By the next morning, Julia still hadn’t decided what to do about the bursary. She was not in a hurry to do anything that would expose Gabriel’s generosity to the suspicious minds of the university’s administration, as she knew that would be dangerous for him.
And she was not in a hurry to do anything that would expose herself as anything other than a serious graduate student, so she was reticent to go to the chair of their department and explain that she wasn’t interested in the bursary. For the bursary would contribute an impressive line to her curriculum vitae, and serious graduate students were supposed to care about those things more than they cared about silly little things like personal pride.
In classical terms, Miss Mitchell found herself caught between the Scylla of protecting Gabriel and herself and the Charybdis of holding fast to her pride. Unfortunately for her pride, the true peril aligned with her rejection of the bursary; the peril could be avoided if she just took the money. She did not like that. Not one little bit. Especially against the backdrop of Rachel’s generosity in buying her a dress and shoes and Gabriel’s not so secret attempt at replacing her book bag.
She neglected to mention to him that she’d returned her knapsack to L. L. Bean and was eagerly awaiting its replacement. And she fully intended to use it when it arrived, just to reassert her independence.
Friday afternoon, impatient for answers, Julia sent a short text to Rachel, telling her about the bursary and asking if she knew who M. P. Emerson was.
Rachel texted her back immediately:
J: G did what?
Never heard of foundation.
Never heard of MPE.
MP = G’s bio-mother?
Grandmother? luv, R.
P.S. A says hi and thanks
Julia puzzled over Rachel’s text, but was persuaded by her suggestion. M. P. must have been Gabriel’s grandmother, for she couldn’t imagine him naming a bursary for someone he hated. And she was pretty sure Gabriel harbored hatred for his biological mother.
Although it was possible, Julia thought, that if Gabriel was secretive even with Rachel, that there were many things he could have kept from her. So in a fit of boldness, which was brought on by a shot or two of tequila, Julia sent another text asking if Gabriel had a girlfriend in Toronto who she could ask about the bursary. And she immediately received the following response in her e-mail inbox:
Julia!
Okay, screw texting—the buttons are too small.
Gabriel has NEVER had a girlfriend, as far as I know. He never brought anyone home to meet Mom and Dad, even when he was in high school. Scott accused him of being gay once. But Scott has no gaydar.
Did you see how Gabriel’s apartment was decorated? And the photos in his bedroom? Wait. Did you see those?? No girlfriend locally—for sure. I think just screw-buddies. Although he acted weird when I asked. He’s 33 for God’s sake—being a player isn’t cute anymore.
Are you sure he didn’t make M. P. Emerson up? I’ll ask Scott and get back to you. I don’t want to upset my dad by asking—he’s a mess and…you know.
Aaron and I are on our way to the Queen Charlotte Islands to stay in a log cabin for two weeks. No internet. No cell phones. Just us—peace, quiet, and an outdoor Jacuzzi.
Please keep Gabriel from falling off the cliff until I get back.
Love, R.
P.S. Aaron wants to say hi personally. Take it away, honey.
~~~
Hello, Julia. It’s Aaron.
Thank you for taking such good care of my fiancée while she was in Canada. She came back a different person, and I know it wasn’t because of Gabriel.
We all missed you at the funeral—would love to see you at Thanksgiving. If you aren’t planning on coming home, would you reconsider? It’s going to be rough without Grace. Richard (and Rachel) need their family around them, and that means you too.
I have frequent flyer miles—I could send you a ticket.
Think about it.
Love you girlie,
Aaron.
Julia wiped away a tear at the sweetness that was Aaron, feeling happy and relieved that he and his fiancée were still very much in love. What Julia would not give to be loved like that…