If I'd Never Known Your Love
Page 8
The sky behind the Modesto ash in the front yard lit with a flash of lightning. Julia waited for the thunder. Rain fell, gently at first, and then as if the clouds had tilted to drop their contents as quickly as possible.
How could she have not known? The question reverberated like an echo. How could she have felt Evan's presence all those years, when he hadn't been with her anymore?
The answer finally struck, and it was cold and hard and cruel. She'd believed because she had to. Without the fantasy, she could not have done what she had to do.
And in the end, she had succeeded. She had found him.
Julia glanced up as Patty's Mustang pulled into the driveway. Shelly sat in the front passenger seat talking, her face animated, her gestures expansive. She seemed happy, excited, her world as it should be, filled with friends and flights of fancy. She would recover from losing her father—she'd had five years of practice. But she would be changed. She would miss the connection that was part of knowing there was another person in her world who loved her without reservation.
They would have no more conversations about what it would be like when Evan came home. He would never see the trophies she'd won for soccer or the ornaments she'd made for him each Christmas. She would look into the stands at her graduation from high school and college and see her grandfather where her father should have been. And when she walked down the aisle at her wedding, no matter who walked with her it would be the wrong person.
As if she could sense Julia waiting for her, Shelly turned and saw her mother. Her smile faded. She
gathered her books and left the car. After taking a second to wave goodbye, she sprinted toward the house, futilely attempting to outrun the rain.
Julia met her at the door.
"What are you doing here?" Shelly asked. "I thought your plane—"
"The trip was canceled."Julia took Shelly s books and put them on the hall table.
"Then why is Aunt Barbara here?" She shrugged out of her coat. "What's going on?"
Julia had given her children every kind of news and not struggled for words. Now, suddenly, she had no idea what to say. Was there a right way to break someone's heart?
"They found—"
"Daddy?" Shelly finished for her, her eyes brimming with anticipation.
Julia panicked, realizing Shelly completely misunderstood and would suffer the blow twice.
"Where?" Shelly added before Julia could react.
"In the jungle outside Envigado," she said, supplying the wrong answer and allowing the fantasy to live.
"When is he coming home?" She didn't wait for Julia to answer. "Why aren't you happy?"
"He isn't coming home...not to us. At least not the way we wanted him to." She was doing this all wrong. "Your father is dead, Shelly." It sounded so cruel. She should have thought more about how to lessen the blow.
Shelly's jacket fell to the floor. "How do you know?" And then, "How did it happen?"
The question threw Julia. And then she remembered. She couldn't tell Shelly the truth, not after what she'd said that morning about wishing her father had been shot.
Barbara moved into the hall. "He was shot attempting to escape—just a couple of days after he was captured," she added gently, obviously believing she was helping."He's been gone all this time. We should have known your father wouldn't sit around waiting for someone to rescue him."
Shelly stared at Julia, her eyes wide in horror. "That's not true. It can't be. You're making it up." She backed into the wall, trying to get away. "Why would you do that to me? I told you I was sorry."
"This has nothing to do with you." Julia took Shelly's arm. "It's an ugly coincidence.
That's all."
Shelly twisted out of her grasp. "You don't know that," she shouted. "You can't."
"What's going on?" Barbara asked. "What did I do?"
"Nothing," Julia told her, focusing on Shelly.
Shelly let out a wail. She turned to Barbara, a beseeching look in her eyes. "This morning I told Mom...I told her...I wished they'd shot Daddy a long time ago." She brought her hands up in a helpless gesture. "It's my fault."
"Stop it, Shelly," Julia said. "Think about what you're saying. You know that can't possibly be true."
Barbara took her in her arms, casting a helpless look in Julia's direction. "Oh, honey, don't do this to yourself. You only said what all of us have thought at one time or another."
Julia recoiled. In that moment she hated her sister. The idea that Evan's death would bring relief to anyone was almost more than she could bear. She had never, not in her most desperately lonely moments, wished herself free of the effort to bring him home.
She'd been willing to spend the rest of her life waiting. She was still willing.
The phone rang. Barbara glanced toward the kitchen.
"I'll get it," Julia said. She was afraid to say anything to Barbara and wasn't ready to say the words Shelly needed to hear. Until she could, it was better to leave them to each other's care.
The man on the phone was a florist asking where to deliver flowers. She gave him her address and then regretted it. She couldn't face the cloying smell of funeral arrangements or the accompanying trappings of death. It was too soon. She had to have more time.
The doorbell rang. She moved to answer it, when the phone rang again. Momentarily ignoring it, she stepped to the window. Harold and Mary were at the front door, his eyes red and swollen, his shoulders stooped, Mary clutching a casserole dish as if it were a lifeline. A movement at the end of the driveway caught her eye. Oblivious to the extra cars parked out front, Jason and Tom joked and jabbed and moseyed along the walkway up to the house, disregarding the rain.
