by Auden Dar
I think about that day and remember it was the first time I had told someone about my aspiration of becoming a film composer. When I revealed my dream to become the next Ennio Morricone to Julian, he simply said, “I’ll be there cheering you on.”
Did I mention that Julian was a tiny twelve-year-old? The camera that hung around his neck seemed too big for his small frame. The digital camera was a Christmas gift from his mother. He loved hiding behind it and took pictures of everything. I didn’t realize until now that I had been his favorite subject.
I have always been shy about having my photo taken. But somehow, the photos in front of me reveal otherwise. I am laughing. Teeth and all revealed. There is lightness about me in the photos. I am happy, carefree, and with someone dear to me. The next page contains a snapshot of myself napping at 740 Park Avenue, holding a music book.
Okay.
I turn the pages of the album and can’t believe the images before me. The entire photo book contains pictures of me. It is more than a photo album. It is a scrapbook. Some are photographs and some are clippings that are as recent as a few months ago. Clippings include a two-year-old photo of me winning my first and only Golden Globe award for the best movie soundtrack.
I take a deep breath, trying to understand everything before me. The Police’s “Every Breath You Take” plays in the background. A stalker song. How appropriate. As I peruse each page, different emotions overwhelm me. Elation. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Tons of memories flood through me. It hits me that after all these years, I have somehow always been with him. He has been watching me all along. It wasn’t just my career.
How is it possible that after all this time, not once did he contact me? Yet he had always been aware of what I was doing. I watch my life unfold before me with the help of an album. There is even a college graduation photo. How did he manage to obtain this one? I’m certain that not even my grandparents had heard from him after all these years.
I spend at least an hour and a half studying the scrapbook, reading clippings that I didn’t even know existed; dumbfounded by the time and effort it must have taken to create this book. My heart melts at the realization that Julian must care more than I know.
But then a pang strikes me. What has he been doing after all these years as he collects mementos of my life? There is nothing about him online except his business dealings as JC Rutherford. As far as his personal life is concerned, it’s nonexistent. His past is a complete mystery to not only the world, but also to his current lover. I could ask Miss Pendleton, but knowing where her loyalty lies, she would never reveal anything.
Intimacy has clouded my judgment. We’ve been intimate in ways I never imagined. I’ve had him come in my mouth. He’s touched my virgin hole. I’ve done sixty-nine with him. His wicked tongue has touched every inch of my body. Maybe I’ve just been delusional, believing that amazing sex equals knowledge.
Why is his past such a secret? All I know are the bits and pieces he’s offered during our conversations. Some during pillow talk. Some during meals. Some while out and about.
What is my lover desperately trying to hide?
Why did Julian refuse to see me until recently? I could understand his need to leave the city that reminded him of his mother’s death, but what could have made him walk away from our friendship for all those years?
After sitting in his home office for hours and having drunk a half bottle of wine, I fall asleep on the couch with both of my hands cradling the leather scrapbook.
“Darling,” he whispers in my ear. It’s the feel of his soft kisses and his delicious scent that release me from slumber. As he nuzzles my neck, I breathe him in. He smells so good.
Without fail, I am thunderstruck. “Julian. When did you get home?” The word ‘home’ escapes my lips effortlessly.
Glancing at his black vintage watch, he says “About seven minutes ago.”
“Seven minutes?” I repeat.
“Yes.” He plants another soft kiss on my forehead. “Watching you sleep took my breath away.” He eyes me for a brief second before he says, “I love coming home to you.” His gaze travels down to the album resting on my stomach. “Ah, you’ve found the book.” A grin forms on his handsome face.
“Yes, you weren’t kidding when you said you’ve been admiring me from afar.”
Julian’s face falters slightly.
I should have waited before broaching the subject.
Something must really be wrong with me. I’m not at all freaked out that he’s stalked me all these years. Instead, I feel quite flattered and enamored. I guess if he wasn’t staggeringly handsome, ridiculously smart, and so talented in the bedroom, I would have made my escape a few hours ago.
