“I was a cocaine addict, not an alcoholic.”
She paused, searching his eyes. It was as if she’d uncovered an old medieval map that outlined the edge of the world with the words here there be dragons.
“We both know that Narcotics Anonymous strongly suggests that addicts don’t drink.” She sighed. “As much as I will try to help, some things are beyond me. As much as sex with you pleases me, I don’t want to become your new drug of choice. I can’t fix things.”
“Is that what you think? That I use sex to fix things?” His question was in earnest, and so Julia resisted the urge to respond with sarcasm.
“I think that you used to use sex to fix things. You said as much to me once, remember? You used sex to combat your loneliness. Or to punish yourself.”
A dark shadow passed over Gabriel’s features. “It isn’t like that with you.”
“But when a person is upset, old patterns of behavior emerge. It’s true of me too, except my coping mechanisms are different.” She kissed him softly but long enough for his panic to recede and for him to kiss her back.
When they pulled apart they stood wrapped around one another until Julia decided to break the silence. “Your lecture last night reminded me of something.” She pulled her phone from her purse and quickly scrolled through some pictures. “Here.”
He took the phone from her hand and gazed at an exquisite painting. In it, St. Francesca Romana cradled an infant child with the assistance of the Virgin Mary, while an angel looked on.
“It’s beautiful.” He returned her phone.
“Gabriel,” she said softly. “Look at the painting.”
He did. And the strangest feeling passed over him.
She began to speak in a low voice. “I’ve always loved this painting. I thought it was because there are similarities between Gentileschi and Caravaggio. But it’s more than that. St. Frances lost some of her children to the plague. This painting is supposed to portray one of her visions of what happened to those children.”
She searched Gabriel’s eyes to see if he grasped her meaning. But he hadn’t.
“When I look at this painting, I think of your baby, Maia. Grace is holding her, surrounded by angels.” Julia pointed to the figures in the painting. “See? The baby is safe and loved. That’s what Paradise is like. You don’t have worry.”
Julia looked up into his face. His pained, beautiful face. Gabriel had tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was trying to comfort you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, gripping him tightly.
Eventually, he wiped at his eyes. He hid his face in her hair, feeling grateful and relieved.
The following afternoon, the rain stopped. So the couple took a taxi up to the Piazzale Michelangelo, which provided a sweeping view of the city. They could have taken a city bus like regular people, but Gabriel was not like regular people.
(Few Dante specialists are.)
“What did Rachel say in her email?” he asked as they admired the tiled roof of the Duomo.
Julia fidgeted with her fingernails. “She and Aaron said hello. They wanted to know if we were happy.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all?”
“Um, no.”
“So?”
She shrugged. “They said that Scott had a girlfriend. That was about it.”
“Good for Scott.” He chuckled. “Was there anything else?”
“Why do you ask?”
He cocked his head to one side. “Because I can tell when you’re hiding something.”
He began to run his fingers up and down the soft flesh at her waist, a particularly ticklish spot.
“You aren’t going to do that in public.”
“Oh, yes I am.” He grinned and began moving his fingers with purpose, trying to tickle her.
She started giggling and trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held her close.
“Come on, Julianne. Tell me what Rachel said.”
“Stop tickling,” she gasped, “and I’ll tell you.”
Gabriel stilled his hands.
She took a deep breath. “She wanted to know if we’d, um, slept together.”
“Oh, really?” His lips turned up into a half-smile. “And what did you say?”
“I told the truth.”
He searched her eyes. “Anything else?”
“She said she hoped you were behaving yourself and that I was happy. And I said yes—on both counts.” She waited for a moment, thinking about whether or not she should mention the email from a certain Vermont farm boy.
“But there’s something else. Go ahead.” He was still smiling indulgently.
“Well, Paul emailed me.”
Gabriel scowled. “What? When?”
“The day of your lecture.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?” he fumed.
“Because of this.” She gestured to the irritation visible on his face. “I knew it would upset you, and I didn’t want to do that when you had to speak in front of a room full of important people.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that you passed Christa’s dissertation proposal.”
“What else did he say?”
“He wished me a Merry Christmas and said that he was sending something to me in Selinsgrove.”
Gabriel’s nostrils flared. “Why would he do that?”