Julia felt as though she was being parceled out piece by piece to the people who counted on her. She had to find a way to save a part of herself for Evan. What did it matter that she would have nothing left? She had the rest of her life to become whole again.
The plane rattled and creaked and roared as it raced down the runway before lifting with a stomach-lurching leap. After three days in Bogota, Julia was finally headed for home again. Acknowledging she would never return to Colombia, she'd arranged time to see and thank the friends she'd made over the years, the officials who had stuck with her long after everyone else had given up and Matt Coatney, who was there on another hostage negotiation and had unexpectedly knocked on her hotel door late one night. The hardened negotiator sat with his back bowed, his hands on his knees, and fought to keep from breaking down as he talked about the hope he'd had that despite the years that had gone by without hearing from the kidnappers, Evan would one day walk out of the jungle and go home to Julia.
When asked if she felt it would help her to talk to the man who had led police to the grave site, she'd declined at first and then changed her mind. She'd imagined a seasoned man, hard and uncompromising. He was young and terrified. He hadn't witnessed Evan being shot, but he'd dug the grave and heard the story of the attempted escape. At the time he'd been in his early teens, only a year older than Jason was now.
The comparison made it impossible for her to hate him. She'd sought a focus for her anger and instead found herself weighed down by the evidence of a wasted life.
The airplane's wheels thumped into place and they began a slow, banked turn, heading north. Heading home.
Minutes later they cleared the clouds and the plane leveled. A flight attendant arrived, a smile in place. Julia declined the beverage offer and turned to face the window.
She'd imagined flying home with Evan a hundred times, picturing them holding hands, caught up in each other and oblivious to everything and everyone around them.
He would laugh when she told him about the hundreds of carpet samples awaiting him at home, and she would cry when he told her how lonely he'd been without her. They would not be able to stop looking at each other. She pictured her hand on his cheek, the feel of his breath as he touched his lips to hers, a sweet warmth spreading through her body as he whispered that
he loved her.
She wouldn't have to tell him how desperately she had missed him or how hard she had worked to bring him home. He would know this as surely as he knew she would have waited for him forever.
He would gaze at pictures of Shelly and Jason with wonder and surprise at how they'd grown. She would tell him how Jason had broken his arm when he'd tumbled out of the oak tree while reattaching the bird feeder that had fallen in a storm, and how Shelly had scored the winning goal in the district soccer championship.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him beside her, breathing the sharp, clean air of freedom and luxuriating in the comfort of flying first class.
But the reality of accompanying him to the airport that morning, of standing beside the plane as his casket was loaded into the baggage compartment, of the subtle, careful manipulations to keep curious onlookers away, was too powerful to allow her this last, small fantasy.
When they arrived in San Francisco, Evan would be the last to depart the plane. A hearse would take him the final ninety miles to Sacramento and he would spend the night in the mortuary, alone. Two days later they would say their formal goodbyes during the service Barbara had arranged at their parish church.
Everything was in place. There was nothing more for her to do, no magic wand to ease the pain or lessen the sorrow. No way to change that one moment in time when Evan had decided to risk everything to come home to her.
In another week the relatives would be gone, Shelly and Jason would be back in school, Barbara would be back at work and Julia would be doing whatever she could find to fill her day.
And Evan would be in the ground. Alone.
Holding her breath against the pain, Julia reached into her purse and removed the manila envelope the clerk at the pathologist's office had given her. She hadn't been able to bring herself to look inside at the "personal belongings" recovered with Evan—his wallet, his watch, a gift from her on their tenth anniversary, his wedding ring. They'd told her the money and credit cards were missing, but a driver's license and several photographs of her and Shelly and Jason had survived the burial.
She hugged the envelope against her chest. Slow, silent tears slid down her cheeks.
Five Months and Two Weeks Missing
The whole family pitched in to get you through your senior year. I handled the English, my dad math, Mom made you learn way more than you needed to pass civics and challenge German and Fred let you slide in biology until Barbara took over.
Someone in the office decided that since your records were lost, the best thing to do was average your grades over all four years, and you wound up in the top ten percent of the class. Dad nearly burst his buttons at our graduation.
You spent so much time at the house that year that Dad put another bed in Fred's room so you didn't have to sleep on the couch. After being with you all day at school and then all night at home, keeping our promise to my dad was like putting a field mouse in front of a barn cat and telling the cat to play nice.
In January when Dad took you aside and told you that in exchange for dropping the arson charges you were to spend the next four summers in your old neighborhood in Detroit, tutoring disadvantaged kids, I was thrilled that you'd escaped a trial and possible jail time. Of course summer seemed a long time off when there was a blizzard blowing outside and we were still putting away the Christmas decorations.
Graduation was hard on me. All I could think about was that you were leaving in a week and that
for a year you'd be at the community college twenty miles away from the farm, while I'd be at the Uni versity of Kansas, half a state away. To say that I was unhappy was like saying a lead weight didn't float.
