Family Secrets

by Nancy Thayer

  “I never want to say anything about it to Mom and Dad. I owe them so much. But, Julia, all my life, I’ve promised myself I’d have a lot of children. Not just one. Even more than two. I used to daydream about it. I want to have two of my own, and adopt two.” Sam paused, then continued, his words coming out in a rush, “And that wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “Why not?” Julia sat up facing Sam, her legs tucked against his chest. She pulled a blanket up over her shoulders for warmth.

  “Because that’s not all. The other part is, I don’t want my kids raised by babysitters. I’m really serious about that.”

  “That’s what I want, too, Sam.”

  “You do?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

  “I want to stay home with my children. I’ve always wanted that. Remember when I was in the hospital with spinal meningitis?” Even now her heart thudded at the memory. “I swore I’d never let a child of mine go through something like that without me.”

  “Your dad was there.”

  “That wasn’t the same. Maybe for some people it is, but it wasn’t for me. I was eight years old. My mother was like a goddess to me. I felt safe when I was with her.” Julia shivered and changed positions so that she could cuddle against Sam, burrowing her head against his chest. The strong beat of his heart against her ear steadied her. “No, never,” she declared. “I’ll never go away from my children until they’re old.”

  “What about your restaurant?”

  “What restaurant?”

  “You’ve always said you were going to have your own restaurant. Remember how you used to fix up a restaurant in your garage and serve fancy meals to me and Chase?”

  “Graham cracker à la mode.” Julia smiled, remembering.

  “You made really good Triscuit-and-melted-cheese pizzas.”

  Julia laughed, then grew sober. “My mother hated it when I served you and Chase. ‘Don’t wait on them! Let them wait on themselves. You haven’t been put on earth to serve males.’ Oh, God. She got so mad.”

  “My mom, too. She’ll be furious if you marry me and stay home with the children.”

  “Our mothers are a lot alike. They’re both ambitious. They’re both successful—”

  “See?” Sam interrupted her, squeezing her shoulder as he made his point. “Just the way you said that—‘they’re both successful.’ Will you think you’re not successful if you don’t have a career? If you’re just my wife, if you just raise our kids?”

  “Of course I won’t. I mean, I won’t just raise kids and die like a bug or some kind of lower form of life. I can always start a restaurant or something when I’m older.” She drew her fingers along Sam’s arm, thinking. After a while, she said, “I want a lot of children, too, Sam. And I want to stay home with them.” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t want to have them yet.”

  “God, I don’t either!” Sam nearly leaped from the bed. “I didn’t mean that I wanted children now. That’s why I got so upset this afternoon. Seeing those children. Julia, I want to be with you, and I want to have children with you, but not yet.”

  “So we won’t have children right away. We can just be together. I can work. I can save money for us, for the future.”

  “Next year I’ll start grad school. I hope I get into Johns Hopkins. Or Stanford.”

  “I could go with you.”

  Sam pulled Julia against him in a one-armed hug. “I like the thought of living with you instead of in some boring dorm, eating cafeteria mush and sleeping by myself.”

  “It would be fun to live somewhere else, someplace really different. I’ve never been to California. Or to Maryland, for that matter. My parents have taken me to Europe, but I’ve never seen the rest of the United States.”

  “You could go with me when I look at the schools and interview.”

  “If you go to Stanford, we could take trips to Mexico. Tequila, señor.”

  “Your parents will be pissed.”

  “Mom will be. Dad will be oblivious as usual. But I can’t live my life to please my mother.”

  Julia could sense Sam’s mind working; she would have bet anything he was considering his debt to his own parents. “Sam,” she said softly, “we should go to sleep. You’ve got a class at eight.”

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Sam stretched, then scooted down into the bed, pulling Julia with him.

  She fussed with the covers, arranging them around Sam’s shoulders, then snuggled close to him. Her breath came easily now, and she felt all warm and drowsy. “We can talk tomorrow,” she told him. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “I know.” Sam wrapped his arms around her. “I love you, Julia.”

