Liz frowned. "I suppose that's not completely unreasonable. I just don't want you to lose Michael. And I don't want you to create any more problems for our family."
Before Julia could reassure Liz that that was not her intent, the doorbell rang. She got up to answer it, thinking it was Michael. It wasn't.
The flash went off in her face, the light momentarily blinding her.
"Miss DeMarco? I'm Christine Delaney."
Julia blinked as the tall, brunette woman standing in the hall came into focus.
"I must say, I can see the resemblance," Christine added, lowering the camera in her hand. "I've spent most of the day studying your photograph." She slipped the camera back into her bag and pulled out the catalogue from the photography exhibit. It was opened to the page featuring the orphan girl.
Julia swallowed hard, trying to get her wits about her.
"How did you get to this country?" Christine asked.
"I can't talk to you right now." Julia moved to shut the door, but Christine stuck her foot out.
"Wait, don't go. I promise not to bite. I just want to be the one to share your story with the world."
"There is no story."
"There must be. I did some research and found out there was quite a buzz when that photo was first published. A lot of people wanted to adopt you. I'm sure everyone will be interested in knowing what happened to you." Christine offered a warm, inviting smile that was meant to encourage Julia to confess.
"I'm sorry, I can't," she said abruptly. "Please just go away."
"Is that it?" Liz interrupted, grabbing the catalogue from Christine's hands. "Is this the famous picture?" She paused. "Oh, my God." Liz looked from Julia to the photo and back again. Her face turned white, her eyes wide in disbelief.
Very aware that the reporter was watching them with extreme interest, Julia grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her back into the apartment. She managed to shut the door in Christine's face, throwing the deadbolt into place to make sure she couldn't get back in.
"Call me when you want to talk," the reporter yelled. "I'm slipping my card under the door. I promise to tell your side of the story."
Julia put a hand to her racing heart as quiet returned to the apartment. Christine was gone for the moment, anyway.
"I get it now," Liz said as she met Julia's gaze. "This little girl..." She shook the catalogue in her hand. "She looks just like you when you were a kid."
Julia felt an immense relief that Liz finally understood why she was so unsettled. "Michael didn't see the resemblance."
"Maybe because he didn't know you back then. But I did." She glanced back down at the photograph. "I still don't understand how this child could be you, though. How could you have been in Moscow? And in an orphanage? Unless you're thinking that Mom adopted you?"
"I don't see how she could have," Julia replied. "It was the Cold War. No one was adopting babies from Russia back then." She took the catalogue out of Liz's hand and looked at the photograph once more. "This girl is at least three years old."
"I agree," Liz said. "It's completely impossible that you're that girl."
"And I can't let myself think even for one second that I wasn't Mom's child," Julia continued. "Mom used to say how we had the same nose and the same long legs. I can't bear to think it's not true." She closed the catalogue, wishing she could put away her doubts just as easily.
"It is true," Liz said forcefully. "You're my sister and our mother's daughter. Maybe this girl is your double. They say everyone has one in the world. This is yours. It's just a coincidence."
"I agree, but I have to know for sure. If I can find something to prove I was here in the United States when this photo was taken and that girl was in Moscow, then I'll be able to let it go. Will you help me, Liz?" She saw the conflict run through her sister's eyes.
"I don't know, Julia. I'm afraid." Liz paused for a long second. "Maybe you want to know the truth, but I'm not sure I do. I don't want to lose you."
"That won't happen. We'll always be sisters, no matter what."
"You say that now, but—"
"But what? You can't think that our relationship would ever change. It won't. You have to believe me," she said, determined to convince Liz of that fact.
"I don't know what to believe. I hate that this is happening. It's too much. Mom died just a few months ago. Why can't things be normal for a while?"
Julia had always tried to give Liz what she needed. That was her job as the big sister. And right now her sister needed her to back off from searching for her past. But she couldn't do it. She'd taken care of Liz all her life, and she'd spent the past two years watching over her mother. This time she needed to put herself first.
Liz picked up her sandals and slipped them on. "I'm going for a walk."
"I'll go with you."
"No, I need to think. I'll take my phone. Don't worry about me. You have enough to worry about."
The apartment was quiet after Liz left, too quiet. Julia paced around the room, too restless to return to the computer. Liz, who certainly hadn't wanted to see any resemblance between the girl in the photo and Julia, hadn't been able to look away from the picture. That simple fact made Julia even more determined to find the truth. But she couldn't do it alone. She needed help. And there was only one person she could ask.
* * *
"Thanks for coming by," Alex said as he opened the door to Joe Carmichael. Joe was dressed in faded blue jeans and a bright orange T-shirt. A San Francisco Giants cap covered his balding head.
"Don't thank me yet. I've come empty-handed," Joe replied, holding up his hands in evidence. "I spoke to Ellie, who keeps track of everything at the magazine. She couldn't find any negatives belonging to your father. She said she looked everywhere."
Alex hadn't really expected a different answer, but it was still disappointing. "Thanks for checking."
