* * *
Julia didn’t respond to Paul’s worried messages or emails. So on the Wednesday after the hearing, he stood on the front porch of her building, buzzing her apartment.
She didn’t answer.
Undeterred, Paul waited, and when a neighbor exited the building, he went inside and knocked on her door. He rapped several times until a hesitant voice called to him. “Who is it?”
“It’s Paul.”
He heard what sounded like the thud of Julia’s forehead against the door.
“I wanted to check on you since you aren’t answering your phone.” He paused. “I have your mail.”
“Paul—I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Let me see that you’re all right and I’ll go.”
He heard the shuffling of feet. “Julia,” he called to her softly. “It’s just me.”
A scraping sound echoed in the hallway, and the door slowly creaked open.
“Hi,” he said, looking down into the face of a woman he did not recognize.
She looked like a girl really, white skin against dark hair that was messily pulled up into a ponytail. Purple circles rimmed her eyes, which were bloodshot and glassy. She looked as if she hadn’t slept since the hearing.
“Can I come in?”
She opened the door more widely, and Paul walked into her apartment. He’d never seen it so disordered. Dishes were abandoned on every surface, her bed was unmade, and the card table was straining under the weight of papers and books. Her laptop was open as if she’d been interrupted while working on it.
“If you came to tell me how stupid I am, I don’t think I can handle that right now.” She tried to sound defiant.
“I was upset when I found out you’d been lying to me.” Paul shuffled her mail from one arm to the other and scratched at his sideburns. “But I’m not here to make you feel badly.” His expression softened. “I don’t like to see you hurting.”
She looked down at her purple woolly socks and wiggled her toes. “I’m sorry for lying.”
He cleared his throat. “Um, I brought your mail. You had some stuff in the mailbox outside, and I also brought your mail from the department.”
Julia looked at him with a worried expression.
He held up a hand as if to reassure her. “It’s only a couple of flyers and a textbook.”
“Why would someone send me a textbook? I’m not teaching.”
“The textbook reps put exam copies in the professors’ mailboxes. Sometimes they give books to the grad students too. I got one on Renaissance politics. Where should I put everything?”
“On the table. Thanks.”
Paul did as he was bidden while Julia busied herself by retrieving the cups and bowls from around the apartment and stacking them neatly on top of the microwave.
“What kind of textbook?” she asked, over her shoulder. “It isn’t about Dante, is it?”
“No. It’s Marriage in the Middle Ages: Love, Sex, and the Sacred.” Paul read the title aloud.
She shrugged, for the title didn’t interest her.
“You look tired.” He gazed at her sympathetically.
“Professor Picton asked me to make a lot of changes to my thesis. I’ve been working around the clock.”
“You need some fresh air. Why don’t you let me take you to lunch? My treat.”
“I have so much work to do.”
He brushed at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need to get out of here. This place is depressing. It’s like Miss Havisham’s house.”
“Does that make you Pip?”
Paul shook his head. “No, it makes me a nosy jerk who interferes in someone else’s life.”
“That sounds like Pip.”
“Is your thesis due tomorrow?”
“No. Professor Picton gave me a week’s extension. She knew I wouldn’t be ready to turn it in April first because of—everything.” She winced.
“It’s just lunch. We’ll take the subway and head to Queen Street and be back before you know it.”
Julia looked up at Paul, into concerned dark eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because I’m from Vermont. We’re friendly.” He grinned. “And because you need a friend right now.”
Julia smiled in gratitude.
“I never stopped caring for you,” he admitted, his eyes unexpectedly gentle.
She pretended she didn’t hear his declaration.
“I need a minute to get dressed.”
They both looked at her flannel pajamas.
Paul smirked. “Nice rubber duckies.”