by Nina Lane
“Rebecca.” Warren rested his hand on his wife’s back, hating the undiluted distress on Julia’s face, the angry tears shining in her eyes that she still refused to let fall. “There’s no need for that.”
“Clearly there is a need if she can’t figure this out herself,” Rebecca replied tartly.
“I can figure it out,” Julia cried. “Look, I came here because I need a place to stay just over the holidays until I make plans to go to Mexico. I thought you’d be happy to help me out, but apparently I was wrong.”
“Of course we’ll help you,” Warren said.
“But you have to get your act together,” Rebecca added. “And you can’t go to Mexico, for heaven’s sake. What on earth would you do there?”
“Whatever I want.” Julia tossed her head with a sneer.
Rebecca sighed. She crossed to take Julia’s shoulders, her expression softening as she gazed at her younger sister. “Julia, I hate that you married Sam because he ended up hurting you. I hate that you find it necessary to roam the country like a gypsy when you have so many other gifts to offer. You’re so smart, you’re a fantastic artist, you’re incredibly creative, you sing like an angel… but you’re wasting your talents. You’re wasting your life.”
“I am not.” Julia yanked away from her and stalked to the other side of the kitchen, her fists clenching. “Just because I’m not living my life the way you are doesn’t mean it’s a waste. And you telling me that makes you no better than Sam’s stupid parents!”
His wife’s anger rose again in the set of her shoulders. Warren put his hand on her arm, again stepping between her and Julia.
“This argument is getting us nowhere,” he said. “Julia, you can take the guest bedroom on the second floor. Get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we can—”
“Oh, shut up.” Julia whirled to pin him with an angry glower. “You don’t need to act like my father, just like she doesn’t need to act like my mother. I’m twenty-one years old, which means I can do whatever I want.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Not if you’re staying in this house with our children.”
Julia made a noise of frustration. The back door banged open, and seven-year-old Luke ran through the living room past the elaborately decorated Christmas tree. He entered the kitchen, trailed at a slower pace by Evan. Both boys were covered in dirt and grass-stains from whatever epic game they’d invented in the backyard.
“Can we have gingerbread cookies?” Luke shouted, grabbing a stepstool to clamber up to the kitchen cabinets.
“Hands washed first.” Warren grabbed hold of his son and carted him over to the sink, moving to make room for Evan.
As always, his heart clenched painfully at the sight of the younger boy, who’d already seen more hospital rooms and faced more health problems than any six-year-old boy should have to. But Evan was a force, battling his heart condition like a prizefighter and always trying his damnedest to keep up with his older and younger brothers.
His focus shifted to his sons as he helped them clean up and procure several cookies.
“Want one, Aunt Julia?” Evan extended a cookie to Julia, who was standing by the windows, hugging her arms tightly around herself.
She managed to smile at the boy, reaching out to ruffle his dark hair. “No, thanks, kiddo.”
He shrugged off the oddness of anyone turning down a cookie before he and Luke ran back toward the door. Rebecca stepped into the doorway, her arms outstretched to block their exit.
“What’s the password?” she asked.
“I love you, Mom,” Luke yelled, throwing his arms around her in a hug. Evan did the same, and Rebecca latched both boys into a tight embrace before stepping aside to let them pass. They ran outside amidst shouts of “Ahoy, matey!”
A heavy silence fell over the kitchen. Julia looked at her sister—such a blatant plea in her eyes that something inside Warren wrenched painfully. He caught his wife’s eye and indicated that he wanted to speak to her in the adjoining room.
“We’ll be back in a minute,” he told Julia, who huffed in annoyance.
When he and Rebecca were in the dining room, he closed the door and gave his wife a pointed stare. “Sweetie, you are all she has left.”
Pain flashed in her eyes. “I know. But I’ve tolerated her running around for the past three years, and look what happened. What if she keeps doing this and ends up in an even worse situation? She can’t go to random festivals and sleep in cars or camp out with people she doesn’t know. What if someone hurts her far worse than Sam did? I’d lose my mind, Warren. I just want her to be safe.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks, her eyes glistening with tears. Warren gathered her into his arms, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her. His heart softened, an old sense of awe rising in him at the reminder that she was his. Even now, he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Rebecca in all her goodness, her certainty of her place in the world, her natural ease with motherhood.
No wonder she was so frustrated with Julia, the wild child who wanted to explore forests, sleep under the stars, stow away on ships just to see where they’d take her.
Rebecca slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. “We also have to think about the children, Warren. If Julia hooks up with a bad crowd…”
“No. We won’t allow that.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “She’s still upset about Sam. She’ll see reason once she’s calmed down.”
“I will not!” Julia shouted from the kitchen.
Warren and Rebecca exchanged wry, exasperated looks.
Yes, she will, he mouthed to his wife. She smiled, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him before they returned to the kitchen.
Julia was pacing like a caged tiger, her bracelets rattling and her hair flying around her shoulders with every sharp turn. She stopped to glare at her sister.
“I’m not you,” she snapped. “I will never be like you.”
