Alex uttered a short, harsh laugh. "Believe me, that's not something I'm considering. She already talked to one reporter about Julia being that girl."
"She shouldn't have done that."
"Well, she did. And now this reporter is intent on finding out Julia's story. Why don't you tell Mr. Brady that?"
"I will."
"Good. Ready?" Alex asked Julia.
She nodded, offering Stan a soft good-bye and a thank-you. Alex didn't feel inclined to offer either. He was almost at the door when Stan called him back.
"Alex, don't go there."
"I have to."
Julia waited until they were in the car, seat belts fastened, engine running, before she asked, "So where are we going?"
"You'll see," he said.
* * *
Julia should have guessed where they were headed as soon as they left the city, but it wasn't until she saw the Pacific Ocean and Alex pulled off at a vista point on Highway 1 that she realized his full intention. Without a word, he turned off the car and stepped out onto the gravel-filled parking area. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd rather be alone. But as she thought about exactly what had happened here, she knew he shouldn't be on his own. She got out of the car and walked over to the waist-high wood railing at the edge of the cliff. The air was colder here, with the wind blowing spray off the ocean.
Her pulse sped up as she looked over the railing. It was a clear night, and the stars and moonbeams lit up the scene below. It was at least a two-hundred-yard steep drop to a rugged beach filled with sharp rocks, boulders, and crashing waves that thundered in and roared out. The ocean took what it wanted... when it wanted. There was no escape, not if one got too close to those powerful waves.
Here, at night, in the dark, Julia could imagine all sorts of terrifying monsters in that black sea, waiting to claim another victim. Instinctively, she took a step back from the railing. She'd never particularly liked heights. She always felt that odd sensation of knowing how easy it would be to slip over the edge. Shivering now as her vivid imagination made her even colder, she wrapped her arms around her waist. She wanted to go back to the car. In fact, she wanted to go home, but she couldn't leave Alex here alone to picture the most terrifying night of his life.
She thought back to his earlier words, when he'd told her how he'd waited on this bluff for the search-and-rescue team to bring up the mangled car and, he'd hoped, to bring back his father, still alive, still in his life. How scared and lonely Alex must have felt. She wondered why his mother had brought him here. Why hadn't he been kept protected at home, surrounded by other loving relatives?
"This is where it happened," Alex said finally, his voice deep and husky, filled with emotion.
She glanced at his hard profile. His gaze was on the beach below, his thoughts obviously in the past. She remained silent, willing him to share whatever he needed to get out. Alex wasn't a man to confide his personal problems. She sensed that he carried most burdens alone, especially the heavy ones, the ones that touched his heart. The fact that he'd even brought her here told her that his defenses were weakening, that his need to find the truth about his father's death was overshadowing his need to stand solitary and strong.
"This is where my dad's car went over," he continued. "All these years I thought it was an accident. He was driving too fast. He liked speed. He always had. The roads were slick. It was raining, and he couldn't see. There were so many plausible reasons why he went over the side of this cliff."
"Those reasons could be true," she offered tentatively. "We don't know for sure that they're not."
"I know. I can feel the truth in my gut."
She didn't know what to say. No words could take away the pain he was feeling, especially now that he thought he was responsible for what had happened. He'd taken that photograph. With that one reckless, impulsive act, he'd put something in motion, something neither of them understood.
"Why were you so damn important?" he muttered, shooting a frustrated glance in her direction.
"I don't know. I wish I did."
"We have to find out."
"We will," she said with determination. Her doubts about her mother and her own past were bigger now, but her resolve was also stronger. She would know the truth, whatever it took. Which brought her back to her own part of the story. "Do you really believe you saw my mother in that square? And don't answer quickly," she added, putting up her hand. "Think about it. Because it's important that you get it right."
He turned to gaze at her, his face a mix of shadow and light. "I'm good with faces, Julia. I know that's not what you want to hear."
"How could my mother have been in Moscow that day?" The thought was inconceivable.
"It makes some sense—if she was friends with my father."
Julia considered that for a few moments. She didn't want to believe Alex was right. She preferred to think he was mistaken. He'd only glanced at the photograph of her mother and herself. And her mother was so average in looks—brown hair, brown eyes. There was nothing spectacular about her. She could have resembled a thousand women. But Julia was afraid to take the rationalization too far. If she were going to try to deny everything they discovered, she'd never get anywhere. So she forced herself to open her mind.
"Let's say she was there," Julia said aloud. "Maybe I was there, too. Maybe my mother put me in that orphanage while she was meeting with your father. She might have thought of it as a day-care center, a temporary babysitter."
"I suppose," he said slowly, but she could tell he wasn't buying her theory.
"It is possible," she persisted. "At least give me that."
"You couldn't have just been there on vacation, Julia. It wasn't easy to visit Russia at that time. Your mother would have had to have a good reason."
"What about that theater group? My mom and I could have been part of the group, too. We should look into that." The more she thought about it, the more that seemed like a possibility.
"Don't you think you would have remembered a trip like that?" he asked.
