Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1

by Freethy, Barbara

  "Just say it," he ordered.

  "Say what?"

  "Whatever you're thinking, so we can get past it."

  "I think we should look for that negative," she said.

  "You don't want to talk about my mother or what I just told you?" He still couldn't quite believe it. Most women he knew were insanely curious when it came to his personal life.

  "What's important is that you don't want to talk about it," she replied. "I can respect that."

  "Good." He sat down on the edge of a chair and pulled the box over to him. His breath caught in his chest as he saw the photo lying on top of a pile of papers. It wasn't one of his father's famous historical pictures. It was a family portrait taken when they were still a family. At six years old he'd sat between his parents with a happy smile, believing that his life would always be wonderful. Why the hell was he doing this? He didn't want to go back into the past. There was nothing there for him. "I don't need this," he muttered, setting the photo on the table.

  "What is it?" Julia asked, as she picked up the picture. She paused, then said, "You all look so happy."

  "Sometimes pictures do lie, especially when the subjects know they're being photographed. That's why I always try to take candid shots where I can capture the real feelings, the real emotions. None of that phony smile crap."

  "Maybe it wasn't phony at the time," she suggested.

  "Two years after that photo was taken, my parents separated. They would have officially divorced if my father hadn't died in the meantime."

  "I'm sorry, Alex."

  "Yeah, well, it's not a big deal," he replied.

  "I'm surprised you didn't grow closer to your mother after your father died," Julia said. "It was just the two of you."

  "She's the one who split up the family. I was extremely pissed off at her. By the time I wasn't angry anymore, she was dating and planning her second wedding." Alex tossed her a pile of photos and negatives. "Start looking through those."

  For the next hour there was nothing but blessed silence as they both went through the photos, prints, press clippings, negatives, and other assorted papers in the box. "It's not here," Alex said with annoyance. He'd been so sure they would find the negative. "I don't understand it. Everything else is here, including the other negatives from that trip."

  "I guess it was a long shot. In twenty-five years anything could have happened to it." Julia picked up an envelope and her eyes narrowed. "This is weird. It's addressed to Sarah. That was my mother's name."

  A chill ran through him as her gaze met his. Another coincidence? Or a clue?

  "There's nothing in it, though. It's empty," Julia said, shaking out the envelope. "It couldn't have been addressed to my mother, could it?"

  "Of course not."

  "There are probably a million Sarahs in the world. Just like there are millions of matryoshka dolls and swan necklaces." The pitch of Julia's voice grew higher with each word. Finally, she threw the envelope down and stood up. "This is crazy. I have to go," she said shortly.

  "Just like that?"

  "I have things to do. I have a wedding to plan and a fiancé who needs me. And this is just ridiculous," she added, waving her hand in the air in frustration. "We can't find the negative. We can't find anything. And I know who I am. I don't need to do this."

  "I thought you did. I thought you wanted the truth," he reminded her. But he could see the wheels spinning in her head and knew she was talking herself out of the whole idea.

  "No, I don't. I'm just going to forget about it. I'm sorry I dragged you back into the past, Alex. Thanks for your help. But I'm done."

  She grabbed her purse and was at the door before he could get to his feet. He thought about stopping her, but in the end he let her go, because she was running scared, and he couldn't blame her. Looking down at the envelope, he wondered if there was any possible way that his father and Julia's mother were somehow connected. If they were, it wasn't that far of a stretch to link Julia to the photograph. As he stared at the envelope, memories of a dark-haired woman meeting with his father in the square all those years ago flashed into his mind.

  Had that woman been Sarah?

  * * *

  The next day Julia attended Sunday morning Mass surrounded by DeMarcos. They took up almost three rows at St. Mark's Catholic Church. This was her family. This was her place in the world, she thought, as the priest spoke about community. It was almost as if he were speaking directly to her, telling her that the most important thing in the world was to cherish the people around her. The sermon only reinforced her decision to let the matter of the photograph go.

  Seeing her mother's name written on that blank envelope in Alex's apartment had terrified her. She didn't even know if it was the same Sarah, but she had suddenly realized exactly what she was about to do—dismantle everything she knew about herself, her mother, and her past. She couldn't do it, so she'd run. Alex must have thought she was completely nuts. She wondered if he'd continue to look into the photo. He seemed to have his own reasons for wanting to know if the girl was her.

  Well, it didn't matter. She was done. And that was that.

  So why couldn't she stop thinking about it all?

  It wasn't just the picture that kept returning to her mind; it was Alex. She was intrigued by him, more than she should be. He'd told her only the beginning of his story, and she wanted to know the rest of it. She wanted to know more about his relationship with his mother and also with his father. She wanted to know what drove him now to roam the world in search of the perfect photograph, sometimes risking his life in the process.

  But she wouldn't hear the rest of his story, because they had no reason to speak again.

  Maybe it was better this way. She was engaged. Her attention was supposed to be solely on Michael. Even now, he was reaching for her hand, giving it a squeeze, as if he sensed she was drifting away from him and he wanted to pull her back. He was such a good man. She loved him. There was just a tiny, tiny part of her that wasn't sure she was in love with him the way she should be.

