We walk back through the museum-mile hallway with the Yorkies’ prancing at our heels. As we descend the front steps of the house, Mara says, “The one thing I remember is that Julie really wanted to get her college degree. You do know she was taking classes over at Manhattan Community College in Tribeca?” I nod. “Maybe they know where she transferred for her four-year degree,” Mara offers. “Don’t know if they’ll tell you, but it’s worth a try.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
While I was traipsing from Salt Lake City, Utah, to Greenwich, Connecticut, and into Manhattan doing my own P.I. work, niece Laura tipped me off that Juliana had disappeared from Meadow Farm several times after my brother headed elsewhere for business meetings. So, once again Warrior sits quietly in the front passenger seat of Daniel’s unobtrusive grey van as I drive over to the Keystone State, following Juliana, of course. I wonder if she’s picked up on my investigation of her at all. If so, she’d probably accuse me of being a stalker.
We enter a familiar, rundown neighborhood on the outskirts of Scranton, and Juliana slows down in Meadow Farm’s inconspicuous Toyota. She turns exactly where I thought she would, onto the same street of ramshackle clapboard houses that I’d visited before, and parks. Slowly, she looks around as if taking in every detail of this impoverished neighborhood. I discreetly pull into an empty slot near a fire hydrant on the block before hers.
Juliana has a brown envelope in her hand, slightly smaller than the one she gave to Bobby Taylor at the Moosic Café some days ago. Is this one also filled with cash?
She hurries over to the front stoop of the row house I observed last time. The door swings open, and Mrs. de Torres emerges. Juliana runs up the steps where she and the elderly woman embrace, and I take pictures. They go inside the house.
To stay busy, I take pictures of the neighborhood in general, including its residents coming and going. I’m not sure any of it is relevant to my surveillance, but you never know.
Forty minutes later—so boring all this sitting around— Juliana comes out with Mrs. de Torres and I duck down. Both appear to be wiping tears from their eyes. More hugs between the two. The elderly woman goes back inside, and Juliana leaves. I stick around.
Nothing happens for the next ten minutes. I let Warrior out for a drink from his water bowl. We make our way up the sidewalk, as I tell him to do your business. Big mistake. First the sound of a car engine alerts me, and then I spot the Meadow Farm Toyota two blocks away heading in our direction.
In a panic at the thought of being spotted, I rush Warrior back to the van and hurry him into the vehicle as the Toyota drives by and stops close to the brownstone. Mrs. de Torres comes out again, and Juliana runs up the steps, glancing in my direction just as I enter the driver’s side of the van. She hands the woman two big shopping bags and says something to her. Maybe she forgot to give the bags to her the first time around. They embrace, and Juliana drives off one more time. Mrs. de Torres enters the brownstone with the bags.
I sit there with Warrior in the front of the van, wondering and worrying: Did Juliana see us?
~~~~~
I worry at the Scranton library during more research on Joe Taylor’s drug program, all through my lunch at a nearby diner, and even during a quick drive-by at the Moosic Motel and coffee shop. Did Juliana see us? I head back to New Jersey.
Close to home, my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Laura. Come to MF. Dad & Jules had fight. He’s gone. She’s upset & leaving too.
I quickly drive to Meadow Farm and turn onto the dirt road. It’s early evening—dusk—and in the distance I see a car I don’t recognize coming toward me from the big house. I can’t make out who the driver is, but the vehicle is moving too fast on this narrow, winding road. I pull over to the side.
The car whizzes by me and then screeches to a stop. Juliana jumps out. My dog whines with concern, but doesn’t growl. “Stay, Warrior,” I command and exit the van.
I can feel the anger in her stride as she walks toward me. “I see you’re not driving your Mustang.” Then she nails me. “I saw you following me today. Why?”
At first, I don’t respond—can’t think quickly enough. She continues. “Other times I feel you watching me. What is it you think I’ve done that warrants all this watching and spying?”
“It goes both ways, Juliana.”
“What could you possibly mean?” she asks.
