He scowled. “Do you think I would give them the satisfaction of crawling after them, begging for information? I’d rather burn in Hell.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re right back where you started—thinking that you aren’t good enough to reproduce. And refusing to find out if there are any obvious issues in your family tree. What about your dream about Maia? What about Assisi? What about me, Gabriel? We prayed for a child. We’ve been praying that God would give us our own child. Are you taking back that prayer?”
He clenched his fists at his sides but didn’t respond.
“All because you don’t think you’re good enough,” she whispered. “My beautiful, broken angel.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
Gabriel let out an anguished sound as he returned her embrace.
“I’m making you dirty,” he whispered, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against her blouse.
“You’ve never been cleaner.” She tenderly kissed his stubbled jaw.
They held one another before Julia led him to the bathroom. Without words, she turned on the shower and quickly divested herself of her clothing.
He followed her inside the shower.
The water was warm and it fell like rain, bouncing and dancing over their bodies and down to the floor. Julia poured soap into her hands and began to wash Gabriel’s chest, her palms gliding lightly over his pectorals.
He wrapped a hand around her wrist. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to show you how much I love you.” She pressed her lips to his tattoo and then continued, lathering his abdomen with her hands. “I seem to remember a beautiful man doing this for me once. It was like a baptism.”
They were silent as she explored the steel and sinew of his arms and legs, the firmness of his backside and the bumps of his spine. She took her time, gently touching him until all the suds had rinsed away.
His eyes pierced hers. “I’ve hurt you, again and again. Yet you’re so giving. Why?”
“Because I love you. Because I have compassion for you. Because I forgive you.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
Julia began washing his hair, coaxing him to lean forward so she could reach every dark strand.
“God hasn’t punished me yet,” he murmured.
“What are you talking about?”
“I keep waiting for him to take you away.”
She brushed the shampoo from his eyes so he could open them.
“That isn’t how God works.”
“I’ve lived an arrogant, selfish life. Why shouldn’t he punish me?”
“God isn’t hovering above us waiting to punish us.”
“No?” His eyes were tortured.
“No. Did you ever once feel that way when we were in Assisi? When we were sitting near St. Francis’s crypt?”
He shook his head.
“God wants to rescue us, not destroy us. You don’t have to be afraid of being happy, thinking that he wants to take that happiness away from you. That’s not who he is.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because when you’ve had a taste of goodness, it helps you recognize the difference between good and evil. I believe that people like Grace and St. Francis and a whole host of other kind, loving people show us what God is like. He isn’t waiting to punish you and he doesn’t give you blessings just to strip them away.”
She slid her hands up his chest until they rested on either side of his face.
“I’m not going to let you delay having your vasectomy reversed. Whatever you discover, whatever happened, you’re my husband. I want a family with you and I don’t care what your DNA says.”
His fingers encircled her forearms.
“I thought you weren’t ready to have a baby.”
“I’m not. But I agree with what you said in the orchard. If we want to have a baby, we need to start discussing it with the doctors.”
“What about adoption?”
“We can do both. But please, Gabriel, you need to have the procedure reversed if only to show that you believe you will be a good father. And that you aren’t a prisoner of your history. I believe in you, sweetheart. How I wish you believed in yourself.”
He stood under the spray of the shower, closing his eyes and letting the water run over his head. He released her, running his hands through his hair before stepping aside.
Julia took his hands in hers.
“These hands are yours. You can use them for good, or for evil. And no amount of nature, biology, or DNA determines those decisions for you.”
“I’m an alcoholic because my mother was. That wasn’t a choice.”
“You chose to go into recovery. Every day, you choose not to drink or to use drugs. It isn’t your mother or AA that’s making that choice—it’s you.”
“But what will I pass on to our children?” His voice sounded desperate. “I have no idea what’s in my family tree.”
“My mother was an alcoholic. If you’re going to focus on family history, you should ask what I’m going to pass on.”