“I am aware of that fact,” Rebecca replied, her spine stiffening in response to Julia’s irritation. “However, if you intend to stay in this household, you will abide by our rules.”
“Like washing my hands before eating a cookie?” Julia retorted. “I’m not seven, in case you forgot. I know how to be an adult.”
“And yet your actions speak otherwise,” Rebecca said.
“Oh, forget it. I don’t need this shit.” Julia whirled on her heel, grabbing a patchwork cloth bag from the table before stalking to the door. “So sorry to trouble you with my request.”
Rebecca sighed, dismay etching her features. “Julia, don’t go. Look, we want to help you but you need to meet us halfway.”
“What I need is to get away from my fucking perfect older sister who will never like me exactly the way I am.” Julia yanked open the door, her tears finally spilling over. “So to hell with you. I’ll find somewhere else to go.”
“Julia!” Alarmed, Rebecca hurried to the door, but Julia escaped first. She slammed the door behind her and ran toward her rusty yellow VW Beetle. In seconds, she was backing out of the driveway, tires squealing.
“Warren. Oh God, why did I say that?” Rebecca pressed her hands to her eyes. “No one gets me as riled up as she does.”
Warren pulled on his jacket and grabbed his car keys from the counter. He stopped beside Rebecca, tugging her quickly against him. “I’ll find her.”
“Bring her back safely,” she called as he headed out the door.
“I will.”
He’d never before broken a promise to his wife. He got into his car and headed in the direction Julia had gone. Night had fallen. For the past seven years, they’d been living on the outskirts of San Francisco while Warren worked at the Stone Confectioners’ factory. His father had given him an entry-level corporate position, slated to begin the following year, so in a few months he and Rebecca would move their family south to Indigo Bay.
Warren drove, his gaze sweeping the streets and parking lots for Julia’s car. Christmas light
s shone in shop windows, a weary attempt at cheer. Two hours passed without success. His concern intensified. He didn’t have the same antipathy toward Julia’s lifestyle that Rebecca did—in fact, he kind of envied it—but he sure as hell didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
He stopped once at a pay phone to call Rebecca and tell her he was still looking before he started his search again. For all he knew, Julia had left town already.
He passed restaurants, coffee-houses, bars. Nothing. He stopped at several gas stations to ask if they’d seen her car, but no one had. He circled the outskirts of town, stopping at a red light near the onramp to the freeway. He peered through the dark at the bars clustered along the streets.
Jackpot. The yellow Beetle sat under a lamp in the parking lot of a rundown bar. Warren pulled over, parked, and hurried inside.
Smoke hung in the dusky interior, along with the smells of beer and liquor. Blue-collar workers sat at the bar and the round tables, a sagging Christmas tree sat in the corner, and “Silent Night” came from a jukebox.
There she was.
Relief flooded him. Julia sat in a dimly lit corner of the room, the table in front of her scattered with both empty and half-full glasses. An instant later Warren noticed the man standing beside her, leaning too close to chat her up. Her expression was tight, and her eyes burned.
Warren stalked to the table, his fists clenching. “Leave her alone, man.”
The guy straightened with a frown. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Her husband.”
Julia’s eyes widened. The guy stared at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Warren held up his left hand and pointed to his wedding ring.
“How come she don’t got one?” the guy snapped, jerking his head toward Julia.
“She just walked out on me,” Warren explained. “I’m trying to get her back.”
The man’s expression cleared. He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “Well, good luck with that, man. She’s a feisty one.”
He saluted Warren with his beer bottle and sauntered away. Warren pulled out a chair next to Julia and sat. A wary glint flickered in her gaze. Her skin was flushed, her eyes glassy and pupils dilated. The strap of her dress had fallen down her arm, exposing the top part of her breast. He reached out to put it back in place, trying not to notice the soft warmth of her skin.
“Thanks,” she finally said, reaching for a half-full glass on the table. “I mean, he was getting aggressive. I didn’t like it.”
“You shouldn’t be here alone.”
Her mouth tightened. “You sound like my sister.”
“Your sister made some good points.”
“So did I.”
He acknowledged that with a nod, gesturing to the clutter of glasses on the table. “How much have you had?”
“Not enough to forget.” She laughed, then swallowed the liquor and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You want one?”
Warren shook his head. Julia rolled her eyes.
“’Course not. Because you’re perfect too, aren’t you? Perfect fucking Warren Stone and his perfect fucking wife.”
“I’m not perfect.”
“Yeah, well, you look perfect,” she muttered. “You and Rebecca. Like… what’s his name? The movie actor and his wife. The super-hot guy who was in the movie about the cops.”
“I don’t know.” He pushed a glass out of her reach. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“I don’t have a home.” Her forehead creased. She studied the glasses and chose one that still had liquor at the bottom. “I wish I did. I wanted to. I thought Sam and I would have a home one day, you know? Like you and Becca. I mean, I didn’t want to be like you because you have really boring lives, but I wanted… I thought we could get a little beach house or something, a place to go after we travelled. A place where we could be happy.”
Her blue eyes filled with fresh tears. Warren’s insides twisted.
