It was possible.

When everyone in the whole world believes one thing and you are the only one who believes differently, it’s very tempting to assimilate. All Julia would have to do would be to forget, to deny, to suppress. Then she would be just like everyone else.

But Julia was stronger than that. No, she had not been prepared to call Gabriel out publicly about exposing her virginity, for that would be to draw too much attention to a fact that she was partially ashamed of. And no, she was unwilling to force him to acknowledge her or the night they shared together, for Julia had a fairly pure heart, and she did not like to force anyone to do anything.

When she saw the confusion on Gabriel’s face while they were dancing and realized that his mind wouldn’t allow him to remember, she withdrew.

She was worried what a sudden strong realization might do to him, and fearful that his mind might shatter like Grace’s glass coffee table, she chose to do nothing.

Julia was a good person. And sometimes goodness doesn’t tell everything it knows. Sometimes goodness waits for the appropriate time and does the best it can with what it has.

Professor Emerson was not the man that she’d fallen in love with in the orchard. In fact, Julia concluded that there was something seriously wrong with The Professor. He was not just dark or depressed, but disturbed. And she worried that he had alcoholic tendencies, familiar as she was with the alcoholism of her mother. But because she was good, she would not break him the way she had been broken, by forcing him to look at something he did not want to see.

She would have done anything for Gabriel, the man she spent the night with in the woods, if he’d given her even a single indication that he wanted her. She would have descended to Hell and searched for him, looking until she found him. She would have stormed the gates and dragged him back. She would have been Sam to his Frodo and followed him into the bowels of Mount Doom.

But he was not her Gabriel. Her Gabriel was dead. Gone. Leaving behind only vestiges of him in the body of a harsh and tortured clone. Gabriel had almost broken Julia’s heart once. She was determined she would not let him break her heart for the second time.

Before Rachel left Toronto to return to Aaron and the dystopia that was her family, she insisted on seeing Julia’s studio apartment. Julia had been putting her off for days, and Gabriel himself had discouraged his sister from simply showing up unannounced. He knew that as soon as she saw where her friend was living she’d pack Julia up personally and force her to move into a nicer place, preferably Gabriel’s guest room.

(One can only imagine Gabriel’s reaction to that suggestion, but it ran along the lines of no fucking way.) So on Sunday afternoon, Rachel arrived on Julia’s doorstep in order to have tea and say her good-byes before Gabriel took her to the airport.

Julia was nervous. She had the cardinal virtue of fortitude, like a stubborn medieval saint, and so she was unlikely to mind various discomforts or slights. Consequently, she hadn’t thought her little hobbit hole was really that bad when she signed the lease. It was safe, and it was clean, and she could afford it. But believing that and showing her apartment to Rachel were two different things.

“I need to warn you that it’s small. But remember, I’m living on a grad student’s income and it’s fixed. I can’t get a job up here because I don’t have a work permit. And I can’t afford to live in Gabriel’s building or anywhere even half as nice,” Julia explained as she ushered her friend into her apartment. Rachel nodded and placed a large square box on the bed.

Gabriel had warned her how tiny the apartment was. He’d told her not to make a scene, for Gabriel still nursed a secret regret over his appalling behavior during his one and only visit to Julia’s apartment.

But still, nothing her brother or her friend told her quite prepared Rachel for what she saw behind Julia’s closed door. The space was smal , old, and everything in it was second-hand or cheap, apart from the simple curtains, bedding, and anything Julia had brought with her from home. To her credit, Rachel walked through the studio first, which only took about five steps, and looked at the closet, inspected the bathroom, and stood in the kitchen “area” looking at a pathetic little hot plate and an old decrepit microwave. Then she put her hands over her face and burst into tears.

Julia stood rooted to the spot, not quite knowing what to do. Rachel was disturbed by ugliness, she knew, but Julia had tried to make her studio pretty and had used her favorite shades of purple to do so. Surely Rachel could appreciate that.

Rachel came to herself a few moments later, wiping her tears and giggling.

“I’m sorry. It’s hormones and lack of sleep, and I’ve been emotional because of Mom. Then there’s everything with my dad, and Aaron, and the wedding. Oh, Julia, I just wish I could take you home with me and you could live with us in Philadelphia. We have so much space. And our kitchen is bigger than your entire apartment!”

Julia hugged her friend tightly until she cracked a smile.

“Gabriel said you’re very particular about your tea. He was impressed with how you made it. And you know nothing ever impresses him. So I’m going to curl up on your lovely lilac bed and learn how you do it.” Rachel plopped herself down on top of Julia’s comforter, holding the large square box on her lap and trying to be cheerful for the sake of her friend.