  She stood up with the rest of the congregation as the Mass ended, waiting for the priest to walk down the aisle so they could file out of their pews. The solemn, reverent atmosphere immediately became more festive when the DeMarcos hit the sidewalk outside the church and began chatting about anything and everything as they walked the few blocks to her aunt Lucia's house, where they would share their traditional Sunday brunch.

  Julia was happy not to have time for quiet or personal conversation. She knew she should tell Michael that she was giving up the search, but she wasn't quite ready to bring it all up, not with so many people around.

  By the time they entered the house, Lucia's two-story home was already crowded with cousins, aunts, and uncles. A large buffet was set up on the dining room table. The men tended to gather in the living room, usually watching one of the televised football games, while the women put the food out and gossiped about their lives, and the kids played out in the yard or upstairs in the attic, where Lucia's grandchildren had set up a fort.

  Liz grabbed her hand as they paused inside the front door. "Come help me in the kitchen," she said.

  "I'll be back," Julia told Michael. He nodded, already drifting over to the big-screen television set.

  "I haven't had a chance to talk to you since yesterday," Liz said as they walked down the hall to the kitchen. "You were asleep when I got home last night. What have you been doing? Did you find out anything about that doll?"

  "Not really," Julia said evasively.

  "Did you talk to that man again—the photographer's son? What's his name?"

  "Alex Manning. I did speak to him, but—"

  "There you are," Gino said, coming through the kitchen door. "My two girls."

  Julia received a kiss on both cheeks from her father, watching with a smile as he did the same to Lizzie. Gino DeMarco had always been an affectionate and passionate man with a big personality. When he walked into a room, you knew he was the
re. Her mother had been much more restrained, quieter, sometimes overshadowed by Gino's light.

  "I want to talk to you, Julia, about this wedding of yours," Gino said. "Lucia tells me that I have not been paying enough attention, so now I am paying mention," he declared. "What can I do to help? Besides write a check, which of course I am happy to do."

  "Thanks for offering, but at the moment it's all under control."

  "Under control?" Liz echoed. "You haven't done anything yet. And didn't you tell Michael you were postponing the wedding?"

  Gino looked disturbed by that piece of information. "Is something wrong?"

  "No, everything is fine. Can we talk about this later?" Julia asked. She stepped aside as another one of her aunts came out of the kitchen with a large tray of lasagne.

  "I just want it to be the happiest day of your life, as my wedding to your mother was for me," Gino said, his eyes watering, his mouth trembling with emotion.

  Julia blinked back her own tears. At least she knew one thing for sure. The marriage between her mother and this man had been one of love and passion. Whatever else was up in the air, she could hold on to that certainty. Lizzie was called away by their aunt Lucia to take some appetizers out to the living room, which she did reluctantly. Gino surprised Julia by pulling her into one of the bedrooms off the hall.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked him.

  "I know you went to the storage locker yesterday," Gino said, concern drawing lines around his eyes and mouth. "I didn't get a chance to ask you why."

  Julia didn't want to tell him that he'd had the chance; he'd just been too hung over to take it. But she didn't have the energy to deal with his drinking today. For the moment he was sober, and he was waiting for an answer. She wasn't sure what to say. Her decision to leave the past alone began to waver. Maybe if she asked just one question or two...

  "I was hoping to find something in Mom's belongings about the first couple years of my life," she said, not wanting Gino to think she was looking for her real father. That wasn't the case, and she didn't want to hurt him. He'd been the only father she'd ever known, and he'd been a good one. Even without the words, though, she saw shadows fill his eyes.

  "Your mother wondered if the day would come when you would ask questions she didn't want to answer."

  "You talked about it?" Julia asked in surprise.

  "Yes, of course."

  "What did she tell you?"

  "Very little, I'm afraid. She said it was too painful to discuss."

  "That's what she told me, too. But I feel a bit lost without any photos of myself as a baby or knowledge of not only who my biological father was, but who my grandparents were. I don't know where my mother grew up or anything about her life before you and me. I don't know what she looked like when she was a young girl. And I find myself really wanting to know."

  "Because she's gone, and it's too late to ask her," Gino said with a touch of insight that she thought he'd lost in the past few months when he'd dulled his brain with alcohol.

  "Maybe that's true," she said, deciding not to tell him about the photo for now. "Do you know anything about her life before she met you, or before she had me?"

  He thought for a moment. "Let's see. I must know something."

  "That's what I thought, too, but then I realized I didn't know much."

  Gino frowned, his eyes reflective. "I know Sarah went to college at Northwestern near Chicago. She said she lived over a coffee shop on University Avenue. That's when she picked up her caffeine habit. She mentioned something about a roommate named..." He pursed his lips as he thought. "What was her name? Jackie? Yes, I think it was Jackie."

  "I thought she went to college in New York," Julia said in surprise. "The only thing she ever told me about her past was that she was born in Buffalo and lived in upstate New York most of her life. She said she came to California after college to visit a friend and never went home."

  "I don't believe it was after college, but much later. Sarah mentioned that she came here for a friend's wedding when you were three years old. She loved it so much she never left. And she said you did much better in the California climate. Something about allergies."

  "I don't have allergies."