"I don't remember anything," she said in frustration. "The years before my mother's wedding to Gino are a complete blank. So why would I remember that?"
"Sorry." He paused. "It does seem odd that your memories don't begin until you're adopted by your stepfather. I wonder why you can't remember at least bits and pieces of your earlier years."
She could see where he was going, and she didn't like it. "You think I'm blocking something out, don't you?"
"It's just a thought."
"Fine. If you don't agree with my theory, what's yours?"
"About my father or your mother?"
"Both."
Alex rested his elbows on the railing. "It probably wouldn't have been unthinkable for my father to get caught up in some Moscow intrigue. I've been tempted a few times to step out from behind the camera. I just never knew he felt that way. He always told me that a good photographer stays detached, remains an observer. But if he saw something that bothered him, maybe that would have changed his mind."
"So you think he could have been spying for the government? Isn't that what Stan implied was going on?"
"I'm not willing to go that far. My dad loved photography. He was never without his camera. I don't believe it was just a front. It was a part of him. When he was shooting, he was in another world. I wanted to be a part of that world. I knew that from the time I was a little kid." Alex looked back down at the water and sighed heavily. "I thought I knew my father. All these years I thought I knew who he was. And now he seems like a stranger. How did that happen?"
She could hear the pain in his voice, and it touched her deeply. Alex had followed in his father's footsteps. Now those footsteps were taking him down a path he didn't want to go. He'd thought of his father in one way for so long, he couldn't think of him differently. Just as she couldn't think of her mother as anyone but the quiet, suburban mom she'd grown up with. Trying to picture her mother meeting a man in a Moscow s
quare was impossible.
"At least I know one thing," Alex continued. "My dad's accident was no accident. I should have realized that years ago. One minute he was terrified. The next minute he was dead. That wasn't a coincidence. And it was all because of that damn picture."
A cold wind blew Julia's hair across her face. As she peeled the wet strands off her cheeks, she realized that the fog was coming in. The stars had disappeared. The moon was going into hiding, too, and they were being covered by an ice-cold blanket of mist. It was as if the universe were taunting them, telling them they would only see the truth when it was time, and not a second before. She moved closer to Alex, wanting his warmth, needing his strength. She felt suddenly afraid of what was coming.
She put a hand on his arm. She could feel the muscles bunched beneath his sleeve. He was as tense as she was, and angry, too, furious with himself. It wasn't a reasonable anger, but how could she convince him of that?
"You're not responsible," she told him again. "You were a little boy when you went to Moscow. You took a picture. That's all you did. You can't take the rest of it on."
"My dad told me not to play with his camera," he said, his voice rough and filled with contempt for his own actions. "I didn't listen. If I had, my father would still be alive."
"I know I can't make you feel better—"
"You can't," he said, cutting her off. "Don't even try, Julia. Just stop talking."
She stared at his hard profile. He looked so alone, so lost in his misery. She wanted to help him, but he wouldn't let her. He was a proud man who had high expectations for himself. He didn't tolerate failure or incompetence, and right now he was blaming himself for something he couldn't have prevented.
"It's a terrible feeling, isn't it? To suddenly realize that everything you thought you knew about yourself and your parent might be false."
"Hell of a feeling," he muttered.
"But you're not alone. I'm here. And I know what it's like to suddenly wonder if my life has been built on a lie."
He turned to look at her. She could barely see his face. The fog was thicker now. It surrounded them, dampening their clothes and their skin. She felt as if they were the only two people in the world, lost on an island of shifting truth.
She shivered. Alex opened his arms.
She didn't know who moved first, but suddenly her breasts were pressed against his chest and his mouth was on hers, and she wasn't cold anymore. She was warm, deliciously warm. She took in his heat like a dry sponge, letting it soak into every corner of her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She didn't want to think anymore. She didn't want to try to remember. She wanted to forget... everything.
His lips were salty from the ocean air, his mouth hot, demanding, reckless. All the emotions they were feeling—the sadness, the anger, the need, the frustration—played into the dance of their tongues. Alex's hands tangled in her hair, trapping her in a kiss that went on and on. Everything else was vague and shadowy, but this moment was real, and Julia didn't want to let it go. Finally, they broke apart, their hot breath steaming up the cold air.
"Oh, my God," she said, putting a hand to her lips. "That wasn't supposed to happen."
Alex's gaze was locked on her face. "I'm not going to apologize."
"We need to go. Right now." She practically ran to the car. Alex moved more slowly. She had her seat belt fastened by the time he slid into the driver's seat. "Don't say anything," she warned. "Just take me back to your apartment, so I can get my car."
"It was just a kiss, Julia."
It was more than a kiss. She knew that deep in her heart, and she suspected he did, too.
Chapter Eight
After muttering a quick good-bye to Alex at his apartment building, Julia drove home, telling herself that everything was fine. So they'd kissed. It had been a brief, energy-charged moment, a simple release of tension, that hadn't meant a thing to Alex, and nothing really to her. It wasn't a big deal, and she had to stop thinking about it. She had more important matters to worry about: her mother, Alex's father, that damn trip to Russia that seemed to inexplicably connect Sarah to Charles. She still didn't want to believe that Alex had seen her mother in the square that day, but she had to be willing to look at the facts. Sarah and Charles had been friends. She'd start there and move forward. She wondered if Gino had ever heard Sarah mention Charles. It was worth asking.
