Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1

by Freethy, Barbara

  "Not until sunset. You could join me for that. You'll be done with your show by then."

  "It's a possibility," she said tentatively. She didn't mind sailing, but it wasn't her first choice of things to do, especially when Michael was running a charter. She usually felt like the odd man out and spent most of her time wishing she'd stayed home and gotten caught up on her bills, her laundry, and the other details of her life.

  "Julia," Liz interrupted, holding out Julia's cell phone. "I heard it ringing in your purse. He said it was important."

  Julia took the phone from Liz, noting the frown on her sister's face. "Hello," she said, moving away from Michael as she did so.

  "Julia, it's Alex. Something's come up. We need to talk."

  "I told you I was done." She walked into the living room, casting a quick look behind her to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. Fortunately, Liz was talking to Michael, diverting his attention from her.

  "I just got a call from a newspaper reporter," Alex continued. "Apparently my mother told her that I'd found the world's most famous orphan. And she gave her your name."

  "What?" Julia asked in shock. "Are you kidding me? Why would she do that?"

  "Obviously to generate publicity for the exhibit. The reporter just called me. I tried to persuade her that my mother was wrong, but this woman is very persistent. I'm sure she's going to track you down. And I wanted you to be ready."

  "Great. What am I supposed to tell her?"

  "That's up to you."

  "Dammit, Alex, how could your mother do this to me?"

  "It wasn't about you. It was about what she wanted. It's always about that. I told you she's manipulative."

  Julia heard the bitter note in his voice, but at the moment she was too wound up to respond to it, too focused on what this meant for her and her family. "I'm not going to talk to a reporter about that photo."

  "You may not have a choice."

  Julia saw Michael waving at her from the dining room. "I can't talk right now. I'll call you later." She ended the call, forced a smile on her face and went back to join him.

  "Who was that?"

  She licked her lips, not wanting to lie to him, but liking the idea of telling him the truth even less. "Just a friend," she said evasively. "It wasn't important."

  "Liz seemed to think it was." His eyes narrowed. "Was it the guy you were talking to Friday night outside the restaurant? The photographer?"

  "Yes," she said.

  A hard glint entered Michael's brown eyes. "He's not a wedding photographer, is he?"

  She had no choice but to answer honestly. "No, he's the son of the man who took the photo that I saw at the museum."

  "Julia." His voice was filled with disappointment. "I can't believe you're still thinking about that."

  "I'm sorry. I was going to stop, Michael. I was planning to tell you that today, but Alex said that a reporter has gotten wind of it and wants to talk to me."

  "A reporter? Are you out of your mind?" he asked in amazement. "You're taking this to the press? You're going to kill your sister and the rest of your family. Do you know that?"

  "It was never my plan to take it to the press, but I have to figure out what to do now that it's already there. This reporter thinks I'm that girl in the picture."

  Michael shook his head, a tense line to his lips. "You tell them you're not that girl and that's the end of the story."

  "Do you think they'll believe me?"

  "Why wouldn't they? It's as crazy an idea as I've ever heard. Do you honestly think you and your mother were living in Russia when you were a baby? Don't you think she would have told you about that? I know you have a big imagination, but even you must admit that this is absurd. You're grasping at straws, Julia, and I know why."

  "Why?" she asked, almost scared to hear his answer.

  "You want a reason to postpone the wedding. That's it, isn't it?"

  Chapter Six

  "Why did you do it?" Alex asked as he faced his mother late Sunday afternoon. Unable to get her on the phone, he'd come to her house. He'd found her sitting calmly in her living room, sipping a glass of red wine and addressing invitations for a party she was hosting in a few weeks. "Why did you tell the reporter that Julia was the girl in the photograph?"

  "You told me to find an angle, and I did," she said, no apology in her voice.

  "You used an innocent woman to generate publicity for yourself."

