by Jacquie Gee
“Oh, no…no you don’t. You said, married. Mom was married before?”
Dad looks down and up again, his eyes fill with traitorous panic. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”
“Too bad, we already are.”
He swallows, then looks hard at me, then up toward the heavens as if looking for my mother’s approval. “Okay,” he says. “Here goes.” He pulls his chair in, clasps his hands, and places them on the desk between us. “Your mother,” he gulps, “was married before.”
The news strikes me like lightning. “You’re serious.”
“Mm-hmm, to a Frenchman, named Phillipe. I never met the man, but your mother was mad for him.” Dad’s expression melts when he says this, an emptiness fills his gaze. “He was her true love. Her soulmate.” He falls back in his chair, let’s go of his hands.
“That’s not true, Dad. You were,” I say.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I was the soulmate replacement.” He glances at the desk, then stares hard at me. “Just as I was the daddy replacement.”
“The what?”
Parts of my brain I don’t even know, are shattering. What did he just say?
"Phillipe was your father, not me. You were born just after he died."
What?
"He knew you were coming and was over the moon about it, or so I was told." His voice quivers. "He couldn't wait to meet you."
“Your mother said, she was drawn to him by some strange compulsion she could never explain. She met him at a train station in New York City one night, and ran off to live with him in Moncton, where he was stationed—”
"Your grandparents were not impressed, as you can well imagine." Dad chuckles. "Along with the fact that he was a soldier."
“Oh, my.”
"Oh, my is right. Your grandmother disowned your mother. In her own strange way, she thought by doing so, she'd win her back. But your mother was in love, and unbreakable. She stayed with Phillipe, cut off all ties with her mother and father, and had a good life going, from what I understand…until tragedy struck." Dad chokes. "Phillipe was shipped overseas to Afghanistan, according to your Mother, and she became pregnant with you shortly after he left. She informed him and Phillipe was thrilled. They were to be married as soon as he returned. But that was never to be.
Just weeks before you were born, your Mom got the word that Phillipe was killed in action.”
My lips part.
“It shattered her entire world.
Your grandmother, of course, didn’t approve of her being pregnant without a husband, so your mother had to go through the pregnancy alone. But, your mother being who she was, continued on. She gave birth to you and named you Jules, short for Julian, your father's middle name, as they had spoken briefly about doing before his death."
“Jules?”
“Um-hum.” Dad smiles. “Then I showed up nine months later and fell madly in love with both you and your mother,” he pauses to bop me on the nose with an affectionate finger, “and we were married five months later. The day your mother agreed to marry me was the happiest of my life." He laughs, reminiscing, his eyes wandering to a spot on the wall past my head. "I like to think she loved me as much as she did him, but I don't think that's true."
“I don’t believe that Dad.” I reach out and take him by the hand. “I saw how she was with you.”
“At any rate,” Dad changes the subject. “After your father died and before your mother met me, your grandmother took pity on your Mother and ended their feud. She picked up the phone and came to visit the both of you. That’s when she told your mother about her being adopted.
She claimed, they had acquired your mother from some young girl in Mississippi who wanted to give up her child and brought her back to New York to be raised as their own. "
“But she didn’t want to give her up,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Nothing. Go on.” I signal with my hand.
“Your mother always thought your grandmother just told her that story, so she’d give you up, which she hated her for, and ordered her out of the house that day.”
“Good for, Mom.”
"All this led to your mother seeking out her birth mother, whom she only met once. She took you with her. They had a wonderful day. And you came back with a new name." Dad turns, scoots his chair back and fishes through the filing cabinet behind him. He produces a piece of paper which he slides across the desk between us. "The official name change. Your Mother applied for it, after meeting her mother. You went from being Jules to Julieta Magda overnight. Apparently, Magda is a family name—"
“I know.”
Dad scowls. “What?”
“It doesn’t matter. What else?”