As Julia paused outside her apartment door to locate her key, she heard laughter coming from inside, male and female laughter. Liz and Michael. She drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to turn and run. She didn't feel up to dealing with either of them tonight. She felt so conflicted, so mixed up. And she knew they'd only tell her she was crazy and that she should drop the whole thing. But it was late, and they'd worry and probably wait up for her if she didn't show up. She might as well face them now.
Putting what she hoped was a casual smile on her face, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. Liz and Michael were sitting on the couch watching television. A bowl of popcorn was on the coffee table, as well as two glasses and a couple of soda cans.
"It's about time," Michael said, jumping to his feet when he saw her. He ambled over and gave her a kiss. She turned her face just slightly, so his lips caught the corner of her mouth. She moved away quickly, feeling guilty that she didn't want to kiss him, that another man's taste still lingered on her lips.
"What have you two been doing?" she asked him, as she put her handbag down on the small oak dining table by the kitchen.
"Watching Comedy Central. Your sister has a very odd sense of humor."
"It's the same as yours," Liz said from the couch where she stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "You laughed so hard you were crying."
"No, that was you," he retorted.
Julia smiled at their exchange. "I think I'll make some tea. It's cold outside. Winter is coming."
"The slow season," Michael said, following her into the kitchen; it was barely big enough for one, much less two. "I'll be happy if the rain stays away for another month or two," he added. "I can use the cash. I've been thinking about our honeymoon."
"You're not supposed to tell me," she said quickly, cutting him off. "It's traditionally a secret."
"I want to make sure you like the idea."
"I trust you," she replied. And she did trust Michael. It was herself she wasn't so sure about.
"So, where have you been, Julia?" Michael leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his chest, a speculative look in his eyes.
She filled the kettle with water and turned on the heat. "I've been trying to figure things out," she said vaguely.
"Liz told me about the reporter who showed up here earlier. Has anything else happened?"
"That's probably the worst of it," she lied. The worst of it was that she'd kissed another man. But she couldn't tell him that. He would only be hurt.
"I took another look at the photograph. Liz showed me the catalogue," he said. "I'll admit there's some resemblance between you and that girl, but there are millions of blue-eyed blondes in the world. And that photo was taken twenty-five years ago. I just don't think it's you, Julia. I think you're reading into it more than you should."
She heard the earnest conviction in his voice and knew he wanted desperately to convince her of that fact. But too much had happened that he didn't know about. "I'm afraid I do think it's me," she said.
"Why?"
"A lot of reasons. The girl's face, the necklace, the fact that my mother very carefully hid the details of my early life." She waved her hand in the air. "My mother was incredibly secretive. I'm only beginning to realize how much care she took to cover up her past. What I don't know yet is why she felt compelled to do that."
Michael let out a sigh that sounded like a mix of disappointment and frustration. She couldn't blame him. How could he understand when she couldn't?
"Are you sure you're not just latching onto some dramatic backstory to replace the
emptiness in your own life?" Michael asked.
It was a fairly insightful comment coming from Michael, who was usually more pragmatic and not inclined to analyze anything. Was she doing that? Was she adding drama to a blank space to make it more interesting, more important? It would be better if she were doing that. Then in reality nothing about her life would be a lie, and there would be no mystery to solve.
"Julia, think about it. You got into this the second we set our wedding date. I think you panicked when you realized that we were finally moving ahead with our plans. You jumped onto the first passing ship, and that photograph was it." He moved suddenly, planting himself in front of her, tilting up her face with his finger so that she had to look at him. "It's okay," he said. "It's all right to admit to being nervous. Marriage is a big step. It's forever. You don't have to make up a reason to postpone the wedding. I'll call the Legion of Honor tomorrow and tell them to cancel the December date. We'll find somewhere else after the first of the year, when you're ready. All right?"
"Yes," she agreed, feeling a weight slip off her shoulders. "Because I can't think about getting married until I know who I really am."
His mouth drew into a taut line. "Julia—"
"I'm sorry, Michael, but my mind is made up. You may be right about some of my motivation, but there's something wrong about the background story my mother gave me, and I can't let it go until I know what that something is."
"No matter who you upset in the process?"
She stepped away from him as the kettle began to sing. She turned off the heat and pulled two cups out of the cupboard.
"Liz was upset earlier," Michael continued. "She was almost crying when she came to see me. She said she was afraid of losing you to your past. With your mother gone, it's tough on her to see you being pulled away."
"I understand. I don't want to hurt Liz, but this is something I have to do."
"You're pulling away from me, too," he said, his eyes troubled. "I thought it was because I was pressuring you too much about the wedding, but is there some other reason? Is it that man who's helping you? Were you with him tonight?"
Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1 Page 78