“When I drove up to Scranton to meet with Joe Taylor on his school drug program, I’m sure I saw you following me,” I state plainly. “When I pulled off the highway, I spotted you in the farm Toyota that has that distinctive dent.” I don’t give her a chance to deny my accusation. “So what was that about?”
Nothing.
“And you have to admit there’ve been some strange things going on since you arrived. How do you explain—”
She cuts me off. “I have nothing to explain to you. Frank and I are happy. Leave us alone. Why can’t you just leave us alone?”
“Nothing against you, Juliana, but I have a concern this may be too soon after Joanie’s—”
“I told Frank we shouldn’t leave California,” Juliana says. “I didn’t want to come here—”
“Why wouldn’t you want to come here?” I ask. “This is Frank’s home. He’s happy here. That’s a strange thing to say.”
“I have nothing against this place.” I perceive a slight tone of defensiveness in Juliana’s voice and stance. “It’s just that extended families can be, how shall I say, complicated—”
“Who’s Bobby Taylor?” There. The question is out. I couldn’t help myself.
Everything stops. Juliana stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Her posture straightens; her shoulders drop back as though she means business. “What do you really have, Ronnie? Nothing. Just some crazy suspicions.” She holds her head high. “Leave us alone.” She turns on her heel and walks to her car.
“Is there still an us? I mean you and Frank?” I ask.
Juliana stops, shakes her head, gets in and drives away. I do the same. Coming around the bend, I see the house is all lit up.
My niece runs out the front door when she hears me pull in. “Where have you been?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, still a little shaken after my dramatic encounter with Juliana. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later,” I answer. “First, what’s up with Frank and Juliana? Did they break up?”
“Just the opposite.” Laura looks at me. “Daddy asked her to marry him!”
~~~~~
My niece and I sprawl on the long sofa in the library at Meadow Farm—my father’s favorite room, and Frank’s, too—each of us with a glass of Chablis. My dog snoozes near my feet.
“Aunt Ronnie, I didn’t mean to listen in on them.” I look at Laura skeptically. “Really,” she implores. “I was heading to the terrace to join them, and as I came to the French doors in the dining room, I overheard Daddy proposing to Juliana. So I just stood there next to the curtains—”
“You didn’t leave,” I scold, “and give them some privacy? Come on, Laura.”
“Well, I was going to leave…” She sees I’m not buying it. “Honest. But the way Daddy proposed was very sweet, so I had to stay. I mean, he got down on bended knee with a ring.” Laura drinks from her glass. “And then Juliana turned him down! She wouldn’t take the ring. Anyway, I was shocked…and I froze.”
I drink from my glass. There goes the gold-digger theory, out the window. “Laura, what did she say to your father?”
“Now are you glad I stayed to listen, Aunt Ronnie?” My niece stares at me, waiting for proper vindication.
“OK, OK. I’m glad. Now, tell me what you heard.”
“Juliana said she’s honored and that she loves him, but she’s not quite ready. And Daddy said he loves her, too. And if they both feel that way then they should go for it. She said she wanted Daddy to please give her more time.” Laura pauses, looking sad.
“What?” I ask.
&
nbsp; “Daddy said life is too short, and he doesn’t want to waste a moment of it—I know he was thinking about Mom when he said that.” Her eyes water. My niece blinks quickly, then continues. “And he wants to share the rest of his life with someone he loves, and that he’s found her—meaning Juliana.”
We sip our wine, and I wonder why Juliana isn’t jumping at Frank’s proposal. They seem so close, as if they share an unspoken language, what with those secret looks between them at dinner the other night at the club—well, all along they’ve been that way.
Laura continues. “Juliana got very quiet, and Daddy asked her what was wrong. She said parts of her life are still unsettled and she needs time to take care of that first. Daddy said he wants to help.”
“What did she say to that?” I put down my glass.
“Juliana said they’re her problems, and she needs to handle them herself, without his help. He started to say something, and I could tell he was getting upset. But she interrupted him, and of course, we know Daddy doesn’t like that. And she said one thing, Aunt Ronnie, but it’s awkward, because it’s about you.”
“Go on.”