  "For the exhibit," she corrected. "For your father's work and for yours. If you'd come with me to the interview, I wouldn't have had to bring up Julia's name." She settled back against the white cushions of her couch. "Now, why don't you tell me where Julia DeMarco came from?"

  "I'm not going to tell you anything. You obviously can't be trusted."

  "Oh, please," she said with a careless wave of her hand. "I didn't do anything wrong. Maybe I jumped the gun a bit, but it's obvious you think Julia is that girl, or you wouldn't have come here looking for the negative to that picture."

  Alex stared at his mother, amazed at her brash confidence, her belief that she could do no wrong. She was so focused on her own life, her own goals, that she couldn't see anyone else. Nor apparently could she see the potential consequences of her actions.

  "You told me to drop this," he reminded her. "Just yesterday morning we had a discussion about whether or not I should be looking into anything connected with the Moscow trip. You even suggested the possibility that Dad's accident was not an accident." He paused, giving his words a moment to sink in. "So how do you explain why you suddenly decided to publicize a picture taken during that last trip? Did you consider the possibility that Dad's accident and that trip, maybe even that picture, were somehow connected?"

  His mother's expression faltered at his question, and her hand was noticeably shaky as she set down her glass of wine on the coffee table. "I—I didn't think about your father's accident being tied to that photo. Why would I?"

  "Because you suggested it yesterday," he said in angry frustration. "You're the one who put the idea in my head."

  She stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know what I think about your father's accident. And I didn't plan on telling the reporter about Julia. It's just that Christine appeared so bored when you didn't show up. She kept checking her watch and didn't seem to be paying any attention to me. I wasn't sure she'd write even one line about the exhibit. I knew I needed to catch her interest, and Julia's face was fresh in my mind. It just came out."

  "That's the problem, Mother. You never think before you speak."

  "How would you know, Alex? You barely spend any time with me," she snapped. "And you act like I was trying to hurt you. I just wanted to get the most publicity I could get for the exhibit. It's not only for me, Alex. It's for you, too. Don't you want the world to know about your father's work?"

  "You should have gone into politics. You always know how to spin things. But you shouldn't have done this," he said, seeing a flash of guilt in her eyes. "And you know it."

  "I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn. But I'm sure you can fix it. Just set up a meeting with Christine Delaney. Convince her I was wrong and give her something else to write about. She was really interested in you, and she's a single, attractive woman. I'm sure you can charm her into another story."

  "You don't have any moral boundaries, do you?"

  "I didn't say sleep with her; I said charm her. Honestly, Alex, you make such a big deal out of nothing. You're so self-righteous and judgmental, just like your father. The rest of us aren't good enough for you." She picked up her wine and took another sip. "It's not as if you haven't broken the rules before. When it's what you want, like the perfect photograph, it's a different story. Then you'll do whatever it takes. When I ask you to bend a little, you act like I just told you to kill someone."

  It bothered him that there was some truth in what she said. It wasn't as if he hadn't played fast and loose with the rules before. But this was different.

  "What happened
with the negative?" she asked, changing the subject. "Did you find it? Were you able to see the full picture?"

  "I didn't find the negative. It must have been destroyed."

  "What are you going to do next?"

  "I'm going to check with Joe and Stan to see if the negative could still be at the magazine."

  She nodded. "If there's anything I can do to make this better, I will. And I promise not to speak out of turn again. If you'd like me to call Christine, I will. I'll tell her I was wrong."

  "No, I'll do it," he said. He didn't want his mother to get any more involved in the matter.

  "Fine. Whatever you want."

  He stood up, then paused, thinking about the envelope with the name Sarah on it. His instincts told him not to share any further information with his mother; then again, who else did he have to ask? "You mentioned something about another woman in Dad's life," he said slowly. "Did you ever have anything more concrete than a suspicion? Like a name?"

  "Sarah," she said immediately, her mouth drawing into a tight line. "He used to talk to someone named Sarah on the phone late at night. Whenever I came into the room, he'd hang up. But sometimes I'd listen outside the door, and I'd hear him laughing or whispering."