I offer him a broken smile, and my hand reaches for his cheek, tracing his scar with my thumb, just to reassure him that his stalking doesn’t bother me.
Oh, Julian, if only you could let me in. Let me have a piece of your heart.
Taking the photo album from my side, he quickly places it on the table. Rather than respond to my last statement, he changes the subject. “What would you like to do this evening?”
“Well, since you seem to know everything about my past, I’d like you to share yours. I think it’s time, Julian. I can only hold on for so long.” His usual bright eyes are withdrawn.
Last night, I believe there was a promise, but at this moment, there’s only distance between us. I wait for a response, yet I don’t receive one. The awkwardness has me retreating, and I no longer urge him. Instead, we conduct ourselves as if the past few minutes never took place.
I really should have waited.
We head downstairs, and there is food from Balthazar sitting on the kitchen island. Still not a word escapes our lips. Just the sound of containers opening, a bottle of wine uncorking and our breathing. At some point, I need to know exactly what has happened after all these years. I know he received his Master’s degree, owns several successful companies, thrives in real estate, is a successful film producer, and to quote him, ‘The most introverted capitalist around.’
But will he ever reveal why he stayed away for fourteen years?
For the first time in weeks, our meal together is uncomfortably silent with only Karl Jenkins’ “Stabat Mater” in the background. I play with my roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, unable to consume the meal before me. After Julian devours his own duck shepherd’s pie, I take his plate along with my unfinished meal and bring them to the sink to rinse.
Behind me, he circles my waist with his arms. Leaning close to my ear, he says, “Please leave them.” I turn around and I want to ask so much. But instead, I follow his lead when he takes my hand, linking our fingers on our way to the library.
We sit side by side, our knees touching. Rather than look straight ahead, I turn to confront him. I study his face; it is unreadable, a mystery, along with his past.
The man I love is also a stranger.
Only bits and pieces from the JC Rutherford bio have helped form a somewhat brief biography of the man I have fallen in love with. I know what is important. Julian is generous, smart, ambitious, has mad skills as a lover, and foremost, loving. But, I yearn to know more. There are also emotions inside me that need to subside.
Why did he leave so suddenly? How can I forget all those years of trying to hold on to a friendship that meant the world to me? How can I forget his abandonment?
I don’t want to bring up the fact that I sent him several letters over the years that went unanswered. Or the desperate calls and emails that were never returned. Bringing them up would be futile.
This moment with him is all that matters. However, curiosity still hangs over me. The need to know intensifies. Whatever he freely divulges won’t stop me from loving him.
My thoughts are interrupted when he squeezes my knee before walking to the bar and pouring a glass of a rare Yamazaki whiskey. “Would you like one?”
I purse my lips, shaking my head.
He lingers at the bar, h
is back now facing me. After a few minutes, he reaches for a sip of his brown liquid.
Finally walking over to where I sit, I see his apprehension. Taking a seat next to me, he finishes his whiskey in one gulp.
“Do you really want to know?” he asks before gently kissing my hand.
I nod.
“It’s taking everything in my power to share what I’m about to reveal,” Julian says softly, staring at the floor.
Please open up to me.
I offer no words because an utterance might change his mind. The sound of Karl Jenkins in the background ceases, allowing me to focus on the man before me. The man whose secrets I am desperate to know. With tenderness, he lifts my jaw with his forefinger, urging me to stare into his eyes. There it is. Anguish shrouds him.
Heavy silence fills this enormous room.
Lowering his head, his sober gaze is on the floor yet he is unable to hide his affliction. “You’ll want to leave me, and you’ll hate me. But you deserve to know.” His usual confident voice trembles as his eyes focus on the antique Persian rug.
His life is full of secrets, and this one is grave.
Cupping his chin, I lift his head with both my hands and peer directly into his afflicted eyes. “Julian, nothing, I mean, absolutely nothing in this world would make me hate you. Do you understand that?”
