by Nora Roberts
Julia waited while Eve shakily poured more wine. “I understand. I think I do,” she corrected herself. “I never told my parents the name of Brandon’s father for much the same reason. I couldn’t stand the idea that the only reason he would be with me was because of a child conceived by accident.”
Eve took one sip, then another. “The child was inside me, and I felt, always will feel, the choice was mine. I ached to tell him, to share it with him even for one day. But it would have been worse than a lie. I decided to go back to France. Travers was to go with me. I couldn’t ask Gloria, couldn’t even tell her when she was so cozily picking out names and knitting booties.”
“Eve, you don’t have to explain to me. I know.”
“Yes, you would. Only a woman who had had to face that same choice would. Travers …” Eve fumbled with a match, then sat back gratefully when Julia lit it for her. “Travers understood as well.” She blew out a stream of smoke. “She had a child, yet, at the same time, could never really have him. So, with Travers, I went back to France.”
Nothing had ever seemed so cold, so without hope as the plain white walls of that examining room. The doctor had a gentle voice, gentle hands, gentle eyes. None of it mattered. Eve suffered through the required physical, dully answered all the necessary questions. She never took her eyes from that plain white wall.
That was what her life was like. Blank and empty. No one would believe that, of course. Not of Eve Benedict, star, movie goddess, the woman men craved and women envied. How could anyone understand that she would have given anything, at this single moment of her life, to be ordinary? The ordinary wife of an ordinary man having an ordinary child?
Because she was Eve Benedict, because the father was Victor Flannigan, the child could not be ordinary. The child could not even be.
She didn’t want to wonder if it would have been a boy or girl. Yet she did. She couldn’t afford to imagine what it would look like if she allowed those cells to grow, expand, become. Yet all too often she did imagine. And the child would have Victor’s eyes. She would nearly collapse with love and longing.
There could be no love here, and certainly no longing.
She sat, listening as the doctor explained the simplicity of the procedure, as he promised little pain in his soft, soothing voice. She tasted her own tears as one slipped down her cheek and through her lips.
It was foolish, unproductive, this emotion. Other women had faced this same crossroads, and traveled it. If there was regret, she could live with it. As long as she knew the choice was the right one.
She didn’t speak when the nurse came in to prep her. More gentle, competent hands, more quiet words of reassurance. Eve shuddered to think of the women without her funds and resources. Her sisters whose only solution to an impossible pregnancy was some shadowy back room.
She lay quietly on the gurney, felt only the quick sting of the needle. To relax her, she was told.
They wheeled her out. She watched the ceiling. In moments she would be in surgery. Then, in less time than it takes to talk about it, she would be out again, recuperating in one of the charming private rooms looking out on the distant mountains.
And she remembered the way Gloria had looked when she’d thrown her arm over her eyes.
Eve shook her head. The drug was making her sleepy, floaty, fanciful. She thought she could hear a baby crying. But that couldn’t be. Her baby wasn’t really a baby yet at all. And never would be.
She saw the doctor’s eyes, those soft, sympathetic eyes over his surgical mask. She reached out for his hand, but couldn’t feel it.
“Please … I can’t … I want this baby.”
When she awakened, she was in bed, in one of those pretty rooms with the sun shooting slants of light through the blinds. She saw Travers sitting in the chair beside her. Though Eve made no sound, she was able to reach out.
“It’s all right,” Travers said, taking her hand. “You stopped them in time.”
“You had the baby,” Julia whispered.
“It was Victor’s child, conceived in love. Rare and precious. And, as they wheeled me down that corridor, I realized what had been right for Gloria wasn’t right for me. I’m not sure, if I hadn’t gone through that with her, I’d have been able to make the right choice for myself.”
“How did you have the child and keep it secret all these years?”