  A wave of uneasiness swept through him at that piece of information. "Do you know Sarah's last name?"

  She gave a quick shake of her head. "I asked Charles, but he never answered me. He said she was an old friend, and I was paranoid. He always said I was paranoid, but I wasn't, Alex. I knew something was off with him before we separated. I knew he was lying to me. He was too evasive, too distracted, too secretive. When I asked him to trust me enough to tell me the truth, he couldn't. That's when I told him I wanted a divorce. It wasn't because I didn't love him. It was because I loved him too much."

  Alex didn't want to get into a discussion of his parents' marriage. His own memory was not one of love, but of bitter discord about everything and anything. They'd fought, yelled, screamed at each other. Then his father would slink into the shadows, and his mother would slam her bedroom door. He had often wondered how they'd ever gotten together in the first place. But he had to admit he'd put the blame on his mother more than his father. He'd heard her yelling, but he'd never seen evidence of his father's secrecy.

  "There are always two sides, Alex," she said softly now. "To every story."

  He looked into her eyes, searching for truth and honesty, but deep down inside he still didn't trust her not to be exaggerating or even lying about the past. "I've got to run," he said. "Just don't talk to anyone else about Julia or that photo, all right?"

  "Does this mean you won't be leaving town anytime soon?"

  "Not until I get to the bottom of this mystery."

  "Are you personally interested in Julia?"

  "I barely know her," he prevaricated.

  "She's a beautiful woman."

  She was beautiful, and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since she'd showed up at his door on Friday. But he didn't intend to share that with his mother.

  "You always loved that photo," Kate said with a speculative glint in her eye. "I caught you staring at it more than once after your father died. That little girl—she called out to you in some way."

  "Because I didn't know why she was so important. And I still don't. But I'm going to find out."

  The violin solo playing through her headphones was hauntingly beautiful, meant to soothe and relax. The tension in Julia's neck and shoulders had just begun to ease when the phone on her desk rang yet again. Since she'd returned home from her afternoon radio show, the phone had been ringing every fifteen minutes. It was always the same person, Christine Delaney, a reporter with the Tribune, who asked her to call back as soon as possible. She had no intention of calling her back. What would she say?

  Julia slipped off her headphones in time to hear Christine's voice on the answering machine. She glanced away from the offending phone to meet Liz's annoyed glare. Her sister, wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt, sat with her bare feet propped up on the coffee table, a bowl of ice cream on her lap, the television blaring reruns of Seinfeld.

  "She's not going to stop calling until you call her back," Liz said, as she muted the television. "This is really annoying."

  "And I should tell her what?"

  "That you're not that girl."

  "I need proof."

  "Is that what you're looking for on the Internet?"

  Julia stared at the computer screen in front of her. That's exactly what she was doing. She'd put in the few small clues her father had given her, hoping that somewhere there might be some information she could tie back to her mother.

  Liz set her bowl down on the table, got up, and crossed the room to peer over Julia's shoulder. "You're looking at obituaries?" she asked with surprise. "Who do you think died?"

  "My grandparents, maybe. I know they lived in Buffalo. And their last name was Davis. Henry and Susan Davis."

  "Have you found anything?"

  "I think so. Maybe." Julia pointed to the screen, to the name Henry Davidson. "It's not Davis, but it's close, and the first names are the same."

  "Mom's maiden name was Gregory."

  "I know that's what she told us, but Dad said he believed her parents' names were Henry and Susan Davis. He never asked why the names were different."

  "What does the paper say?"

  " 'Henry Davidson, age eighty-one, native of Buffalo, died after a long illness. He is survived by his wife, Susan.' It goes on to talk about his work as an engineer, his marriage of fifty-nine years, and his charity endeavors. There's nothing about a daughter."

  "Then it can't be the same family."

  Julia looked at Liz and saw nothing but skepticism in her brown eyes. "You think I'm making too big of a leap?"