He hadn’t liked Sam when they’d first met a couple of years ago, his defenses locking against the other man’s disingenuous vibe and lack of direct responses. What do you do? Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that. Where are you going next? Wherever we want, man. Any plans for the future? Sure, after I consult my fortune teller.
He’d told Julia as much, but she’d been starry-eyed with love for the guy. Next thing Warren knew, they’d gotten married in Vegas and were starting a cross-country road trip that would conclude with a visit to his family.
That hadn’t ended well. Or maybe it had, because at least Julia had escaped the fucker before getting in deeper than she already was.
“…like Laura Ingalls Wilder,” she was saying.
“Sorry, what?”
“I wanted to be like Laura from Little House on the Prairie. It was my favorite book. I thought it would be so amazing to travel in a wagon, run barefoot on the prairie, wade in the creek… I just wanted to be free. I thought I could be with Sam. So much for that dream.”
She tilted her head back and drained the glass.
He took the glass from her. “Enough, Julia. You always have a home with me and Rebecca.”
“Right, where she treats me like a five-year-old.”
“She only wants you to stay safe.”
“What about you?” She blinked at him, her eyes shiny and unfocused.
A warning signal flashed in Warren’s brain. “I want you to stay safe, too. Which means you can’t come to places like this and drink too much.”
“I don’t usually drink so much.” She peered at the glasses. “I’m just so bummed out, you know? I loved Sam. Like really loved him. I know Becca doesn’t believe that because we weren’t like you, but love doesn’t have to have just one definition.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“But he obviously didn’t feel the same way about me.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a crumpled napkin. “Because he picked money and a law firm over me. What kind of man does that?”
“Not a good one.” Warren pushed his chair back and stood. He didn’t want her staying here, but he couldn’t bring her home drunk. Rebecca would be upset, and there’d be yet another rift between the sisters.
“Come with me.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and dropped a few twenties on the table. “You need to sober up before we go home.”
“I was pregnant.”
He went cold. “What?”
“When we got married.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t know before, but I found out a month later.”
Warren’s hands fisted. “Did he know?”
Julia nodded, her breath hitching on another sob. “I thought for sure he’d tell his family to go to hell when he found out I was pregnant, but he didn’t. He didn’t tell his parents anything. Then after the divorce was final, I wanted to get my shit together before going to Becca because I wanted to prove to her I could handle being pregnant by myself. But I… I miscarried a week after the divorce was final. I never told anyone. Please don’t tell Becca. I don’t want her to think I did something to cause it.”
She put her head in her hands and sobbed. Anger—no, a red-hot burn of rage toward Sam Craven—filled Warren’s chest. He put his hand on her head, stroked her hair.
“Rebecca would never think that of you,” he said gently.
“She might.” Julia lifted her head and swiped her arm over her face. “Don’t tell her.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She regarded him through reddened eyes. “You’re so nice, Warren. You know that? You’re, like, a nice man. You’d never choose a law firm over my sister.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” He slipped his hand under her arm and helped her to her feet. “I promise, it’ll all work out.”
She sniffled again, but grabbed her bag and walked with him to the parking lot, gripping his arm to keep her pace steady. He steered her away from her car and toward his sedan.
“We’ll get your car later.” He
opened the passenger side door. “Get in.”
“Where are you taking me?”
He had no idea. He closed the door, went around to the driver’s seat, and started the car. He’d drive around for a while, maybe find a 24-hour diner where he could get her some coffee.
“Can we get ice-cream?” Julia asked.
“Ice-cream and alcohol are not a good mix.”
“I’m hungry.”
Warren drove, scanning the streets before finding a take-out pizza joint. He ordered a large coffee and an order of breadsticks, bringing it back to the car.
“Oh, wow. That smells amazing.” She took the bag from him and inhaled. “You are so nice.”
He started the car again, hoping she’d be sober enough after eating that he could take her home.
“Can you pull over so I can eat?” Julia asked. “I don’t want to get carsick.”
Warren drove into the empty parking lot of a park and came to a stop. Julia opened the door and got out with the bag of food, taking a deep breath of cool night air. He picked up the coffee and followed her out.
“I feel better already.” She hitched herself onto the hood of the car and opened the bag. She ate a breadstick and moaned with pleasure. “So good.”
Warren checked his watch. Past one. On the way home, he’d find another pay phone to call Rebecca. He leaned against the fender beside Julia, studying her as she worked her way through the breadsticks. She wasn’t beautiful like Rebecca, but she had a tousled, gypsy-girl appeal, a wildness that his lovely wife lacked. Julia’s hair was thick and tangled, her skin browned from the sun, her legs long and bare.
“Want one?” She extended the bag to him.
He shook his head. “Drink the coffee, too.”
“Yes, sir.” She took the lid off the Styrofoam cup and sipped, eyeing him over the rim. “You like to order people around, huh?”
Unease prickled his chest. He’d known Julia for seven years, and though they didn’t see each other regularly, he’d never gotten a flirty vibe from her. He’d sure as hell never felt anything inappropriate toward her.