A single teardrop falls on his cheek, and he nods. After wiping his tear away, I reach for the glass he’s holding. I stare at the empty glass wishing there was something to drink, anything to help take the edge off as I prepare myself for what he is about to confess.
Twenty-Two
Minutes seem like hours as I wait for the man I love to open up. Only our breathing can be heard yet Julian’s silence deafens my ears. Each second passes like long nights−nights when you beg for light to appear.
Let me in, Julian, let me in, my heart begs quietly.
“Please, Julian. Please,” I implore out loud as my heart beats a steady beat.
In this intimate setting, Julian finally reveals his secret.
“My father murdered Mum.”
My heart just stopped beating.
My mouth falls open as my hand instinctively reaches for my chest. My body suddenly feels cool, and a rush of adrenaline hits me.
I believe both our hearts have stopped beating during the moment of silence.
Taking a deep breath, Julian proceeds, “I witnessed it all. I could have stopped him. I could have saved Mum. But I froze.”
“What?” I’m unable to comprehend his admission, my mind still unable to make out his words. “I … I don’t understand.”
His composure tensed, he’s balled his hands up in a fist. Unimaginable grief fills his eyes.
We are immobilized, unable to utter a word, allowing the confession to simmer.
It takes a second to finally realize the gravity of it all. I close my eyes, willing myself not to cry. When I finally open them, Julian pulls his arms and legs into a ball before cupping his face.
Comfort, that’s all I’m able to offer him. I begin to gently stroke his back like I used to when we were kids.
He remains reticent, and I don’t know if he’s going to be able to go through with his confession. “Julian, please. Please don’t shut me out. This is me,” I urge, breaking the silence.
He closes his eyes briefly. With a hushed tone, he asks, “Do you remember that long weekend?”
I shut my mouth tightly, nodding.
I’ll never forget that weekend for as long as I live.
“Miss Pendleton and I drove up to Westport that morning. No one was supposed to be there until the early evening. I figured I would enjoy some time alone. You were sick and with your grandparents. Caroline was at uni. Father was at the Greenwich office. Miss Pendleton left me at the house to run some errands while I caught up on some sleep.”
He hesitates for a few seconds, his hands still balled up in a fist.
“Mum had arrived with him.”
“Who?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“Uncle William,” he says before pausing for a second. “No one else was at the house. Miss Pendleton was still out. I heard screaming and knew something was wrong. I had, well … I knew it was William.” He pauses for a good minute, refusing to look my way. “Just the week before, I had walked in on mum and William in a heated argument. He was practically begging Mum, forcing her to remember their time together. Later, I had confronted Mum and said some things that … that I’ll always regret.”
Why would he think that William was his father?
As he struggles with his thoughts, I try to process everything. I rub my temples, hoping it would ease the pain of hearing Julian’s confession. But then I remind myself this must be so difficult for the man I love.
Finally removing his hands from his anguished face, the first thing I notice is that he is shaking.
Although there are no tears, his eyes water as a dam threatens to break.
Get yourself together, Lina. You need to be strong for Julian.
I hold one of his hands while stroking his back. This is the first time he has ever talked about the day his mother died. Marcel had mentioned that it was a contentious subject he and his son never talked about. I remain mute and finally stop stroking his back. Reaching for both of his trembling hands, I bring them to my lips.
His quivering voice continues, “When I confronted Mum about her relationship with William, she said ‘it’s not what you think.’ I didn’t believe her. Please understand, I didn’t mean to hurt Mum. I was angry. I felt as if everything I had in my life up to that point had been a lie. Mum said she loved me. She loved Caroline. She loved my father. She loved you. She tried to comfort me, but I refused to let her come near me. Mum, of all people. I was an arsehole and told her that if she didn’t end it with William to forget that she ever had a son.” He stares up at the ceiling, struggling for words. “I don’t think Mum realized I was in Westport. Otherwise, William wouldn’t have been there. They screamed. Fuck, I can still hear her frantic voice. I ran downstairs. By the time I reached the living room, William was already pointing a gun at Mum. I couldn’t comprehend his words. Fuck, I froze.” He pauses. “I fucking froze. Mum begged me to stay away. I couldn’t protect her. Everything happened so quickly. And William … William fucking shot my mum.”