  “I love you.” Closing her eyes, Julia relaxed, safe in Sam’s arms.

  She was just beginning to doze when Sam spoke. “Julia.”

  “Mmm?” She pressed her hips and legs against his.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Her eyes flew wide open.

  “Oh, Sam. Yes.”

  Gently Sam turned Julia to face him. Leaning above her on one elbow, he lay his hand against the length of her cheek and drew his thumb lightly over her lips, as if memorizing her by touch. She raised her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders. She could see his eyes shining in the dark. Sam bent and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss as solemn as a vow. They embraced, still kissing, and tears of happiness welled up in Julia’s eyes and spilled over, tracing a path to her hair. Still they kissed, and Sam slowly brought his whole body down over Julia’s. For a long, intense, sweet while they remained that way, the steady incandescence of their love seeming to fuse them together, so that they were like two sides of a locket closing, clicking into place so completely that no seam could be seen.

  Finally, both of them sighing deeply, they moved apart.

  “God, I’m happy, Sam,” Julia whispered, settling against him.

  “I am, too,” Sam replied.

  Julia felt infinitely snug and complete, with her legs curving against Sam’s, his chest warm against her back, his breath stirring her hair, her hand clasped around his wrist with its steady, reliable pulse.

  Chapter 10

  Diane

  Why, Diane wondered, as she sat alone in her dark kitchen, waiting for her husband, why was she thinking about Finland and Russia? Why tonight after so many years? Because Peter Frost was calling up within her a desire for the exotic?

  Because in those countries she had been a woman alone, for a while, free to experience the world without translating and taming it for her children.

  She was still in touch with Tarja. Every year around Christmas they exchanged long letters and met occasionally at jewelry conferences and conventions. Tarja had never married. She had a dog now, a luscious white Samoyed named Kiki, who went with her from her apartment to her studio to her summer place, riding with intelligent calm in the passenger seat of her car, never needing a leash, barking only at strangers and never at Tarja’s friends. When Diane showed Tarja pictures of her children, Tarja reciprocated with photos of her beautiful dog; it never seemed to occur to her that this might be humorous, or that she was less fortunate than Diane.

  Well, she chided herself, enough nostalgia. She got up, flicked on the lights, and searched through the refrigerator for something to serve Jim. She found a curry that Kaitlin had made from last night’s lamb and was setting it on the counter when she heard the front door slam.

  “Jim?” She rushed into the hall. “Good news! Julia called.”

  “That’s great,” Jim replied, tossing his coat over a chair. Halfheartedly he pecked a kiss onto Diane’s forehead.

  “Are you all right?” Diane asked.

  “Fine. Just tired.” Jim slumped into a chair. “Tell me about Julia.”

  Diane studied her husband. He looked so very weary. Sometimes after a long day he was stooped and pale with fatigue and her heart would cramp within her at the thought of how he drove himself. “I’ll heat up the curry. Want some coffee while
you wait?”

  “I’d prefer some wine.”

  Diane poured it and set it in front of him. “Julia’s fine, her usual feisty self. She’s with Sam, she plans to get a job, she doesn’t want to go to school, and she’ll call us in a few days.”

  “I told you she’d be okay.”

  “I know, but oh, Jim, I’ve been sick with worry.” Suddenly tears flooded her eyes. “I’ve been feeling like such a failure.”

  “Why?” Jim seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “Because she tried to slit her wrists. Because she wants to get married instead of going to college.”

  “Are you a success at your business because of something your mother did?” Jim asked. “Are you happily married because of your mother?”

  Diane blew her nose on her napkin and glared at Jim. She couldn’t decide whether he was wise or merely irritating. She rose and put the casserole in the microwave.

  “Have you talked to the Weyborns?” Jim asked.

  “No. Good idea. I’ll call them right now.”

  Sam’s mother, P.J., answered the phone on the first ring. When Diane told her about Julia’s call, P.J. said, “I know. Sam just called here. Until now I’ve held my tongue, but I’m so angry at both those kids I could spit.”