“Once I made the decision to bring the pregnancy to term, I made plans. I came back to the States, but to New York. I managed to interest some people into casting me in a Broadway play. It took time to find the right script, the right director and cast. And time was what I needed. When I was six months along, and no longer able to conceal my condition easily, I went to Switzerland, to a chateau I had had my lawyers buy. I lived there, with Travers, as Madame Constantine. Essentially, I disappeared for three months. Victor went wild trying to find me, but I lived quietly. At the end of my eighth month, I checked into a private hospital, this time as Ellen Van Dyke. The doctors were concerned. In those days it wasn’t usual for a woman to have her first child at that age.”
And alone, Julia thought. “Was it difficult, the pregnancy?”
“Tiring,” Eve answered with a smile. “And difficult, yes, because I wanted Victor with me and couldn’t have him. There were some complications. I didn’t find out until a few years later that this would be my only child. I wouldn’t be able to conceive again.” She shook that aside. “Two weeks before my due date, I went into labor. A relatively short one, I was told, for a first baby. Only ten hours. It felt like ten days.”
As women were over the pain and fears of childbirth, Julia was able to laugh. “I know. I was thirteen with Brandon. It felt like the rest of my life.” Their eyes met over the flickering candles. “And the baby?”
“The baby was small, barely six pounds. Beautiful, the most beautiful thing. Pink and perfect, with big wise eyes. They let me hold her for a little while. That life that had grown in me. She slept, and I watched her sleep. I’ve never ached for Victor before or since as much as I did during that single hour of my life.”
“I know.” She covered Eve’s hand with hers. “I wasn’t in love with Lincoln. Not by the time Brandon was born, but I wanted him there. Needed him there. As wonderful as my parents were through it all, it wasn’t the same. I’m glad you had Travers.”
“I would have been lost without her.”
“Can you tell me what happened to the baby?”
Eve stared down at their joined hands. “I had three weeks left in Switzerland, and then I was to go back and begin rehearsal on Madam Requests. I left the hospital and the child, because I felt it was best to sever the contact quickly. Best for me. My lawyers had several applications from prospective adoptive parents, and I screened them myself. I demanded that much control. Julia, I loved that child. I wanted the best for her.”
“Of course you did. I can only imagine how much you suffered, giving her up.”
“It was like dying. But I knew she was never going to be my child. My only choice was to make certain she had the best possible start. I chose her parents myself, and over the years, over my lawyers’ disapproval, I had them send me reports on her progress.”
“Oh, Eve, you could only have prolonged your own pain that way.”
“No, no.” The denial snapped out, urgent. “It reaffirmed that I’d done the right thing. She was everything I could have hoped. Bright and beautiful, strong, loving. She was much too young when she went through a similar kind of pain.” Eve turned her hand over, gripping Julia’s fingers with hers. “But she never buckled under. I’ve had no right to bring her back into my life. But just as I put her out of it, I’ve had no choice.”
It wasn’t the words so much as the look in Eve’s eyes that had the breath backing up in Julia’s lungs. They were hungry, fearful, and clear as glass. Instinctively she tried to jerk her hand free, but Eve held tight.
“Eve, you’re hurting me.”
“That’s not what I
want to do. But I have to.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“I asked you to come here, to tell my story, because no one has more of a right to hear it than you.” Her eyes held Julia’s as unrelentingly as her hand. “You’re my child, Julia. My only child.”
“I don’t believe you.” She did jerk free now, scrambling up so quickly she sent the chair flying back. “What a despicable thing to try to do.”
“You do believe me.”
“No. No, I don’t.” She backed away another foot, raking both hands through her hair. She had to fight for each breath, fight it past the bitter anger in her throat. “How can you do this? How can you take advantage of me this way? You know I was adopted. You’ve made this all up, all of it, just to manipulate me.”
“You know better than that.” Eve got slowly to her feet, bracing one hand against the table for support. Her knees were shaking. “You know this is the truth.” Their eyes met, held. “Because you feel it, you see it. I have proof if you need it. The hospitals records, the adoption documents, the correspondence with my attorneys. But you already know the truth. Julia …” She reached out, her own eyes filling as she watched her daughter’s overflow.
“Don’t touch me!” Julia screamed it, then closed her hands over her mouth because she was afraid she would go on screaming.
“Darling, please understand. I didn’t do this, any of this to hurt you.”