  "I guess they improved when you got here."

  "I thought I was born in Berkeley. She said we lived in Berkeley." Julia shook her head in confusion. Why were such simple facts so convoluted?

  "You were living in Berkeley when I met you," Gino said. "That's true."

  But how long had they been in Berkeley? Her mother had married Gino when Julia was four and a half years old. "Tell me again about your first meeting," she said, knowing the story, but wondering if she'd missed something in the details.

  "Sarah brought you into the restaurant. She had met Lucia at a fabric store, in some workshop on draperies or something. They both loved to sew. Lucia told her about the restaurant, so Sarah brought you over one day to see the lobsters. You were a pretty little girl. I think I fell in love with both of you at the same time," he said with a warm, loving smile. "Lucia suggested that I let Sarah make up some new curtains and tablecloths for the cafe. I agreed. Three months later we were married. I thank God Lucia met Sarah and brought her to me. She was my angel." His voice caught, and he wiped his hand across his eyes. "I'd never met a woman who wanted to give up her whole life for me."

  "What do you mean?" Julia asked, struck by his words. "What did she give up?"

  "Well..." He thought for a moment. "She gave up her friends in Berkeley, and when I told her I wanted to have another child and have her stay home, she readily agreed. I don't know if I can explain it, Julia. Sarah just became an integral part of my life. And selfishly I never questioned her devotion or her lack of friends and family away from me. I was happy that we never had any conflicts about where to spend the holidays." He paused, letting out a small sigh. "I know you want to ask me about your biological father."

  "Not because I don't have a terrific father," she assured him. "And it's really not about him—whoever he is. It's about my mother, and my grandparents. I don't even know their names. I don't know if they're still alive or what they did for a living or if they ever wanted to see me. I feel like I should know that much."

  "Henry and Susan Davis," he said abruptly. "Those are your grandparents' names."

  Her heart skipped a beat. "How do you know that?"

  "Sarah told me. I don't really remember why or what we were discussing at the time."

  "But Mom went by the last name of Gregory before she married you. How did she get from Davis to Gregory?"

  Gino stared back at her, puzzlement in his eyes. "I don't know. I suppose I could be wrong. Maybe your grandparents' last name was Gregory and not Davis. I'm not sure, Julia. The important thing is that Sarah's parents disowned her when she got pregnant. That was the end of their relationship, and Sarah was adamant about not having any contact with them. I didn't feel it was my place to press her for more information, and frankly I didn't care who had come before me. As I said, I liked the fact that I had the two of you to myself, that you became DeMarcos in every sense of the word. But I guess that wasn't fair to you."

  Julia didn't know what was fair anymore. But she did know that none of her questions had anything to do with Gino. "You don't have to apologize. I've had a great life. No complaints."

  "Just questions," he said.

  "Yes. Do you remember anything about where Mom and I lived in Berkeley? An address maybe? Or the name of one of her friends?"

  "You lived in a little apartment over a garage. Sarah said she'd only lived there for a month or two. I went there once or twice. I think the street was Fremont or Fairmont. Does that help at all?"

  "It might. At least I know the names of my grandparents. That's something. One last question: I found a Russian doll in the storage locker among Mom's things. Did she ever tell you if she'd traveled to Russia?"

  His eyes widened and he laughed. "Russia? Are you kidding? Your mother hated to trave
l. I'm sure she never left the country."

  "If she had left the country before she met you, she would have had a passport, right? Did you ever see a passport? I didn't find any of Mom's personal papers in the storage locker."

  "I haven't gone through the office things, which are in boxes in my apartment. I don't remember seeing a passport. But your mother paid all the bills and kept track of the paperwork. I left all that to her, so I don't have any idea what's there."

  "Could I take a look sometime?"

  "Sure, whatever you want, Julia. Is that it?"

  He hadn't told her much, but the few details he had shared with her teased at her mind, making her reconsider her plan to stop researching her past.

  "I think we should have some wine, some food, and some good conversation," Gino said when she didn't reply. "Shall we join the others?"

  "Sure."

  As they left the bedroom, they went in opposite directions. Her father headed toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, while Julia joined Michael at the end of the buffet line in the dining room.

  "Everything okay?" Michael asked, putting his arm around her shoulders. "You disappeared for a while."

  "I was talking to Dad."

  "About his drinking?"

  Julia felt a spark of guilt at the question. She probably should have been talking to him about his drinking, but she'd been too caught up in her own problems. "We didn't get to that," she muttered.

  "He's still grieving over your mother. I'm sure he'll slow down soon."

  "I hope so."

  "I have an idea. How about a sail this afternoon?" Michael asked, an inviting smile on his face. "It's a beautiful day."

  "I have to work. You know that. One to three every Sunday," she reminded him.

  Irritation flashed through his eyes. "I wish you'd get rid of that shift. It would be nice to spend more time together on the weekends."

  She'd heard him make that comment before. While she appreciated the fact that he wanted to spend time with her, he didn't seem to understand how important her job was to her. "I'm lucky I can host my own show on the weekends, Michael. I get bigger audience numbers than when I host the ten-to-midnight weekday shows. Besides, I thought you were running a charter today."