  "Yes. Susan and Henry aren't unusual names. Their last name was Davidson, not Davis, and there's no mention of a daughter named Sarah."

  As Julia listened to Liz compute the facts, she was acutely aware of how different they were. Liz saw the negatives. Julia saw the possibilities. Even now, she had butterflies racing through her stomach at the thought of having located her grandparents. Maybe the facts didn't add up exactly right, but her instincts told her she was onto something. "You're overlooking some important points," she argued. "They live in Buffalo, same city, same names. The ages are right. I think it's worth looking into."

  "What else did Dad tell you today?" Liz asked. She cleared a corner of the desk and sat down on it.

  "He said Mom went to Northwestern University. He mentioned a roommate named Jackie. They lived on University Avenue, over a coffeehouse."

  "Mom always did love her coffee," Liz said with a wistful note in her voice. "I never had to set my alarm. I woke up to the sound of the coffeemaker beeping every morning at seven a.m. She said she couldn't talk until she had her morning coffee." She let out a sigh, then said, "But I don't see how any of that information is going to help you."

  "At least I know where she went to college. For some reason, I always thought she went to Berkeley—I guess because we were living there when she met Dad. He said he only went to our apartment twice. He couldn't remember the address, just the street name, Fairmont or Fremont. I found both streets in the city, but they're long, seven to ten blocks each. If I went house to house, it could take me months to find anyone who remembers a tenant from twenty-five years ago. I have nothing but crumbs to go on." As she finished speaking, Julia felt depressed. Liz was right. She had no useful information to go on, except maybe the obituary. If she tracked down Susan Davidson, she could at least close that door or find a new way into her mother's past. "I wonder if I could get Susan Davidson's address on the Internet," she muttered, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

  "And if you find her, what will you say?" Liz asked.

  "I'll deal with that moment when I get to it."

  "Look, Julia, what's really going to change if you find your grandmother?" Liz asked. "Nothing, that's what. You'll
still be you, and she'll still be the woman who turned her back on our mother. What on earth would you want to say to her?"

  Julia stopped typing to look at her sister. "I don't know what I'd say to her. But she's not just my grandmother, Liz. She's yours, too."

  Liz appeared taken aback, as if that thought had never occurred to her. "I—I guess you're right," she said slowly. "I think of Nonna as my grandma."

  "Well, you may have another grandmother. Aren't you at all curious about Mom's background?"

  A moment passed before Liz shook her head. "No, I'm not curious. I don't need another grandmother. We have a huge family, Julia, with more occasions and dinners and lunches than I even want to attend. I don't feel like I'm missing anything, and I don't understand why you do." She put up a hand as Julia started to answer. "I know, I know. You have a bigger hole to fill than I do, because you weren't raised by your biological father. But even if our positions were reversed, I don't think I'd feel the same way. We had a great life. And it seems wrong to do this now that Mom's gone and Dad's upset. It's like a slap in the face to him. Mom dies and you have to find your real father."

  But that wasn't what she was doing. She wasn't looking for her father at all. She was looking for her mother, for their past, the one they'd shared in the four years before Sarah had married Gino. She wasn't trying to slap her father in the face or make him feel like he'd done a bad job, but she could certainly understand why Liz or even her father might see things differently.

  "I spoke to Michael after you left for work today," Liz said, breaking the lengthening silence between them. "He's trying to be patient, but he waited through Mom's illness, the funeral, giving you time to grieve, and now this. How can you ask him to put your relationship on hold again?"

  Julia didn't know how to answer. Everything Liz said was true. Michael had been patient. He had waited for her. But was it so unfair to take a couple of days to look into a picture that was bothering her? "Michael and I have the rest of our lives to be together. I'm only asking for a little time," she said. "I haven't even canceled our wedding date yet. It's been two days since I saw that photograph. Can I just have a few minutes to figure out if it should be important to me?"