Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(78)
Although she had had a truly scarring experience with Gabriel, hard on the heels of spending the night in his arms, she was more determined than ever that she would not let him break her. She’d been broken before; he had broken her. And she’d sworn in her heart that she would never allow her spirit to be broken again. By anyone.
So she made the following three decisions:
First, she was not going to drop Emerson’s class, because she needed a Dante seminar to demonstrate her competency.
Second, she was not going to quit school and return to Selinsgrove a coward.
Third, she was going to find herself another thesis director and file the paperwork behind Emerson’s back, as soon as possible.
Near midnight Tuesday, she finally turned her cell phone on to check her messages. Once again, her inbox was full. She rolled her eyes when she discovered, not surprisingly, that the first message was from Gabriel. It had arrived Monday morning.
“Julianne…I left something for you last night on your front porch. Did you see it? Did you read the card? Please read it.
“By the way, I had to call Paul Norris in order to get your cell phone number.
I made up some excuse about needing to speak with you about your thesis, in case he asks you about it.
“Did you know that you forgot your iPod? I’ve been listening to it. I was surprised to find that you are a fan of Arcade Fire. I’ve been listening to Intervention , although I’m more than surprised that someone as well-adjusted and happy as you would listen to such a tragic song. I’d like to be able to return your iPod in person.
“I’d like you to talk to me. Scream at me. Curse me. Throw things in my face. Anything but silence, Julianne. Please. [Large sigh…] Just a few moments of your time, that’s all I ask. Call me.”
Julia deleted his message and promptly walked herself and her Scottish tartan flannel pajamas out to the front porch. She picked up the card that was attached to the bouquet, ripped it into a hundred pieces, and threw the pieces over the railing and into the grass. She picked up the now withered purple hyacinths and threw them over the railing too. Then she inhaled the cold night air deeply and ran back inside, slamming the front door behind her.
Once she’d calmed down, she listened to the next message, which was also from Gabriel. He’d called her that afternoon, “Julianne, did you know that Rachel is on some Godforsaken Canadian island? With no access to either a cell phone or her e-mail? I had to call Richard, for God’s sake, when she wouldn’t answer her phone. I was trying to track her down so she can track you down since you are refusing to respond to my messages.
“I’m worried about you. I checked around and no one, not even Paul, has seen you for days. I’m going to send you an e-mail, but it’s going to be formal because the university has access to my e-mail account. I’m hoping you get this message before you read it, otherwise you’ll think I’m being an ass again. But I’m not. I just have to sound like one in an official e-mail. If you reply to me, keep in mind anyone from the administration can read those e-mails. So be careful what you say.
“I’ll see you at my seminar tomorrow. If you aren’t there, I’m going to call your father and ask him to find you. For all I know, you’re already on a bus on your way back to Selinsgrove. Call me, please. I’ve had to restrain myself from coming over every day since Sunday.
[Long pause…] “I just want to know that you’re all right. Two words, Julia.
Just text me two words — tell me you’re okay. That’s all I’m asking.”
Julia quickly turned on her computer and checked her university e-mail account. There, sitting in her inbox like a dirty bomb, was the following message from Professor Gabriel O. Emerson:
Dear Miss Mitchell,
I need to speak to you concerning a matter of some urgency.
Please contact me as soon as possible. You may telephone me at the following number: 416-555-0739 (cell).
Regards,
Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson,
Associate Professor
Department of Italian Studies/
Centre for Medieval Studies
University of Toronto
Julia deleted the e-mail and the voice mail without a second thought, and she typed a quick e-mail to Paul, explaining that she was too sick to attend Professor Emerson’s seminar the following afternoon and asking Paul to pass that information to The Professor. She thanked Paul for his several e-mails, apologized for not answering sooner, and asked if he’d like to accompany her to the Royal Ontario Museum to see the Florentine art exhibit when she had recovered her health.
The following day, she spent the better part of the afternoon composing an exploratory e-mail to Professor Jennifer Leaming of the Department of Philosophy. Professor Leaming was an Aquinas specialist who also had an interest in Dante. Although Julia didn’t know her personally, Paul had taken a class with her and liked her a great deal. She was young, funny, and very popular with her students — the complete opposite of Professor Emerson.
Julia was hoping Professor Leaming would consider directing her master’s thesis, and she stated this hope as a mere possibility in her e-mail.
Julia wanted to consult Paul about the switch and take his advice, but she couldn’t. She knew he would assume that Emerson dropped her and would likely confront him about it. So she sent the e-mail to Professor Leaming and hoped that she would receive it graciously and respond quickly.