“Why then? Why?” Emotion after emotion layered inside until she thought she would explode from the weight of them. This woman, this woman who months before had been only a face on the screen, a name in a magazine, was her mother? Even as she wanted to shout out the denial, she looked at Eve, caught in a tower of moonlight, and knew. “You brought me here, involved me with your life, you played games with me, with everyone—”
“I needed you.”
“You needed.” Julia’s voice slashed through Eve’s like a blade. “You? The hell with you.” Blind with grief, she shoved the table, sending it teetering over on its sides. Crystal and china shattered. “Goddamn you. Do you think I should care? Do you expect me to run and embrace you? Do you think I should suddenly have this burst of love?” She dashed the tears from her face while Eve stood silent. “I don’t. I detest you, I hate you for telling me, for everything. I swear I could kill you for telling me. Get out of here!” She whirled on Nina and Travers as they raced out of the house. “Get the hell out. This has nothing to do with you.”
“Get back inside,” Eve said quietly without looking at them. “Go back, please. This is between Julia and me.”
“There’s nothing between you and me,” Julia managed to get out as a sob welled up in her throat. “Nothing.”
“All I want is a chance, Julia.”
“You had it,” she snapped back. “Should I thank you for not going through with the abortion? Okay, thanks a lot. But my gratitude ends with the moment you signed the papers that gave me away. And why? Because I was inconvenient to your life-style. Because I was a mistake, an accident. That’s all we are to each other, Eve. A mutual mistake.” Tears choked her voice, but she pushed through them. “I had a mother who loved me. You could never replace her. And I’ll never forgive you for telling me something I never wanted, never needed to know.”
“I loved you too,” Eve said with as much dignity as she could muster.
“That’s just one more lie in a series of them. Stay away from me,” she warned when Eve stepped forward again. “I don’t know what I might do if you don’t stay away from me.” She turned, fleeing into the garden, running away from the past.
Eve could only cover her face with her hands, rocking back and forth against the pain. She went limply, like a child, when Travers came to lead her inside.
Julia couldn’t run from the anger, or the fear, or from the sense of loss and betrayal. As she rushed through the patchy moonlight, she carried all those things with her, along with a grief and confusion that swam sickly inside her stomach. Eve.
She could still she Eve’s face, those dark, fiercely intense eyes, the wide, unsmiling mouth. On a gasping sob, Julia brought her fingers to her own lips. Oh, God, oh God, the same shape, the same overful bottom lip. Her fingers shook as she balled them into a fist and kept running.
She didn’t notice Lyle standing on the narrow balcony over the garage, binoculars hanging around his neck, a pleased grin on his face.
She burst onto the terrace, her fisted hand pressed against her jittery stomach. Damp, her hand fumbled with the door before she cursed it, kicked it, then fought with the knob again. From inside, Paul swung it open, then caught her neatly by the elbows as she stumbled in.
“Whoa.” He gave a quick laugh as he steadied her. “You must have missed me—” He cut himself off when he realized she was shaking. Tipping her head back by the chin, he saw the stricken look on her face. “What is it? Did something happen to Eve?”
“No.” The lost, helpless expression changed to fury. “Eve’s just fine, just fine and dandy. Why shouldn’t she be? She’s pushing all the buttons.” She tried to jerk away, but he held firm. “Let me go, Paul.”
“As soon as you tell me what’s got you all worked up. Come on.” He nudged her back outside. “You look like you could use some air.”
“Brandon—”
“Is sound asleep. Since his room’s on the other side of the house, I don’t think anything you have to say out here will bother him. Why don’t you sit down?”
“Because I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to be held or soothed or patted on the head. I want you to let me go.”
He released her, holding his hands up, palms out. “Done. What else can I do for you?”
“Don’t use that wry British tone. I’m not in the mood for it.”