Julia was surprised that Gabriel even remembered the tea since he’d been so busy criticizing her eating habits during his visit. But she pushed such thoughts aside and focused her attention on making Rachel feel at home and helping her forget her troubles. Soon they were both perched on her bed, holding their china teacups and nibbling on chocolate truffles that Julia had purchased as a celebratory treat with part of her emergency fund.

Rachel traced the rim of her cup with a single finger. “There’s something I need to tell you about Gabriel.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Rachel looked over at Julia and frowned. “Why not?”

“Because he’s my professor. It’s — safer if we pretend not to know each other. Trust me.”

Rachel shook her head. “He said something similar to me, you know.

But I’m going to tell you what I told him, I don’t care. He’s my brother, and I love him. And there are a few things you should know.”

Julia sighed in acquiescence.

“He’d kill me if he knew that I was telling you this, but I think it will make his attitude easier to understand. Did Mom ever tell you how she came to adopt him?”

“She only talked about happy things: how proud she was of him, how well he did at Princeton and Oxford. She never talked about his childhood.”

“Mom found him when he was nine years old, wandering around the hospital in Sunbury. He’d been traveling with his mother, who was a crazy alcoholic, and she got sick. They ended up in Sunbury, and his mother died, of pneumonia I think. Anyway, Mom found Gabriel, and he didn’t have a dollar to his name. He couldn’t even buy a drink from the vending machine.

She was even more upset when she tracked down his mother’s relatives and they told her to keep him. He knew that his family didn’t want him. And despite everything my parents did, I don’t think he ever felt at home with us. He never became a Clark.”

Julia thought of Gabriel as a scared and hungry little boy and fought back tears. She imagined his eyes, large and blue in his pale but angelic face. His shock of brown hair spiked and unruly. Dirty clothes and a crazy mother. Julia knew what it was like to have an alcoholic mother. She knew what it was like to cry herself to sleep at night wishing someone, anyone, would love her. She and Gabriel had more in common than she cared to admit. Much, much more.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I didn’t know.”

“I’m not excusing his rudeness. I’m just telling you who he is. Did you know that after his horrible fight with Scott, Mom lit a candle every night and placed it in one of the windows? She thought that if Gabriel happened to be in Selinsgrove and saw the candle, he would know that she was waiting for him, that she loved him, and he’d walk up the front steps and come in.”

Julia shook her head. She hadn’t known that, but she believed it. That’s just who Grace was — charity unbound.

“He pretends to be whole, but he’s been broken. And deep down, he hates himself. I told him to treat you nicely, so I think his behavior will improve. Let me know if it doesn’t and I’ll deal with him.”

Julia snorted. “He ignores me, mostly. I’m a lowly grad student, and he doesn’t let me forget it.”

“I find that difficult to believe. I doubt very much that he would stare so intensely at a ‘lowly’ grad student.”

Julia busied herself with her chocolate. “He stares at me?” She was trying very hard to sound relaxed, but her voice sounded unnatural, shaky even.

“He stares at you all the time. Haven’t you noticed? I caught him looking at you over dinner the other night and when we were at the club. Every time you took a drink, actually. And when I winked at him, he scowled.”

Rachel looked at her friend thoughtfully. “I see the two of you together, and I feel like I’m missing something…He knew that I was going shopping this week, and he not only encouraged me, he gave me money.”

“So? That’s nice. That’s what big brothers are for. What did you buy?”

“The money was for you, not me.”

Julia frowned and turned sideways on the bed, cross-legged, so that she could face her friend. “Why the hell would he do that?”

“You tell me.” Rachel cocked her head to one side.

“I don’t know. He’s been rude to me since I got here.”

“Well, he gave me some money and told me to buy you a gift. He was very specific. So here it is.” Rachel placed the box in Julia’s lap.

“I don’t want it.” She tried to hand it back, but Rachel refused.

“At least open it and see what it is.”

Julia shook her head, but Rachel insisted. So she opened the box. In it she found a very nice chocolate-brown, Italian-made leather messenger bag. She held the bag up by its strap and looked at it. The label said Fendi.

Holy crap, thought Julia.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I don’t — know,” she stammered, staring at the beautiful and classic bag in astonishment.

Rachel took it from her and began rummaging through it, muttering about its internal stitching, numerous compartments, and overall quality workmanship. “See how perfect it is? It’s functional and feminine, since it’s a messenger bag and not a briefcase, and it’s Italian. And we both know that you and Gabriel have a thing…for Italy,” she added, after a pause that was designed to elicit some kind of reaction.

Julia’s telltale flush and immediate nervousness told Rachel all she needed to know, but she chose not to embarrass her friend any further. “I’m not supposed to tell you it’s from him. He was very explicit. Of course, I ignored him.” She chuckled.