He excuses himself, slides back his chair, and rummages through a second filing cabinet, the tall one, next to the window. "You're mother's birth certificate.” He slides the paper across the desk toward me. “She told me to keep it, to help explain things to you, if and when this day ever came.”
My eyes drop to the names on the page.
Mother: Glorianna Magda Longbottom
Child: Female, born May 17, 1959, Name: Julieta Magda Longbottom.
"It was your mother's real birth certificate, bearing her real name before your grandmother applied to have it changed. I don't know why your grandmother kept this all these years, guilt, maybe, but she gave it to your mother that day."
“So, Mom was born a Longbottom.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And she was adopted and previously married.”
"Sort of." He shoots a second document across the table at me. "Your father arranged for a long-distance telephone ceremony to happen when he found out you were on the way. He wanted to make an honest woman out of your mother, temporarily, until he got back home. So, he arranged for your mother and him to exchange some vows over the telephone, while a clergy listened on his end. This arrived with his death certificate." He taps the paper. A marriage document. "Though your mother was sure it wasn’t legal. At least not in this country."
“My father was an Arquette.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“My mother gave me his name.”
“How did you know?” Dad scowls.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is, it all makes sense now!” I shoot forward, cupping his face in my hands and kiss his head. “Thank you, thank you, Dad, for telling me everything!” I kiss him again and spring up from my chair. "I've gotta go now!” I head toward the door.
"Jules," he says, his voice weighed down with tears.
The sound of it calls me back. I whip around.
“Just so you know, we were always gonna tell you, when the time was right. But then your mother died and I”— he chokes up— “didn’t know what to do.” His voice cracks. "I was afraid if I told you, you'd hate me, and the fairytale would be over—"
“What fairytale?” I scowl.
“And I couldn’t bear for that to happen, Jules. I couldn’t lose you both…” He breaks into soft sobs.
"Oh, Dad." I double back, kissing him softly on the head and wrapping my arms around him. “You could never lose me.” I hug him close.
“But I’m not your father,” he says.
“Look at me,” I pull up his chin. “Phillipe Julian Arquette may have given me life, but you have taught me how to live it, and there’s no replacing that.”
He smiles, and I hug him harder. “Now, I’ve gotta go,” I pull away, dancing toward the front door of the shop, “but get the popcorn ready and we’ll watch the game together, later, okay?” I wink back at him as I shut the door.
The wind is brisk and the night air cooler. I pinch the collar of my blouse up around my neck and push on down the sidewalk toward the truck. I can’t wait to see Jayden’s face, when I confirm everything, and tell him what else I’ve learned. I crank open the door of the cab and jump into the seat, behind the wheel, and my phone goes off in my purse.
I slide in, slam the door shut and quickly
dig for it, picking it up on the fourth ring. “Hul-lo?” My voice is wobbly and winded from the rush.
“Is this Julieta Bates?” A strange voice says.
“Yes, this is she,” I say, apprehensively. I don’t usually take strangers calls. Likely just a telemarketer, though it doesn’t sound like one. I hope I don’t regret answering this call.
“The Julieta Bates who applied to be on Project Catwalk?”
“Yes, yes, this is her.” My hands are trembling. I swallow down a lump of fear.
“Yes, well, this is Lundy Looely, calling. Are you familiar with the name?”
“Oh, yes, yes, of course!”
How could I not be? She’s only one of the world’s top designers and the lead judge on Project Catwalk!
My heart pulls up into my throat as I listen.
“Yes, well, I don’t know how to put this, so I’m just gonna come out with it, I’ve decided to pull your application from the contestant pile—”
“Oh.” My voice falls in a deep, dark hole, and my heart falls to mush in my lap.
“—Because, I’ve decided to invite you to join me, instead, as part of my private tour.”
“oOh!”
“I noticed your work was showcased by a very prominent YouTuber, with over a hundred thousand hits, and then again, being raved about by a reporter on-line in, Gothic Beauty Magazine, is that correct?”