  “It’s funny, in a way,” Diane said. “Remember all the times we worried about Chase and Sam growing up together? We were afraid they’d egg each other on to do something really dumb, drunk driving or going crazy at a college party. Instead, it’s Julia and Sam.”

  “Well, you know, Diane, I love Julia, and I’d be thrilled to have her for a daughter-in-law. Just not yet. Although the kids have some scheme about her working in a restaurant and supporting Sam while he’s in graduate school, so it sounds as though they’re trying to be realistic. But I think it would be wise for Julia to get some training first. Maybe there’s a culinary institute in Hartford.”

  “What are you talking about, P.J.? ‘Working in a restaurant’?”

  “Didn’t Julia mention it?”

  “No.” Diane was cut to the quick with jealousy. P.J. knew more than she did about her own daughter’s plans!

  “Sam mentioned it. He didn’t go into detail, but it doesn’t surprise me. You know how Julia’s always loved cooking. I’m sure they’ll tell us more about it this weekend. Sam said he’d bring Julia home then. Not to stay. Just for a visit, so we can see that she’s okay.”

  “As soon as I see she’s okay, I’m going to kill her,” Diane said.

  P.J. laughed. “It could be worse, Diane. Think of all our friends who have children with drug problems, or anorexia, the girls who’ve already had abortions.”

  “You’re being wonderful about this, P.J. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see Julia again.”

  “Why, I love Julia, Diane. She’s a treasure!”

  Emotion tightened Diane’s throat so that she could hardly speak. She handed the phone to Jim and sank into a chair, put her head in her hands, and wept.

  Jim said good-bye to P.J. “Here, Diane. Take a sip of wine,” he suggested.

  “All right.” She took the glass from him and drank, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took a shuddering breath. “Jim, did you know that Julia wants to cook? I mean professionally?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t, either. She told Sam, and Sam told P.J. Why do you suppose she didn’t tell us?”

  “Probably because she thinks we might frown on such an ordinary job.”

  “You’re right. I do frown on it. Why should she be a cook when she could be a lawyer or a doctor?”

  “Because she wants to?”

  Diane glared at her husband, infuriated by his cool detachment.

  “You look tired. Let’s go to bed,” Jim said.

  “Okay. I think I’ll take a hot bath first, to relax.”

  “Good. I’ll watch the news.”

  They went their separate ways, but when at last Diane crawled into bed with Jim, he surprised her by snuggling up next to her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

  “It’s really all right,” Jim said softly. “Julia’s with Sam. She’s alive. We can all go on from here.”

  Diane flexed her legs against her husband’s and burrowed into her pillow. She knew Jim was soothing himself as well as her. She floated down into a warm sleep, where Jim’s familiar body was also Peter Frost’s, and in the way of dreams, that made sense.

  Late Wednesday morning Diane opened the front door to the FBI agent’s knock.

  “Come in,” she said, smiling.

  “How are you?” he asked as he entered.

  “Great!”

  “You look it,” he observed, and her smile widened. She was only wearing jeans and a blue denim work shirt, but she knew what he meant.

  “My daughter called last night. She’s in Middletown with her boyfriend, Sam. I’m so glad she’s safe I can’t even be furious at her, but I’m sure that will come in time.”

  “She’s okay?”

  “She’s fine. She’s coming home this weekend. I’m looking forward to a good long talk.”

  “I’m glad you heard from her,” Peter said.

  Looking in his eyes, she saw that his concern was genuine. “Thank you. I was so afraid … Now I feel as if the world is brand new.”

  “I know. When my son … had some trouble … it was the worst thing in the world. I would have given everything I owned, and my arms and legs, to keep him safe.”

  Diane stared at Peter, drawn to him by his passion. “What happened?”

  “It’s complicated. But I’d like to tell you someday, when we have more time.”

  “I’d like to hear about it,” she replied honestly.

  They looked at each other, savoring the moment of frank mutual interest, then Peter cleared his throat and said, “Well, I suppose we should get started.”