The day before you were supposed to leave I got up early and packed a picnic lunch for us. I loaded it and my grandmother's old quilt in the back of the truck, and the minute you came downstairs I grabbed your arm and hauled you out the front door.
As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, I scooted across the seat and snuggled into your side. "Where are we headed?" you asked.
"Someplace no one will find us."
You didn't answer right away. "I don't know, Julia. The way I've been feeling lately I don't think that's such a good idea."
"You're worried about your promise to my dad," I guessed, hoping I was right because it was what I wanted to hear.
"Yes."
"That's over, Evan."
"How do you figure?"
"We said we wouldn't do anything while you were staying at the house. You're leaving tomorrow. What possible harm is one day going to do?"
"He trusts me, Julia. I can't do anything to mess that up."
"And what about me?"
You pulled over to the side of the road, skidded to a stop and turned in the seat, glaring at me. "You don't have a clue. If you did, you could never ask me such a stupid question. Do you really not know how I feel about you? Is this some game to you?"
"I'm sorry." I wasn't, not really, but I couldn't think of anything to say. In all the imagining and planning I'd done getting ready for this day, not once had it happened this way. "I just want to be with you."
"And you imagine I haven't been half out of my mind lately wanting to be with you?
Are you blind?"
That did it. I was in your arms kissing you, and you were kissing me back, and I was feeling heat and yearning in parts of me I hardly knew existed.
A car drove by and the driver honked at us. I looked up and realized it was our neighbor, the woman my mother said didn't need a mouth to spread gossip; it oozed out her pores.
"Where?" you asked.
"What about that sycamore with the nest of raccoons?"
"Behind the wheat field?"
"I heard Dad tell Fred that he was going to town for a meeting at the bank. And there isn't any reason for anyone else to be out there today."
You took my hand and kissed it. I was sure I was ten seconds away from melting into a puddle on the floor. There was no way we could get where we were going fast enough. I wanted you and I didn't want to wait another minute.
"Are you sure about this, Julia?
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes," I shouted.
Still you hesitated. "I don't have anything, any kind of protection."
"I do," I admitted sheepishly. I hadn't been sure how I was going to bring up the fact that I had a condom in my purse, and now I didn't have to. All I knew was that I wasn't going to spend the day with you unprepared for what I desperately wanted to happen.
"Where did you—"
"It's Fred's."
"What?"
"I was putting his laundry away and there it was. Actually, there were lots of them. I only took me. He'll never miss it."
"It was just sitting there in his drawer, where you or your mom could find it?"
"Well, not exactly. I had to do a little looking around."
"How did you know what they were?"
"Oh, please. What do you think I am, some Barbie doll that's been left in its package for seventeen years?"
"I know exactly what you are—all mouth. You're no more experienced at this sex thing than I am."
I was stunned and didn't even try to hide it. "You mean you've never? Not once?"
"Does that bother you?"
"It surprises me, that's all."
"Why?"
"I guess it's because you're a guy. Look at Fred. He's two years younger than you and—"
"You don't really believe he's doing anything where he needs all those condoms, do you?"
"Why have them if you're not going to use them?"
"God—you're such a girl."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Someday I'll tell you about guys. Or at least, I'll try. No promises."
"Why didn't you? I mean, you must have had a hundred girls chasing you when you lived in Detroit."
"Why would you believe that? Look around, Julia. Do you see any girls chasing me here?" He grinned. "Present company excepted."
"So does all this questioning mean you'd prefer someone more experienced your first time?"
"When I went to all the trouble to get this?" I held up the condom.
You laughed. "You realize Fred would kill you if he found out you were going through his things."
I grinned. "Who's going to tell him?" You put your hand on the back of my neck and brought me close for another kiss. "Sure as hell not me."
C H A P T E R 7
Abandoning her futile effort at sleep, Julia got out of bed at the first light of dawn and went outside to watch the sunrise. Six months had passed since she'd brought Evan home and it seemed like yesterday. How many more months would it take for the healing to begin? How many years? Would she live that long?
She stood on the porch and stared at the unfamiliar surroundings, at the lake, the towering pines standing like ghostly sentinels at the edge of the dew- covered grass, at the pier that disappeared into the early-morning fog covering the lake.
At home she had the mindlessness of television
to keep her company when she couldn't sleep. She had hoped books would provide the escape she was looking for, but last night she'd found it no easier to concentrate in the mountains than it had been in the city.
Cold penetrated her knit leggings. She sat on the split-log railing and brought her baggy sweatshirt over her knees. Leaning her back against the porch pillar, she tried to picture Harold and Mary vacationing here, which they told her they'd done every summer when their kids were home but could no longer find the time to do. They'd left unspoken the reason there hadn't been time.
Mary had finally talked her into coming by insisting she would be doing them a favor, even if she only stayed a couple of weeks.