accept excuses from his teaching assistants, which meant he needed to drag himself to campus.

(It was possible the professor would have accepted death as an excuse as to why his teaching assistant missed class. Although it was doubtful.)

“It’s eight o’clock. You have time for a shower and breakfast. And maybe a little . . .” Her hand slid down his chest to his abdomen. Then she wrapped her fingers around him and . . .

And his morning erection withered in her hand like a dead flower.

He pushed her away. “Not now.”

“You always say that. Is it because I’m getting fat?” She sat next to him, her stomach slightly rounded, her generous breasts full.

He didn’t answer, which in itself was a kind of response.

“I can make it good for you. You know I can.” She hugged him around the shoulders, kissing his neck. “I love you.”

“I said not now. Fuck. Can’t you hear?” He disentangled himself from her arms before sliding his legs over the side of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool beneath his feet but he barely felt it.

All his attention was focused on one thing—the ghost of white powder left on his nightstand. Now he was awake, arranging the mirror and the razor blade and the rolled-up five-dollar bill.

The world around him melted away and he felt his mind and body spring to life, his movements sure and quick.

In the blink of an eye it was up his nose and everything was clear again. He was hyperalert. He could think. He could function.

He lit a cigarette, forgetting that his . . . whatever-she-was-now was in his bed, watching him. She wrapped herself in a robe and fled to the kitchen, not wanting to expose their unborn child to smoke.

He finished his cigarette and showered, pausing to drink the cup of coffee she’d placed next to the sink. He brushed his teeth and shaved, his mind enumerating all the work he had to do on his dissertation, along with the interminable to-do list foisted on him by Professor Pearson.

Gabriel didn’t have time to examine his life or his actions. If he did, he would have realized that he was a slave, in chains, to cocaine, nicotine, caffeine, and alcohol.

He was a slave to his passions, also, when his dick was working. Even though he was living with Paulina and she was pregnant, he was still sexually involved with other women. He never bothered to ask himself whether he should stop. In fact, he didn’t think about it at all. He simply did it.

“You’re handsome.” Paulina watched him from the doorway, her hand cradling her protruding abdomen over her black silk robe.

Gabriel ignored her, as he was wont to do. He also ignored the dark circles on his face, his bloodshot eyes, and the fact that he was a good ten to fifteen pounds lighter than his normal, healthy weight.

“I made you breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast.” She sounded hopeful.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have a long day ahead of you and Pearson is going to work you hard.”

“Get off my ass,” he snapped. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“I’m sorry.” She looked down at her stomach contritely. “It’s sitting on the table with fruit and a fresh coffee. All you have to do is eat.”

His sapphire eyes fixed on hers, watching her through the mirror.

“Fine,” he clipped.

She smiled to herself and disappeared into the tiny kitchen.

Soon he was dressed in the respectable uniform of a Harvard graduate student, complete with corduroy jacket and Levi’s, and seated at the table, forcing down breakfast. He finished his third cup of coffee and was about to light another cigarette when he noticed that Paulina was staring at him. Hungrily.

“What?”

She moved to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He made an involuntary groan at her weight, not seeing her wince as he did so.

She brought her mouth to his ear. “I know you’re in a hurry. Just kiss me before you leave.”

“Paulina, I—”

She cut him off with her lips, her tongue eager and searching as it snaked into his mouth.

His hands came to her waist as he kissed her back, feeling his body beginning to respond.

“Come on, baby.” She reached for the button of his jeans. “We’ll be quick.”

“I don’t have time.” He placed her on her feet, groaning a little at the exertion. “Maybe tonight.”

Her face crumpled. “But you write at night.”

“I can make time.”

“But you don’t.” She reached for his hand. “Gabriel, I love you. It’s been a while. Please.”

Her big blue eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Fine. But it needs to be fast.”

He pushed his chair back from the table and gestured to his crotch.

“Get started.”

With an eager look on her face, she knelt between his legs and pulled down his zipper.

August 2011

Umbria, Italy

Gabriel couldn’t sleep, plagued as he was by hazy memories of the past. His mind twisted in several different directions, tugging him to and fro. Finally, he tired of tossing and turning and went downstairs to pour himself a drink.

As he stood in the kitchen he cursed. He’d removed all the alcohol, with the exception of a couple of bottles of white wine reserved for Julianne. But wine would not satisfy his craving. Not tonight.

No, tonight he desired Scotch. The smoothness on his tongue, the quick burn in his mouth and throat, the latent warmth that would spread to his insides.

Just one. I just need one.

But it was no use. The Scotch was gone.

Gabriel thought of Julianne, upstairs in his bed. She was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the demons that plagued him. His very hands shook with desire.

He quickly ran through the twelve steps of Narcotics Anonymous before focusing on step two.

A power greater than myself can restore me.

Help me, God.

Please.

Gabriel closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross, his soul desperate and conflicted.

He knew that the keys to the Mercedes were steps away. He knew that he could drive to a local tavern and drink. Julia was sleeping soundly. He could return to their bed afterward and she would never know.

His eyes opened.

He reached for the keys.

Gabriel?” Julia’s voice floated out to where he was seated on the balcony.

He was in a dark corner, brooding. He could hear her feet padding across the tiled floor and through the open doors as she approached him.

“What are you doing?” She eyed the cigarette he held in one of his hands and the drink in the other.

“Nothing.” He placed the cigarette to his lips and inhaled slowly before turning his face to the sky and blowing the smoke heavenward.

“You don’t smoke.”

“Of course I do. Usually, I choose cigars.”

She looked from his glass to his face, her eyes troubled.

He lifted his glass in mock salute.

“Don’t worry, it’s Coke.” He grimaced. “I’d prefer Laphroaig.”

“There isn’t any.”

“I know that,” he growled. “The house is bereft of alcohol except for wine.”

“Only white. You prefer red.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “Did you go looking?”

“What if I did?” he snapped.

Julia began chewing at her bottom lip.

Gabriel put his cigarette in the ashtray and reached up, pressing his thumb against her mouth.