"Want to tell me what this is about?"
"Not right now."
Joe gave him a speculative look. "Am I going to have to bail you out of jail again?"
"I never say never."
"Does this mean you're temporarily out of commission? Or should I give you your next assignment?"
Alex felt a familiar rush of adrenaline that came with the thought of a new assignment. He loved the anticipation of a new challenge, and he very much wanted to say yes, he was ready for his next job. Why shouldn't he leave? Julia had already bailed on him. Maybe it would be better to turn his back on the past and move on. But he hated leaving loose ends, unanswered questions.
"I think I have my answer," Joe said. "It never takes you this long to say yes."
"I'm in the middle of something," Alex admitted. "I need a few days to clear it up. Then I'll be back in business."
"Just let me know when you're ready or if you need my help."
"I will." Alex opened the door to his apartment, surprised to find Julia in the hall, her hand poised to knock.
"You're home," she said, her hand dropping to her side. "And I'm interrupting."
"No, you're not. I was just leaving," Joe said, giving Alex a grin. "No wonder you're not ready to leave. It's about time you thought of something other than work."
Alex didn't bother to explain Julia's presence. And she didn't seem inclined to explain it, either. He supposed he could have introduced them, but after an awkward minute, Joe cleared his throat and said, "I'll see you around."
"Who was that?" Julia asked, as Alex ushered her into his apartment.
"An editor I work with. What's up? I thought you were done with me, done with the photo, done with everything—despite the fact that we had a deal."
His harsh words brought a flush of red to her cheeks, and he saw guilt in her gaze. "I got scared when I saw my mother's name on the envelope. That's why I ran. I came back because that reporter you told me about has been calling me, and a short while ago, she showed up at my door and took my picture before I could stop her. She wants to tell my story, but I don't know what my stor
y is." She paused. "I know I blew you off yesterday. I was wondering if I could have another chance."
Alex wanted to say no, to send her on her way, because his life would be much easier without her in it. But she was part of his unfinished business, at least until he knew for sure that she wasn't the girl in the photograph. He shut the door to his apartment. "Come in." He walked over to the couch and moved a stack of newspapers so she could sit down.
"You have a lot of papers," she commented.
"I like to keep up with what's going on in the world. And check out my competition."
"You take photos for newspapers, too?"
He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair across from her. He winced a bit as he moved. His rib was almost healed, but now and then he still got a twinge.
"Are you all right?" Julia asked, her sharp eyes not missing a thing.
"Fine."
"I couldn't help noticing the black eye and the bruises the other day. I looked you up on the Internet. I guess you got into some trouble in Colombia."
"The local police didn't care for some of my photographic choices. They threw me in jail for a few hours, and for fun a couple of guys beat the living crap out of me," he replied, leaning back in the chair. He put his feet on the coffee table between them, and added, "It wasn't a day in the park, but I lived."
"It sounds awful." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Why do you do it? After experiences like that, why do you go back for more?"
"I haven't gone back yet."
"But you will."
It wasn't a question but a statement, and he had no choice but to agree. "I will. I like what I do. It's challenging, and I run my own life. As a freelancer, I go where the stories are and sell my photos to the highest bidder."
"Do you ever get tired of the traveling, the conditions that you have to live in?'
"Sometimes—when I haven't seen a shower in a few days or had a decent meal. But I've always had itchy feet. I can't stay too long in one place. I get restless." He paused, more than a little curious about her, although his instincts told him that getting to know her better wasn't in his best interest. Still, he couldn't stop the questions from coming out. "What about you? Are you a traveler?"
"I'd like to be, but I haven't been anywhere yet." She played with her hands, twisting the diamond engagement ring on her third finger.
He wondered again where her fiancé was and why he wasn't getting involved in her search for the truth. Not that Alex wanted him involved, but it seemed odd.
"I'm an armchair traveler," Julia continued. "I let the music sweep me around the world. But one day I'd like to go in person."
"What's stopping you from going right now?"
She shrugged. "I have responsibilities. Or I did, anyway. Every time I thought about going somewhere, there was always a reason why I couldn't. Especially during the last two years," she added. "My mom was sick for a long time. I didn't want to go far."
"And now?" he pressed her. "Do you have big honeymoon plans?"
"We haven't gotten that far, but Michael doesn't really like to travel. He's a homebody."
"He doesn't know what he's missing. There are places on this earth that you should definitely see."
"Like where?" she asked eagerly, leaning forward, her blue eyes lighting up with interest. "Tell me about some incredible place that you've been."
He thought for a moment. "The Iguazu Falls in South America are spectacular. They border Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay. The power and the roar of the water thunders through your body. It feels like the earth is opening up." He saw the falls in his mind, but his memory didn't do them justice. His camera hadn't been able to capture their beauty, either. Maybe some things couldn't be frozen in time.
"They sound amazing," Julia said. "Where do you go next, Alex? Do you know?"
