Julia hid behind a tree. She peeked around the trunk in order to take another look.
At first glance, she’d thought the woman in question was Paulina; upon inspection she realized her mistake. Julia breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the building. Seeing Paulina with Gabriel on this day of all days would have been devastating. Surely, he wouldn’t do that to her. Gabriel was supposed to be her Dante. He was supposed to love her enough to travel through Hell to protect her, not take Paulina back the moment their relationship was threatened.
With some trepidation, Julia entered the lobby and waved to the security guard, who recognized her. She decided against announcing her presence to Gabriel and took the elevator to his floor. She shivered as she contemplated what she might find in his apartment.
She didn’t bother to knock but simply let herself in, fearing that she’d find Gabriel compromised. But something strange caught her attention as soon as she’d closed the door. All the lights in the apartment were off and the hall closet was open and half-empty, hangers and shoes haphazardly thrown on the floor. It was very unlike Gabriel to leave things in such a mess.
She switched on several lights and placed her key on the table where he always kept his keys. His keys were not to be found.
“Gabriel? Hello?”
She ventured into the kitchen and was shocked by what she found. An empty bottle of Scotch lay on the counter, next to a broken glass. Dirty plates and cutlery were dumped in the sink.
Steeling herself for what she might find, she walked to the fireplace, only to discover a mark on the wall and scattered glass shards on the floor. She could see Gabriel flinging his Scotch in anger, but she had a hard time imagining him leaving broken pieces for someone to step on.
Desperately worried, she crept down the darkened hall and into the master bedroom. Clothes were strewn across the bed, the drawers to Gabriel’s dresser half-opened. His closet was similarly disarrayed, and Julia noticed that many of his clothes were gone as was his large suitcase.
But what caused her to inhale sharply were the walls. All the framed photographs of her, and of Gabriel and her together, had been removed and piled face down on the bed, leaving the walls bare except for the hooks on which the photographs had been hung.
Julia gasped in horror as she saw that the reproduction of Holiday’s painting of Dante and Beatrice had been taken down and was now leaning against the credenza, its back on display.
Shocked, she sank down on a chair. He’s gone, she thought.
Julia burst into tears, wondering how he could have so easily broken his promises. She searched the apartment in vain for a note or some indication of where he’d gone. When she came across the telephone she contemplated calling Rachel. But the thought of having to explain that she and Gabriel were over was too much to bear.
With one last look she turned out all the lights and was about to walk through the door when she stopped. Something niggled at the back of her mind. Closing the door, she returned to Gabriel’s bedroom. Searching with her fingers, she fumbled about, looking for something. When she didn’t find it, she turned on the light.
The photograph that Rachel had taken at Lobby several months earlier was missing. Gabriel always kept it on top of his dresser. In the picture, he and Julia were dancing, and he was looking at her with no little heat.
Julia stood for a moment, looking at the empty space. It was possible, she thought, that he’d destroyed the picture. But a quick inspection of the wastepaper baskets in the bedroom and bathroom suggested he hadn’t thrown it away.
She didn’t understand why he’d left or why he’d left without offering her an explanation, but she began to suspect that all was not as it seemed.
As she took one last look at the empty hangers in the closet, she contemplated taking her clothes with her but only for an instant. Strangely enough, they no longer felt as if they were hers.
A few minutes later, she was waiting for the elevator, feeling battered and bruised. Her nose began to run as she wiped away a few tears. A hasty search of her pockets yielded no Kleenex, only lint. This made her tears fall faster.
“Here,” a voice at her elbow said, holding out a man’s handkerchief.
Julia took it gratefully, noticing the embroidered initials S.I.R. on it. She wiped her eyes and attempted to return it, but a pair of hands made a motion of refusal.
“My mother is always giving me handkerchiefs. I have dozens.”
She looked up into kind brown eyes that were partially hidden behind a pair of rimless spectacles and recognized one of Gabriel’s neighbors. He was wearing a heavy wool coat and a navy beret.
(Which, because of his age and heterosexuality could only be explained by the fact that he was French Canadian.)
When the elevator arrived, he politely held the door open for her before following her inside.
“Is something wrong? Can I help?” His lightly accented voice cut through her haze.
“Gabriel is gone.”
“Yes, I ran into him while he was on his way out.” The neighbor frowned at the tears that were still welling up in Julia’s eyes. “Didn’t he tell you? I thought you were his —” He looked at her expectantly.
Julia shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
They were both silent as the elevator continued its descent to the ground floor. Once again, when the door opened, he held it for her.
She turned to him. “Do you know where he went?”
The neighbor accompanied her to the lobby. “No. I’m afraid I didn’t ask. He was in quite a state, you see.” The neighbor leaned closer and dropped his voice. “He reeked of Scotch and was extremely cross. Not in the mood to chat.”