“Juliana told Daddy that she thinks you don’t trust her and that you may be looking into her background, like even following her,” my niece says. “Oh, Aunt Ronnie, did you hire a private eye to find out about her…you know, the way I suggested when they first came home from California?”
Choosing not to answer her question, I ask, “Does Juliana think I hired an investigator?”
Laura shakes her head. “She didn’t say that—only that she thought you were checking her out. Anyway, Daddy asked her for details, and she wouldn’t tell him any. Just said that she knows you two are close, and she didn’t want to get in the way.”
My niece takes a sip of her wine and adds, “Juliana said she doesn’t want to marry and have other family members distrust her.”
I sip my Chablis. “You really overheard a lot, Laura.”
“Yeah. So Daddy stormed off.” She looks sheepish. “I’m not proud to admit I slipped behind the curtain as he came through the dining room. I didn’t want him to see me so close.”
“What did Juliana do?” I ask.
“Nothing. She just sat at the table, and I could tell she was crying,” Laura says. “But she didn’t run after him.”
“So then what happened?”
“I ran outside and caught Daddy as he slammed the door to that loaner car. I asked him if he was all right and where he was going. Daddy said he’s fine and that he’d be back in an hour, but I could tell he was pretty upset.” Laura looks worried and pours more wine. “I hope he’s OK, Aunt Ronnie. He tore out of here really fast. I hope he didn’t drive that way on the highway, if that’s where he went to let off steam.”
“Where did Juliana go?”
“No idea. Next thing I knew, she was upstairs throwing some things in a bag. I could hear her up there crying and getting her things together. Then she ran downstairs and dumped this big satchel she has in that rental car they got for her. I ran after her, Aunt Ronnie, asking Jules where she was going. Like an idiot, I was running after her. Do you believe it? She left maybe ten minutes ago. You just missed her.”
I decide not to tell her about my encounter with Juliana on the road. “Laura, what did she say? Anything about where she was going?”
“Juliana said she had to fix some things, and she was going to see some family in Pennsylvania. Of all places. I thought she was from California. Who is she, really, Aunt Ronnie? What do you think?”
I’m mulling over Terry-Teresa Gonzalez-Jones and runaway brides…and worrying about my brother’s situation. That’s what I think.
Twenty minutes later, Laura and I are in the kitchen putting our wine glasses in the dishwasher when we hear a car pull up. My dog’s tail wags.
“Daddy.” Laura rushes out.
I close the dishwasher and, with Warrior, follow her outside. Laura has her back to me, hugging her father. Frank looks at me, and his eyes communicate that he is not happy seeing me here.
“Laura, please go inside,” he says. She looks back and forth between him and me, shrugs, gives me a quick hug and goes into the house.
I walk down the steps toward my brother. “Are you all right?”
He steps away and puts his arms out to block any possible hug from me. “Ronnie. You need to leave.”
“What? Why, Frank?” I’m stunned.
“It seems to me that what started out as sisterly concern about my wellbeing has morphed into nosiness and meddling in my relationship with Juliana.” Frank’s voice is quiet and take-no-prisoners adamant. He’s not loud when he’s angry, nor does he argue. “I will not have it, Ronnie.”
“But, Frank, what do you really know about her?” I try to stay calm, too. “You have to admit, since you two arrived from California, strange things have been happening. All those mystery hang-up calls, the road-rage accident, someone hitting you on the head—”
“Don’t,” his voice commands. “Do not say one word against Juliana. Your meddling may have cost me this relationship.” He walks up the steps to the front door and turns back to me. “Ronnie, you need to stay away from Meadow Farm. For the time being, you are not welcome here.”
“But, Frank, don’t you see what’s happening?” Desperation creeps into my voice. “This is exactly like what happened with Peter. He let a woman break him off from the family. Don’t allow Juliana to do this to us. Please.”
“You did it to yourself, Ronnie. Juliana did nothing. Stay away from us, and stay away from here.” My brother goes inside and slams the door shut. On me. His little sister. And he doesn’t even know how much I’ve really done.
