Gabriel's Redemption

Chapter Twenty-five

August 2011

Near Essex Junction, Vermont

The following evening, Paul sat at the kitchen table in his parents’ farmhouse, staring at his laptop. It was almost seven o’clock.

He’d been home from England for two weeks. Every day he sat down to type an email to Julia, and every day he found he couldn’t.

Her emails were always cheerful, and the most recent one was no exception. She’d written him from Italy, urging him to visit the Vatican museum the next time he was in Rome. As if he needed urging. As if he needed the reminder that she was married and jet-setting around Europe with her dashing and older husband, who was probably thinking of ways to persuade her to have his baby.

Bastard.

Paul was a rugby player. He was tough. But somehow, this slip of a woman from Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania, had turned his life upside down. Now he was afraid of doing what he’d already determined to do.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. He started to type, the words just beginning to flow, when he heard a knock at the back door.

Curious, he answered it.

“Hi.” Allison greeted him, standing outside and holding two large coffees from Dunkin’ Donuts. “I thought you could use one of these.”

When he didn’t respond, she gave him an uneasy smile. “Are you working on your dissertation? I don’t mean to interrupt.”

She handed him a coffee. “I’ll just go.”

“Wait. Come in.” He held the screen door open.

She thanked him and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a chair across from where his computer was situated.

“I haven’t heard from you since you got back from England.”

“I’ve been busy.” His voice had a slight edge to it. “My dissertation director is kicking my ass and I have a lot of ground to cover before September.”

“How was your trip?”

Paul sipped his coffee and made an appreciative noise. “It was good. My paper went well and I was able to talk to my director.”

Allison nodded, clutching her cup a little too tightly. “Was she there?”

“Her name is Julia.” Paul’s tone was sharp.

“I know that,” she said gently. “I met her in this kitchen, remember?”

“Yes, she was there.” He tasted his drink again.

“How is she?”

“She’s good. Her husband was there, too.”

Allison searched Paul’s unusually morose expression.

“You don’t sound happy.”

He didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry.”

He gave her a half-smile. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I don’t like to see you pining.”

He shrugged but didn’t deny it.

“I was trying to compose an email to her when you knocked on the door.”

Allison gripped her cup in two hands. “I don’t know her. But I think it’s weird that she’s keeping in touch with you, given your history. It’s like she’s leading you on.”

“You’re right, you don’t know her.” Paul glared.

“I doubt her husband is happy about her emailing you.”

Paul muttered something unflattering about the Professor.

Allison sat still for a moment, as if she were waiting for something. Then she stood.

“I’ll see myself out.”

Her former boyfriend followed her to the back door. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.” She stepped outside.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Allison didn’t turn around but stood facing the driveway.

“Me, too.”