“All right, Jules.” He rested a hip on the table. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I could kill her.” She whipped up and down the patio, crossing from light into shadow then back into light. As she turned, she ripped one of the showy pink geraniums from its stem and shredded the blossom. The velvety shreds fluttered to the ground to be crushed and torn under her feet. “This whole thing, all of it, has been one of her famous maneuvers. Bringing me out here, taking me into her confidence, making me trust her—care for her. And she was sure—so fucking sure I’d fall right into the trap. Do you suppose she thought I’d be grateful, honored, flattered to be linked to her this way?”
He watched her throw the mangled stem aside. “I can’t really say how she thought you’d feel. If you’d care to fill me in?”
She tossed up her head. For a moment she’d forgotten he was there. He stood, lazily leaning against the table, watching. Observing. They had that in common, she thought bitterly. There were those who stood and watched, recorded, reported, carefully noting how others lived, how they felt, what they said as they were tugged through life by fate’s wily fingers. Only this time she was the one being manipulated.
“You knew.” A fresh wave of rage crested inside her. “All this time, you knew. She never keeps anything from you. And you stood by and watched, waited, knowing she would do this to me. What role did she cast you in, Paul? The hero who calmly picks up the pieces?”
His patience was wearing thin. He pushed himself away from the table to face her. “I can’t confirm or deny until you tell me what it is I’m supposed to have known.”
“That she’s my mother.” Julia flung the words at him, tasting each bitter syllable on her tongue. “That Eve Benedict is my mother.”
He hadn’t even been aware of moving, but his hands had shot out to grip her arms. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“She told me tonight.” She didn’t jerk away. Instead, she grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and leaned into him. “She must have thought it was time for a mother-daughter chat. It’s been only twenty-eight years.”
He gave her a quick, rough shake. Hysteria was rising in her voice, and he preferred the rage. “Told you what? T
old you exactly what?”
Her head came up slowly. Though her grip on his shirt didn’t lessen, she spoke calmly, clearly, as if explaining a particularly complex problem to a slow-witted child. “That twenty-eight years ago she gave birth, secretly, to a child in Switzerland. And having no place for that sort of inconvenience, gave the child away. Me. She gave me away.”
He would have laughed the thought aside if it hadn’t been for the desolation in her eyes. Her eyes … not the color, but the shape. Very slowly, he moved his hands up into her hair. Not the shade, but the texture. Her lips trembled. And the mouth …
“Good Christ.” Still holding her, he stared at her face as if he’d never seen it before. Perhaps he hadn’t, he realized. How else could he have missed the similarities? Oh, they were subtle, but they were there. How could he have loved both of them, and not have seen, not have known? “She told you this herself?”
“Yes, though I wonder she didn’t have Nina jot it down in a memo. ‘Tell Julia the secret of her birth over dinner. Eight o’clock.’ ” She broke away then, turned her back on him. “Oh, I hate her for this. Hate her for what she’s stolen from me.” She whirled back, her hair flying out, then settling in a tangle on her shoulders. The trembling was past so that she stood spear-straight in the cool white light of the moon while emotions rolled off her like sweat. “My life, every moment of my life, changed in the flash of an instant. How can anything be the same again?”
There were no answers. He was still reeling, fighting to take in the single fact she’d shoved at him. The woman he’d loved most of his life was the mother of the woman he wanted to love for the rest of it. “You’re going to have to give me a minute to take this in. I think I know how you must be feeling, but—”
“No.” The word erupted from her. Indeed, everything about her was hot, on the point of boiling over. Her eyes, her voice, the fists held rigidly at her sides. “You couldn’t even come close. There were times as a child I wondered. It’s only natural, isn’t it? Who were they, those people who hadn’t wanted me? Why had they given me up? What did they look like, sound like? I made up stories—that they had loved each other desperately, but he’d been killed and left her destitute and alone. Or that she’d died in childbirth before he could come back and save her, and me. Lots of sweet, fanciful little stories. But I left them behind, because my parents …” She lifted her hand to cover her eyes for a moment as the pain ripped through her. “They loved me, they wanted me. Being adopted wasn’t something I thought about often. In fact, I’d forget about it for long stretches of time because my life was so normal. But then it would hit me again. When I was carrying Brandon, I wondered if she’d been scared, like I was. Sad, and scared and lonely.”