“But, Frank, please…” My voice is barely a whisper as tears fill my eyes. Defeated, I take my dog, get in the borrowed van, and leave.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sweat is running down my forehead, and I grab a towel off my handlebars to wipe my face. I check the watch part of my heart monitor. My heart rate has spiked into its anaerobic zone. Good.
I turn the knob to reduce the wheel tension and back off the pace slightly to lower my heart rate into an aerobic range. Those anaerobic spikes mean my metabolism should remain revved up for a longer part of the day burning pesky calories. Grabbing a quick swig from my water bottle, I continue pedaling.
Kary teaches a terrific spinning class, even at the bleary-eyed hour of 6 a.m. More importantly, she plays a lot of my favorite classic rock.
“OK, up to two, and one full turn,” she yells. That means coming off the seat of the stationary bike, standing up, and turning the knob to increase the resistance. My spin shoes are clipped onto the pedals, and my legs push and pull as I cycle hard. The music is blasting, and I silently mouth Jon Bon Jovi’s lyrics to “Runaway,” although no one could hear me even if I sang at the top of my lungs.
My attention drifts from class as images float through my mind of a tough thirteen-year-old Teresa Gonzalez on the run from the law in Pennsylvania; of a determined sixteen-year-old Terry Jones changing hotel beds at Disney World; of an eighteen-year-old Terry dressed as Snow White, surrounded by adoring children in the Magic Kingdom theme park; of a helpful twenty-year-old Terry now behind the desk at the Contemporary Resort handling difficult guests; of a love-struck twenty-five-year-old Terry playing chess with geeky dot-com tycoon John Palmer at Club Nucleus in Manhattan; finally, of a heartbroken twenty-six-year-old Julie Jones working nights as a shot girl at Benny’s Bar & Grill in Soho while taking college classes during the day.
After my Greenwich visit with Mara, I called Will to ask him to find out what became of Julie while she was at Manhattan Community College. In terms of privacy issues when trying to access information about former students from a school, well, for a pro like Will Benson, that would be a different story. He has years of connections and all sorts of ways to retrieve info, no doubt some legal, and some—how did he put it, “don’t ask, don’t tell”?
“Let�
�s do jumps on a count of four,” Kary hollers. I snap back to spinning class, happy to have another opportunity to spike my heart rate into its anaerobic zone.
My mind now wanders to the explosive Bobby Taylor, who seems to have often—or maybe solely—been the cause of Teresa-Terry-Julie’s frequent moves. And all these years later, that creep persists in bothering her in her present life as Juliana.
If Bobby, heaven forbid, is Francesca’s father, little wonder Juliana continues paying him off in her quest to keep him away from the girl. I wonder if she even knows who Francesca’s father is—Bobby Taylor or John Palmer? I have to admit, though, except for Juliana breaking the law as a misguided juvenile decades ago, I haven’t come across anything really terrible in her background.
Then the realization hits me like a bolt of lightning: Jules and I have something in common. We both have family members who are our nemesis—or should that be plural, nemeses? I widen my eyes. Seriously, Juliana’s nemesis is right in her face with those constant threats from first cousin, Bobby Taylor. Mine is subconsciously in my face with the ongoing pain I feel regarding the total abandonment by my oldest brother, Peter—his wife being the actual nemesis. Unbelievable.
Nemesis or not, what really bothers me most was hearing Juliana say to Bobby, “You’ll ruin everything.” That’s for sure a loaded sentence, and implies a plan. Maybe even revenge of some kind, considering what was written on the rock.
With a guy like Bobby Taylor lurking around, assuming the worst makes a lot of sense. I still feel protective of Frank, even if he won’t speak to me right this minute. After what happened to my other brother, Peter, fifteen years ago, I’m not taking any chances.
I grab my towel from the handlebars to wipe more sweat off my face. I have another decade of Juliana’s life left to investigate, which will bring her story up to the present, and I embrace the fascinating opportunity to learn more about her transformation from the scrappy Teresa to the refined Juliana. Whatever is going on with Bobby, I can’t help but admire Juliana’s sheer determination to create a better life.
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