Julia smiled a watery smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It isn’t a bother. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you he was leaving.”
“No.” She wiped her face with his handkerchief once again.
The neighbor began muttering something about Gabriel in French. Something that sounded a good deal like cochon.
“I could deliver a message for you, when he returns,” the neighbor offered. “He tends to drop by my apartment when he runs out of milk.”
Julia was quiet for a moment, then she swallowed hard. “Just tell him that he broke my heart.”
The neighbor gave her a reluctant, pained nod before taking his leave of her.
Julia walked outside into the bracing wind and began her long walk home, alone.
Chapter 28
Several hours after the hearing, Gabriel sat in his apartment shrouded in darkness. The only light visible came from the blue and orange flames that flickered in his fireplace. He was surrounded by her. Completely surrounded by her memory and her ghost.
Closing his eyes, he swore he could smell her scent or hear her laughter echoing down the hall. His bedroom had become like a shrine, which was why he was sitting in front of the fire.
He couldn’t bear to look at the large black and white photographs of the two of them. Especially the one that hung over his bed—Julianne in all of her magnificence, lying on her stomach with her naked back exposed, partially wrapped in a sheet, gazing up at him in adoration with sex-mussed hair and a sweet, sated smile…
In every room he had a memory of her—some of them joyous and others bittersweet, like dark, dark chocolate. He stalked to the dining room and poured himself two fingers’ worth of his very best Scotch and downed it quickly, relishing the burning sensation as it stung his throat. He tried desperately not to think about Julia standing in front of him, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.
“You’re supposed to love me, Gabriel. You’re supposed to support me when I decide to stand up for myself. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? And instead, you cut a deal with them and dump me?”
At the memory of the look of betrayal in her eyes, Gabriel threw his empty glass at the wall, watching it shatter and fall to the floor. Shards of crystal like jagged icicles scattered over the hardwood, glimmering in the firelight.
He knew what he had to do; he simply needed the courage in order to do it. Grabbing the bottle, he walked reluctantly to the bedroom. Two more swallows and he was able to throw his suitcase on the bed. He didn’t bother to fold his clothes. He barely cared about taking the essentials.
He thought about what it was like to be banished. About Odysseus’s tears at being so far away from home, from his wife, from his people. Now Gabriel understood exile.
When he was finished, he placed the framed photograph from atop his dresser in his briefcase. Stroking a tender finger over the face of his beloved, he downed more Scotch before staggering to the study.
He ignored the red velvet wing chair, for if he turned to look at it, he would see her, curled up like a cat, reading a book. She’d worry her lower lip between her teeth, her adorable eyebrows scrunched in thought. Had any man ever loved, adored, worshipped a woman more?
None but Dante, he thought. And he was seized by a sudden inspiration.
He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk. This was the memory drawer. Maia’s picture was there, along with the scant remnants of his childhood—his grandfather’s pocket watch, some jewelry that belonged to his mother, her diary, and a few old photographs. He removed a photograph and an illustration before locking the drawer again, placing the items in his pocket. Pausing only to open a black velvet box and withdraw a ring, he headed for the door.
The chill in the Toronto air sobered Gabriel as he walked determinedly to his office. He only hoped he would be able to find what he needed.
The building in which the Department of Italian Studies was housed was dark. As he switched on the light in his office, he was assaulted by memories. Memories of the first time Julia visited his office and he’d been unspeakably rude. Memories when Julia stood by the door after that disastrous seminar, telling him she wasn’t happy. Telling him she didn’t want Paul. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if he could block out the visions.
He packed his fancy leather briefcase with only the files he needed and a few books, before searching the shelves. Moments later, he found the simple textbook and breathed a sigh of relief. He penned a few words, added his bookmarks, then switched off the light and locked the door.
All faculty in the department held keys to the departmental office, where Mrs. Jenkins’s desk and the mailboxes were located. Gabriel used the light from his iPhone to find the box he wanted. He deposited the book, stroking his fingers lovingly across the name labeling the mailbox. He noted with satisfaction that other textbooks were in other boxes, then with a heavy heart, he exited the office.
Paul Norris was angry. His anger was directed at the most evil man on the planet, Gabriel Emerson, who had verbally abused and seduced his friend before dumping her.
If Paul had been a fan of Jane Austen, he would have likened Professor Emerson to Mr. Wickham. Or perhaps, to Willoughby. But he wasn’t.
Nevertheless, it was all he could do not to pummel Emerson senseless and give him the ass whipping he’d been in desperate need of all year. Additionally, Paul felt betrayed. For God knows how long, Julia had been involved with a man she called Owen.