“Yes, yes that’s my work.”
“You're really getting your name out there, aren't you? Smart girl. The only way for young designer to get recognized in this highly competitive world these days is to make a lot of noise—"
Mental note: Give Anna, great, big, squishy hug for pushing me into all of the above.
“It was then, I realized you’d applied for the show, so I had my assistant dig up your submission. The stitching on your sample was exquisite. It far exceeded the quality of the rest. And your use and knowledge of fabrics and beadwork are simply outstanding!"
Is it?
“That’s what prompted my decision. You see, every couple of years, I invite young designers to join me for a couple of stops on my world tour. This year, I'm inviting, you. What do you say? Are you interested, or would you prefer I put you back into the pile.”
“No. I mean, YES, of course, I’m interested!” I can barely catch my breath.
“Good. Because I’d been very disappointed if you’d said no. I think you have a great future in the biz.”
"So, I'd be coming along on tour, making dresses for you?" I clarify just so I have things straight.
“No, darling,” she laughs, “you’d be coming along on tour with your own dress creations to open for me. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Oh, yes, yes please…” I can hardly contain my excitement.
“A stop in London and Milan. You’re on your own after that.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
“That should be enough of a splash to turn a few heads in the industry. What you do with it from there, is all up to you.”
“Of, course, and thank you. Thank you so very much, Ms…” I stall not knowing the proper way to address her.
"Lund will do." I feel the warm smile through the phone. "Now, do you think you can meet next week in New York to go over plans, say, Wednesday, late afternoon?"
“I’ll be there.”
“Do you have a pen to take down the address.”
I scour the truck for something to write with and on, coming up with a half-broken pencil and an old gas receipt, but it will do. “Go ahead.”
“555, 103, 17th, 5th floor, 3:00 pm. That’s the heart of the fashion district in New York.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Oh, and be a dear and bring coffee, two sugars, one cream.”
“I will!”
The call goes dead before I can thank her again, and for a long moment, I sit in the truck, holding the phone, trembling and wondering if that just actually happened. “I’m going on tour with Lundy Looely, top designer in all the world,” I say it aloud to make it real. “I’m going to open for her! I’m going on tour with Lundy Looely!” I chant. “I’m going on tour with Lundy Looely!”
Omigosh, who do I tell first. I grab the handle of the cab.
Stuffing the receipt in my pocket, I burst from the truck, slamming its door behind me.
“Anna!” I shout, racing across the street and banging on the front window of the realtor like some sort of crazed lunatic. “Dad!” I race back across the street to the other side, doing the same on the window of the Bait Shop.
“Anna! Dad!”
“What is it?” They both appear, their heads drawn out of doors.
"I made it!" I shout, standing in the middle of the street. "I'm on my way to New York, London, and Milan!"
Chapter 32
Jayden
"Okay, she knows, now. I told her everything," I burst through the doors of the mansion, breathlessly, shouting to Edgar, so he'll hear me.
Not a moment later, he appears through darkness of the room, his green glowing form swirling over me. The ghost monitors at my feet blink, shudder and squawk. I reach down to shut them off so we can hear each other.
I don’t need them anymore.
“Did she understand what you were saying?” He clasps his hands as he morphs into his translucent, green, glowing human form— his feet slowly taking shape and floating down onto the floorboards of the parlor room, where he begins to pace.
“She seemed to,” I say, shutting the door behind me, and proceeding to join him in the room.
“Then where is she? Why isn’t she here, with you?”
"Because she had questions to answer of her own. This is not all about you Edgar. There are other people, and hearts involved." I shake my head, gently but firmly.
"Of course, of course." He lowers his head, humbled. "It's just that I've waited so long." He twists his hands. "But the important thing is though she knows, at last, she knows!" He sprouts a grin, the first I've seen since we've met— a wide-mouthed, dimple-forming grin. "She knows I didn't abandon her, that I never stopped looking for both of them." He looks up, his glowing lips quivering, his eyes laden with tears.