  Once again they climbed the stairs and walked through the long hallway to the attic stairs. They only had a few boxes left.

  The weather was brilliantly sunny, filling even the dusty attic with copper light. As they bent over a box together, Diane thought: in this light he’ll see every wrinkle I’ve got and the ones I’m just starting to get. The way her veins stood out on her hands as she pulled on the cardboard lid embarrassed her. Her body was separating into pieces on its way toward breaking back down into basic molecules.

  But Peter Frost wasn’t looking at her hands. He was intent on his search, going through each item as slowly and carefully as he had the day before. In response to the heat in the attic today, he’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the long sleeves on his white shirt. She wanted to run her fingertips over the swirls of dark hair on his thick forearms.

  They worked together into the early afternoon, still without finding what he was looking for.

  “My mother was never this disorganized,” Diane said apologetically. From the final box they took old bank statements, canceled checks, needlepoint patterns, old Christmas cards from friends, a few paperback mysteries, a church directory, wrapping paper, a box of paper clips, a sheaf of recipes torn from magazines and stapled together. “I think I must have gone crazy this summer. I just went around the house and the attic dumping things into boxes.”

  He held up the final item from the bottom of the box: a gold beaded handbag that had to date from her mother’s college days.

  He opened the bag and searched through it, finding one hairpin and a penny. He turned the lining inside out. With infinite care and gentleness, he began to tear the creamy lining away from the purse. The sound of old silk ripping mesmerized Diane.

  Nothing was hidden under the lining. He tossed the bag on the top of the pile.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Damn.”

  He rose and stretched. She saw the dark patches under his arms where the day’s heat had caused sweat to stain. She saw his body pressing against the cloth that covered it. Jim was more slender. He looked elegant in his clothing, like the most purebred of
British aristocrats. Peter Frost’s body was bulky. Stretching, his calf and arm muscles pushed at the fabric of his clothes. He rolled down his shirtsleeves.

  “Wait,” Diane said. “There are still some dresses and old fur coats.”

  She crossed the room and unzipped a blue quilted bag. A potpourri of perfume, mothballs, and age drifted out into the air. Here was the romance of her mother’s life: the evening gowns and party dresses, the red silk cape, and a mink jacket. Diane took her father’s tux out and handed it to the agent.

  “I doubt if what you’re looking for is in here, but …”

  He searched it carefully. Diane removed the gowns one by one and slid her hands over their shining surfaces. These were from the later years of her mother’s life, she could tell by the size. She moved on to the next garment bag. More beautiful, outdated gowns. A marvelously sophisticated thing in slender black with a white sleeve and bodice. A full-skirted scarlet gown that must have looked ravishing on the dance floor. If these clothes could talk! They would certainly tell of a Jean Marshall Diane had never met.

  “I doubt if we’ll find anything in all this,” Peter Frost said. He seemed dispirited. “Gowns don’t usually have pockets.”

  “But coats do,” Diane said. She wanted so desperately to please him, to make him smile at her.

  She pulled out an old raccoon coat. “What a great style!” she said, and slipped into it, admiring the wide boxy shoulders. But the skin of the coat was so dry that whole sections of it had come away from the lining. It really looked pretty ratty. She slipped her hands into the pockets. Nothing … except …

  In the left pocket there was a hole.

  She took the coat off, put it on a hanger, hung the hanger on a hook on the wall, and began to pat the hem. Like a blind person, she tilted her head away so that her hands could do the searching. The lining was still tightly attached to the fur. Toward the front of the coat she felt a lump.

  “Peter.”

  He stood next to her. She took his hand and put it on the lump.

  “Could be a compact or a lipstick,” he said, but Diane could see the hope in his eyes.

  She stood back to let him part the lining from the fur. For a few seconds it held, so that Diane thought she should get a pair of scissors, then with a tearing sound it gave. The lining came away from the fur in a jagged strip. Something gold fell to the floor, so light its landing scarcely made a sound.