Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,541

an entire Broadway show.”

He sniffed. “I’d see Shakespeare.”

“The musical?”

“Very funny. I’d sit through a performance of Les Misérables.” His gaze leveled on hers. “Your interpretation of that novel changed my life.”

Julia looked down at her feet, at the new high-heeled Manolo Blahnik boots Gabriel had insisted on buying her at Barneys.

“I think a lot of things conspired to change your life. I can’t take credit for what happened to you in Assisi.”

“No.” He lifted her hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles before toying with her wedding band.

“But I wouldn’t have made it to Assisi if you hadn’t helped me first. And I wouldn’t have had the joy of discovering my grandfather if you hadn’t agreed to have a child with me. You’ve given me so much.”

“Tammy said that fatherhood does something special to a good man. I’d like to see what it does to you.”

Gabriel blinked twice, hard. “Thank you, Julianne.”

He captured her smile with his mouth, kissing her until a throat cleared behind them.

Embarrassed, they moved ahead in line, hands woven together.

The Emersons had just cleared security when Julia’s cell phone rang.

“Jules.” Tom’s gruff voice echoed in her ear.

“Dad. Is everything okay?”

The pause on the other end of the line caused Julia to stop walking. Gabriel stood at her side, a questioning look on his face.

Tom cleared his throat. “I’m at the Children’s Hospital in Philadelphia.”

“Oh, no. Are Diane and the baby all right?”

“Diane woke up in the middle of the night feeling funny and so we drove here right away.” Tom paused. “Right now, they have her hooked up to a bunch of monitors but she and the baby are fine. However”—he paused again—“she started going into labor a little while ago.”

“She’s early,” Julia breathed.

“That’s right.” Tom’s voice was tight. “They won’t know how he’s doing until he’s delivered. The doctors say there are lots of things they can’t see on an ultrasound. They might have to work on his heart immediately.”

“Will he need surgery?”

“The corrective surgery is scheduled for three days after delivery, give or take. I suppose he might need surgery before, depending on what they find.”

Julia looked at Gabriel. “We’re at JFK in New York, getting ready to fly back to Boston. Would you like me to come home?”

“Yes. If you can. She’ll probably still be in labor when you arrive, but it would be good to have you here. It’s going to be a long three days and I don’t know if—” He began coughing.

“I’m coming. Okay? I’ll change my flight and head straight to the hospital. I’ll call you when I arrive so you can tell me where to meet you.”

“Okay.” He sounded relieved. “Jules?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

“Bye, Dad. Give my love to Diane.”

Julia disconnected the call and looked up at her husband. His expression was grim.

“I guess I should have spoken to you before I promised I’d go to Philadelphia.” She chewed at the inside of her mouth.

“It’s an emergency. We have to go.”

“We?”

“The baby will be my nephew. And I’m not letting you go by yourself.” He pulled her into his side, leading her through the crowd.

Chapter Sixty-three

Jules?”

Tom’s hand was on her shoulder, trying to awaken her. She was seated in a chair in the Special Delivery Unit waiting room. Gabriel was standing nearby, nursing a very bad coffee.

(Fortunately, he’d restrained himself and elected not to complain to the hospital administration about the sad state of their vending machines.)

Julia opened her eyes, squinting against the overhead light.

Her father crouched in front of her. “We had the baby.”

“Is he all right?”

“They had to do a procedure right away, but now he’s recovering and Diane is with him.” Tom pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and held it out to her. “He’s a good-looking boy.”

Julia scrolled through a series of pictures of a tired but glowing Diane and a mocha-skinned boy who had black, curly hair.

“He’s beautiful, Dad. I’m so happy for you.” She handed the phone back.

Tom looked at the last picture for a moment, his thumb grazing across the baby’s head.

“Thomas Lamar Mitchell. Seven pounds, ten ounces. Born today, December eleventh.”

“I didn’t know you were naming him after yourself.”

“A boy should have his father’s name,” Tom’s voice was gruff. “Anyway, Diane wants to call him Tommy. For now.”

“Then Tommy it is.” Julia glanced over at her husband, who was frowning into his coffee cup.

“You kids should go back to the hotel. I’ll call if anything changes. You won’t be able to see him today. They’re keeping an