"Not yet. I just got back from a six-week trip through South America. It was long and hot, not to mention painfully sickening in..." His voice trailed away as he realized how much he was sharing with her. The more involved they got, the more complicated everything would become. And he preferred to keep his relationships simple.
"What do you mean, painfully sickening?" she asked, obviously not willing to let the conversation go.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You can't just stop in the middle of a sentence."
"Sure I can. It's not pretty, Julia. It's not something a woman like you needs to hear about."
She stiffened at that. "What do you mean, a woman like me?"
"Beautiful, innocent, untouched by the grim reality of life."
"You're wrong, Alex. I just faced a very grim reality. I watched my mother die. Don't talk to me about being untouched by terrible pain."
"I'm sorry." He paused. "It's just that the poverty and violence some people in the world endure are beyond inhumane. Lately, I've begun to wonder what the hell good I'm doing taking someone's picture right before their head gets blown off."
He saw her shock and was glad. Maybe now she'd let the subject drop.
She didn't. "Did that really happen to you?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last year."
"How did you deal with it?" she asked.
He had a hard time resisting the compassion in her eyes, and for the first time ever he found himself wanting to tell someone about one of the worst hours of his life. "I tell myself that at least I got the picture. At least her story will be told. Her death won't be hidden away like so many others, because I was there. Hell of a rationalization, but it keeps me sane."
She stared at him for a long moment, and he sensed she was reading his mind or maybe his heart. "But it doesn't make the pain go away, does it? Who was she?"
"Just a woman who wanted my help." He drew in a long, shaky breath as memories of that night filled his head. "Her eyes were black as midnight and absolutely terrified. She knew her husband was coming after her. He'd accused her of committing adultery. But she'd been raped by a man in the village." Alex shook his head, wanting to rid himself of the image that was printed indelibly on his brain. "I should have done something. I should have seen him coming, but I was looking at her, aiming my camera, and the next thing I knew, she'd been shot through the head. It was so clean, one small hole in her forehead, almost like a beauty mark. Her eyes were still open when she hit the ground. She was still looking at me, begging for my help, but it was too late." His stomach churned, and he battled back a wave of nausea. "But at least I got the picture, right?"
"That photo was important," Julia said slowly and deliberately. "You made her life and her death matter. Your work throws a spotlight on injustice in the world. That's a noble calling."
"Don't try to make me into some hero," he said harshly. "I was thinking only of myself. I should have helped her, not photographed her. I'll never forgive myself for making that choice. It made me realize how often I don't see the person, only the shot, only the award-winning photographic record."
"So she changed the way you think."
"Yeah, and I wish she hadn't. It was easier the other way." He rose. "I need a beer. Do you want one?"
"Sure," she said.
He used his time in the kitchen to regain his control. He was pissed off at himself for telling Julia so much, but in an odd way, it was a relief to share it with someone. He pulled two beers out of the refrigerator, popped the tops, and took the bottles back to the living room. Julia was on her feet, gazing at some of the framed photographs on his walls.
"This is your work, too?" she asked, taking a beer from his hand.
"Yes. Why do you sound surprised?"
She waved her hand toward the colorful garden landscape. "I didn't take you for a flower guy."
"I have my moments," he said with a smile. "I took those shots when I was in college. I was just figuring out how to use my cameras. When I moved in here, I needed to put something on the walls, and I figured the women I brought home would like 'em."
Sh
e smiled back at him, and the somber mood between them lightened. "So you ask women if they want to come home with you and see your pretty pictures?"
"I don't phrase it quite like that."
"I'll bet."
He took a swig of his beer. "Why don't we get back to you, Julia? Tell me again what happened with the reporter who came to your door."
"She wants to interview me. She's very persistent. I told her I have nothing to say, but I think I'm going to have to tell her something. The question is what?"
"What do you want to say?"
"I'm not sure. But I'm even more concerned about what I want to do next. I don't suppose you have any brilliant ideas?"
"Find out who you are. Before someone else does." He looked her straight in the eye. "I told you when we first met that you couldn't back out until this was over, and you can't. Not because I say so, but because when you came to me you set things in motion, and with a little help from my mother they're still in motion."
"You're right. I spoke to my father earlier. He gave me a few tips that I took to the Internet. It's a long shot, but I may have a lead on my grandmother."
"Really?"
She nodded. "The names are slightly different, but she may live in Buffalo, New York, where my mother said she was born. My father also told me my mother went to Northwestern, but I don't know—"
"Your mother went to Northwestern," he cut in. "My dad also went to Northwestern." Alex's nerves began to tingle the way they always did when his instincts told him he was onto something.
Her gaze filled with uncertainty. "It's a big school. Do you think there's a connection between them?"
"We did find that envelope with the name Sarah on it. How old was your mother?"
"She turned fifty-eight right before she died."
"And my father would be fifty-nine if he'd lived, so they would have been in college at the same time. My mother told me that a woman named Sarah used to call my dad late at night. He said she was an old friend." Alex thought for a moment, wondering where they could take this lead. "Old friends," he repeated. "That's it. I need to talk to Stan."
Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1 Page 76