“Well, Jules knows,” I say as gently as I can, “not Arianna.”
“Oh, you’ve so much to learn, son.” He laughs, reaches out and claps a wispy hand straight on through my back. “She knows because a little piece of each of us over the years has been woven into your skins. A little drop of each of our blood courses through your veins, our marrow flows through your bones. You, are like me in so many ways you’ll never know because of the distance, and age, and time, but you are! It’s there. I see it in you, little reminders of me here and there.”
“Well, I certainly hope I didn’t inherit your temper.”
Edgar smiles. "I didn't have a temper in the natural world. That came from years of body restrictions and pent-up frustration. But now, now because of you, that's all gone away. I cannot thank you enough." He's smiles, big. "And you didn't come out of this too bad either." He false punches my shoulder. "You little cad. You’ve found true love." He clasps his steaming hands together.
“How do I know it’s true?”
“What are you talking about? It doesn’t get any truer than this, trust me? And I should know, we share the same… what do you people call that, nowadays?”
“D.N.A.”
“That’s it!” He reaches out trying to clap me on the shoulder and misses. “My only regret, is, that I never met my son.” He averts his gaze.
"Perhaps you still can." Edgar's gaze jerks back to me. "I mean, isn't there a chance you'll see him, after you, you know"— I toss my head toward the ceiling— "cross over to the other side?"
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps for just a fleeting moment.” Edgar’s face becomes dream-like, hopeful. His gaze floats toward the ceiling, but then his façade quickly crumbles, and his gaze falls to the floor.
“I mean, now that everything’s been clear
ed up on this side, you’ll be free to be getting on, right?”
“Yes, yes, I likely should,” he agrees. “It’s just that, I’m not sure how I would.” He looks up at me, distraught. “That passage isn’t as easy afforded to me now, as it once was, I’m afraid.”
“But still, there has to be a way, right?” I swoop in to comfort him. “If I were a better ghostbuster I’d know this.” I tug at the beard on my chin and pace.
"Don't blame yourself. This is my fault. I should have moved on years ago." Edgar frowns.
“Perhaps if you put as much thought and energy into leaving, as you have into staying all these years, something will come of it,” I suggest.
“Perhaps you’re right.” He scratches his chin. “Perhaps all I need to do is focus.”
“Jayden?” A voice calls, as the front door creaks slowly. It’s sweet and high and familiar.
“Oh, there she is!” Edgar’s lithe, lean, body snaps straight as a string. “It’s her! She’s here! She’s come home at last!” He flaps about the room, his eyes popped endearingly wide.
“Jayden? Are you there?”
Edgar’s face exudes pure joy, then abruptly falls. “Oh, blunders, I’ve got to get out of here.” He races from the room about to vanish, then stops himself and looks back. “Don’t forget about the music and the dance!”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“It must be that specific song,” he warns.
“I know. I’ve got it. Now go!” I shoo him forward. Oh, and, Edgar…” I stop him flat, just as he’s about to vanish. He hovers in front of me, half mist, half glowing human. “When you do make over to, you know," I jerk my thumb to the side, "if you happen to see my father along with your son… will you give him a hug for me?"
“The biggest ever.” Edgar nods. “And a kiss for your mom, too—only on the cheek, of course,” he quickly adds.
“Jayden, is that you?”
The parlor door creaks slowly open at my back, and Edgar vanishes.
Chapter 33
Jayden
"I've have so much to tell you. I don't know where to begin!" She's so bubbly and hyper, I've never seen her like this, bobbing up and down on her feet. "It's true. Every word of it. It's true. You were right. I am Julieta Magda Arquette,” she touches her chest, “or at least I used to be, for a brief period of time.” She’s talking so fast, I can barely understand her. “My dad’s not my dad, but it’s all okay.” She smiles. “And my mother was married before.”
