Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(47)

Rachel gave her friend a nod and a smile and bit into a chocolate. She licked the cocoa from her lips and closed her eyes. It was good.

Julia hugged the briefcase to her chest, like a shield, and inhaled the lovely leather scent. Gabriel wanted me to have a present. He must feel something for me, even if it’s only pity. And now I have something of his besides a photograph…something I’ll own forever.

She waited a moment before delicately changing the subject. “Will you tell me what happened at the funeral? I sent a card with some flowers, and Gabriel saw them, but he had no idea why I sent them.”

“I heard about that. I saw the gardenias, and Scott said they were from you, but the card disappeared before I had a chance to explain it to Gabriel. I was a wreck. My brothers were fighting, and I was trying to keep them away from each other before someone went through a window. Or a coffee table.”

Julia thought of shattered glass and blood on a white carpet, and she shivered. “Why are they always fighting?”

Rachel sighed. “It never used to be that way. Gabriel changed when he went to Harvard…” Her voice trailed off mysteriously.

Julia didn’t feel comfortable pressing her, so she kept silent.

“As you know, Gabriel didn’t come home again for years after his fight with Scott, and when he did, he would only stay a few days. He insisted on sleeping at a hotel, and that broke Mom’s heart. Scott won’t let Gabriel forget it — all the stuff he put Mom through.” Rachel chewed another truffle thoughtfully.

“Scott looked up to Gabriel. It really hurt him when things went sour.

Now they barely speak to one another, and when they do…” She shuddered.

“I don’t know what I would have done without Aaron. I’d probably have run away and never come back.”

“Even a dysfunctional family is better than no family at all,” Julia said softly.

Rachel looked sad. “Well, that’s what we are now. We were the Clarks — now we are a dysfunctional family.  A dead mother, a grief-stricken father, a hotheaded black sheep, and a pig-headed brother called Scott. I guess I’m the partridge in the pear tree.”

“Does Scott have a girlfriend?”

“He was dating a woman in his office, but they broke up right before Mom got sick.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rachel sighed. “My family is like a Dickensian novel, Julia. No, it’s worse. We’re a twisted mix of Arthur Miller and John Steinbeck, with a bit of Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy thrown in.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, because I have the feeling there are elements of Thomas Hardy lurking below the surface. And you know how much I hate him. Mind-f*cking bastard.”

Julia thought about this and hoped for her friend’s sake that the Hardy novel approximating the Rachel Clark experience was more Mayor of Cast-erbridge  than Tess of the D’Urbervilles or, God forbid, Jude the Obscure.

(Unfortunately, Julia did not pause to consider which Hardy novel best described her own experiences…)

“With Mom gone, everything is in upheaval. Dad is talking about retiring and selling the house. He wants to move to Philadelphia to be closer to me and to Scott. When he asked Gabriel if he minded if he sold the house, Gabriel flipped out and wandered off into the woods. We didn’t see him again for hours.”

Julia inhaled sharply and began to fidget with her messenger bag.

Rachel was too busy placing her teacup on the card table and walking to the bathroom to notice, but something she said had upset Julia deeply. By the time Rachel returned, Julia had calmed herself through no little effort and was adding hot water to the teapot.

Rachel fixed her friend with a concerned look. “What did Gabriel say that bothered you so much when you were dancing with him? And by the way, my Spanish is rusty but Besame Mucho  is a pretty hot song! Did you even listen to the lyrics?”

Julia focused her attention on her tea and tried very hard not to hyperventilate. She knew she was going to have to lie to Rachel, and it was not a decision she took lightly. “All we talked about is the fact that he knew I was a virgin.”

“Bastard! Why the hell does he do things like that?” Rachel shook her head. “You just wait, I’ll get him. He has these photos in his bedroom, and I’m going to…”

“Don’t bother. It’s true. Why should I try to hide it?” She bit her lip.

“I just can’t figure out how he knew. It’s not as if I bring it up in polite conversation: Good afternoon, Professor Emerson. My name is Miss Mitchell, and I’m a virgin from Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania. Pleased to meet you. ”

Rachel waved her hand dismissively. “Think about it. He’s never exactly been in want of female companionship. I’m sure you seem different to him; you were probably the only girl at the club, apart from me, who wasn’t in heat.”

Julia looked disgusted, and rightly so, but didn’t comment.

“When you came off the dance floor you looked as if you’d seen a ghost. Like how I imagined you would have looked the night you saw Si — ”

“Please, Rachel. Don’t. I can’t talk about that night. I can’t even think about it.”

“I could run him over with my car for what he did to you. I still might do that. Is he  in Philadelphia? Give me his address.”