Christa felt the control she thought she’d regained slip through her fingers.
(It didn’t occur to her that this must have been how Professor Emerson and Julianne felt when they’d been brought before the disciplinary committee in Toronto.)
“It’s too late for me to apply to other programs. This will ruin me.” Her chin began to wobble.
“Not necessarily. Many programs receive applications until March. My assistant can help you identify those programs. Perhaps you should consider returning to Canada.”
“But I want to stay here. Professor Martin said—”
“Professor Martin is not the chair here; I am.” Lucia nodded at the door. “I realize this is a disappointment, but perhaps at another university, you will be successful.”
“There must be something I can do. Please.” Christa sat forward in her chair, begging.
“You can appeal to the dean, if you wish, but university regulations prevent her from demanding that faculty serve on specific examination committees. I’m afraid she can’t help you.” Once again Lucia nodded at the door. “My assistant will help you research other programs. I wish you good luck.”
Christa stared across the desk, in complete and utter shock. But as she exited the office, she remembered something, something Pacciani had said to her back in Oxford.
Be careful, Cristina. You don’t want Professor Picton as an enemy. . . . Departments around the world are filled with her admirers. Your chair at Columbia was her student.
It angered her sorely that in the end, Pacciani had been correct. But as quickly as the realization came to her, so did a possible solution. She would simply have to pursue her education outside the patronage system of Professor Picton. And that meant that she would need to research every single professor in every department that offered a doctoral program in Dante studies.
She had days of work ahead of her, simply to find a possibility of enrolling in a doctoral program.
(It must be said parenthetically that karma had been served.)
Chapter Seventy-two
Fear and anxiety are not so easily managed, especially by people who have struggled for years with both. When the Emersons returned to Cambridge, they each made appointments to see their respective therapists, immediately.
Dr. Walters suggested several different strategies for Julia to cope with the anxiety over her pregnancy, but she stressed the fact that Julia needed to ask for help and that she also needed to accept it and not try to do everything on her own.
Dr. Townsend painstakingly addressed Gabriel’s worries over the health and welfare of his wife and unborn child. But he was pleased with the progress Gabriel had made since the summer.
The Emersons also visited Dr. Rubio, who confirmed the pregnancy, estimating the due date would be around September sixth. A series of appointments were scheduled, including ultrasounds to monitor the progress of the baby and any issues relating to the uterine fibroids. Julia was urged to modify her diet and to take supplements, in order to ensure her health and the health of the baby.
She was also instructed to avoid o**l s*x with her husband.
“Come again?” The Professor’s voice boomed in the small room.
“No male-on-female o**l s*x during pregnancy,” Dr. Rubio repeated briskly.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Dr. Rubio gazed at him coolly.
“And where did you become board certified in obstetrics, Mr. Emerson?”
“It’s Professor Emerson, and I went to Harvard. Where did you go, an anti–oral sex college?”
“Darling.” Julia placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Dr. Rubio is trying to help us and the baby. We want to be healthy.”
“Cunnilingus is healthy,” he huffed. “I can prove it.”
Dr. Rubio cursed obliquely in Spanish. “If air enters the vagina, it could cause an air embolism, which might harm the baby. I advise all my patients not to engage in that kind of o**l s*x. I’m not picking on you especially, Professor Emerson. Now, I’ll see you at your next appointment. Don’t forget—no caffeine, no raw milk products, no Brie or Camembert, no alcohol, no shellfish, no sushi, no peanut butter, and certainly, no o**l s*x.” She glared in Gabriel’s direction.
“One might as well say ‘no pleasure.’ What the hell is left?” he complained, moodily.
Julia giggled nervously. “I’m sure we can find something. Thanks, Dr. Rubio.”
And with that Gabriel drove Julia to the nearest Barnes and Noble, whereupon he bought no less than three pregnancy books, all of which stated that cunnilingus during pregnancy was fine, so long as air didn’t enter the vagina.
Then the Emersons retired to their home, whereupon the Professor commenced proving his point.