Uncontrollable tears flow down Julian’s face. I wipe his cheek with the back palm of my right hand while my left hand is still linked to his trembling hands.
“William turned and faced me. Mum was still moving, and all I wanted to do was go to her. But he held the gun, pointing the fucking thing at me. He kept the gun pointed directly at me. His last words were, “I can’t be without her. I’m sorry, son,” before putting the gun to his head. I didn’t know what to do. I went over to Mum’s body and she was still breathing, imploring me to call Father. Her last words were, ‘Marcel will always be your father. I love you.’
“Miss Pendleton ran into the house a few minutes after the second shot. I don’t know what I would have done had she not been there. She did everything. She asked that I not reveal I was present at the time. Miss Pendleton has protected me all these years. Only Father and Miss Pendleton know the truth. Caroline didn’t even know I was there. She died never knowing what transpired that day. And even though his only brother killed his wife, Father wanted to protect William. He knew what it would do to Alistair. More importantly, he didn’t want Mum’s memory tainted. Even after what she had done, Father loved her.” He stares up at the ceiling, still avoiding eye contact, before confessing, “The fucking bastard called me his son.”
I rub my temple again, trying to absorb Julian’s confession. Somehow, he knows what I’m about to ask before I can form the words. “I never revealed to Father about William calling me his son. Lina, he can never know.”
I nod and remain silent, trying to pull myself together for the man I love.
“William was my fucking biological father. That fucking bastard … I
may as well have pulled the trigger myself. I killed my mum. If I hadn’t pushed her to confront him … she … she would still be here. She must have known William was unstable. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t protect her. I froze. What does that say about me? I’m a fucking coward.” Julian weeps softly.
The revelation of what Julian has shared with me sends chills down my spine. After all these years, after all those nightmares and buried secrets, I pray that he feels a sense of relief at having finally shared the secret he’s held inside for so long. To have witnessed his mother’s death at the hands of not his uncle but that of his father. To discover the identity of his biological father. To believe he instigated his mom’s death. To lose the woman he loved more than anyone. To hide a heinous crime committed in his own home.
The emotional distress he’s suffered all these years causes an ache to form in my chest. My God, he was only thirteen years old at the time.
He interrupts my thoughts. “How could you ever want to be with a fucking coward? How could you ever want to be with the son of a murderer? Don’t you understand? A coward doesn’t deserve to know you, let alone love you.”
“Shhh, Julian,” I whisper before taking his grief-stricken face in my hands, trying my best to assure him that his confession doesn’t change anything.
“I could have saved her.”
“No, Julian, you were thirteen. He was sick and armed. There was nothing you could have done.”
“Armed or not, I should have saved her. I ruined all of our lives.” He ponders for a second. “I did everything to be close to you. I’ve stayed away from you all these years because I’m not worthy of you … but I couldn’t stay away any longer. Years of therapy didn’t bring me back to life. Only you. Only you, Lina. I’ve come to realize that I can’t live without you anymore. Don’t you see? Everything I have done. Everything that I do … it is all because of you. I want to be worthy of you. Worthy of your love.” Julian slowly lays his head on my lap, and I start to comb his thick dark locks with my fingers. Uncontrollable tears. Tears that had been dormant for more than fourteen years fall down his cheeks. There is no holding back, and I can see that he finally realizes the confession holds more meaning than he had ever thought. I lean forward and am about to place a kiss when he whispers, “It’s always been you. Only you.” I stare at him, my brave man, and rather than kiss his lips, I kiss the salty tears on his cheek. Time continues to move along with the two of us on the couch. I continue to caress his hair as he drifts to sleep on my lap.
