from you again.”
“You really think so?”
Soleil placed her hand on top of Julia’s on the table, and said, dead serious, “Do me a favor? Call that man and apologize. Make a date with him, okay?”
The older woman looked doubtful, but she finally said, “I do owe him an apology. Maybe if he’s open to it-”
“He will be.”
“But what man is going to understand that I have to be my ex-husband’s full-time caregiver?”
She squeezed Julia’s hand then. “You don’t have to be. In fact, I don’t think you should be. I think it’s going to eat you alive emotionally.” Soleil normally tried not to be so meddlesome, but this one time, she felt as though she needed to speak the truth.
“Someday you’ll understand-”
“I
Julia shook her head. “They’ve all got their own lives, and they’re all so busy-”
“They’ll figure it out. You giving up your life isn’t the right solution. Maybe they’ll find a trustworthy male caregiver who John won’t be able to bully so easily. And you could visit a few times a week if you want, or lend a hand here and there, but really, Julia-”
“Now isn’t the time for me to play the martyr, is it?”
Soleil shook her head, relieved her message was being heard and not dismissed.
“Thank you,” Julia said quietly, sliding her hand out from under Soleil’s and giving it a soft pat. “I came here to offer you help, and you helped me instead.”
“It was nothing. I’m always happy to talk over tea.”
“I’ve got an appointment, so I’d better get going, but I’m so glad we talked,” Julia said, standing up.
Soleil followed her to the door, each step closer to being alone again reminding her of the way she’d felt a few minutes ago, when Julia was talking about caring for her husband in old age.
They said their goodbyes, and Soleil closed the door, watching through the window as Julia went to the car and drove away.
Now the house was completely silent, save for the sound of the ticking antique clock in the living room.
Julia’s absence left a gaping hole that was sucking Soleil toward everything she didn’t want to feel.
She walked upstairs to the baby’s room, hoping to distract herself with one final coat of paint. Physical activity would make her feel better, keep her mind off negative thoughts…
In the purple room with the empty crib and the basket of baby gifts, she was sure she’d feel soothed. This was the safe haven she was creating for her baby. This would be the scene of countless happy hours in her future.
Just her and the baby.
Together.
Alone.
They’d have each other, but…
She recalled what Julia had said, about ties that couldn’t be undone, and the ache within her grew more and more unbearable until she couldn’t help but cry.
She sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, put her face in her hands and cried for what she didn’t have.
A partner, a lover, a father, a friend.
A family.
Sure, she and her baby would make a family, and they would love each other. But it would be lonely the same way her own childhood had been lonely, and someday she’d be bitter and alone, the way her mother was bitter and alone.
Yes, she was on the road to becoming her mother, when what she really wanted was to be more like Julia, warm and open and loving.
She was exactly like her mother, whom she couldn’t even share a house with, without having a major fight.
Was she dooming her poor baby girl to the same fate, by not being able to break out of her mother’s mold?
She was crying so hard drool formed a long ribbon from her lower lip to the top of her pregnant belly, and she felt more pathetic than she ever had in her life.
She was alone, feeling sorry for herself, and utterly pathetic.
All she needed now was a whiskey bottle and a penchant for angry poetry, and she could change her name to Anne Bishop Junior.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIA DELETED everything she’d just written. Nothing sounded right.
The main problem was, this wasn’t a matter she should have been handling via e-mail. And the other problem was, she was terrified to call Frank Fiorelli again.
She tried again.
Dear Frank,
I’m so sorry to have ignored your calls and e-mail.
I had a family emergency, and-
No, too stilted.
She ought to pick up the phone and call. Or maybe go to see him.
But it was the day before Christmas Eve, and she didn’t know his address. She knew where his studio was, but would he be there today?
She had to try. If he wasn’t there, at least she could leave a handwritten note to tell him she’d stopped by, which was better than an impersonal e-mail. Yes, that’s what she’d do.
Julia jumped up from her desk chair. If she hurried, she could make it to Guerneville by four o’clock. Then maybe, if Frank wasn’t at his studio, she’d call him and let him know she was in town, see if he wanted to meet for a drink.
Her stomach knotted as she hurried to the bathroom to check herself in the mirror.
Same silver-blond bob as always, same brown eyes. She added a bit of lipstick, and her face instantly brightened. Then she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.
An hour later, she was parked in front of Frank’s gallery. A light was on in the upstairs studio, she could see from the street, and her hour-long case of butterflies became twice as intense.
During the whole car ride, she’d told herself he wasn’t going to be there, and yet…
The light was on.
The gallery was open, and she could see through the window that Frank’s daughter was busy helping a customer. A handful of other customers milled about the space, creating a welcome diversion for Julia to walk in and go straight up to the studio without having to explain her rudeness.
She made it through the gallery without being spotted, and she climbed the stairs to the sound of someone hammering in the room above.
When she reached the landing, she saw Frank wearing a pair of work goggles, poised over a table, nailing one piece of wood to another.
“Hello?” she called.
Frank looked up, clearly surprised at the interruption.
When his gaze landed on her, she expected to see annoyance, maybe even anger, but all she saw was confusion, and then…A tentative smile.
“Julia? What a surprise. What brings you here?”
