Don't Say a Word

by Barbara Freethy

  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 still-swollen, tender 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 8

  After muttering a quick goodbye 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? I
t 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?"

  She wished she didn't have to answer that question, but Michael was waiting. "Alex and I went to speak to a friend of his father's."

  "Why?"

  "Because apparently there's some connection between his father and my mother. They knew each other in college. We're still trying to figure out the rest."

  Confusion ran through his eyes. "I don't understand. Now you're tied to this guy, too?"

  "I don't know yet. I have only bits and pieces. Nothing makes sense. That's what I'm trying to tell you, Michael. It's not my imagination. There's something wrong with the story my mother told me about our past."

  He considered that for a long moment. "Okay, so why don't you let me help you? I can do whatever he's doing. I can look on the Internet. I can go with you to talk to people."

  She was surprised by his offer. "You would really help me, feeling as you do about the matter?"

  "I want to be the guy you turn to, not this Alex," he said with irritation.

  "He's involved, Michael. He's my key to the past."

  "And that's all he is to you?" She hesitated for a split second too long. "Of course that's all he is," she said, but it was too late. She saw anger flare in his eyes. "Michael—"

  He put up his hand, cutting her off. "No. You've said enough for now. It's clear to me we won't have a reasonable discussion about our future until you get the answers you're looking for, which won't be tonight, so I'm going home. I'm running a fishing charter at five o'clock in the morning. We'll talk tomorrow."

  She was relieved to postpone the discussion. "All right."

  "Come here." He opened his arms, and she moved into his embrace. He held her tight for a long moment, resting his chin on top of her head. "I don't want to lose you, Julia," he murmured. "I wish you could see that the future is more important than the past."

  She didn't know what to say to that. Michael knew everything about himself. He could trace his ancestors back to a villa in Tuscany a hundred years ago. He didn't understand that her world kept shifting beneath her feet. That she had to find something solid to stand on.

  He leaned in and kissed her long and hard. She kissed him back, because she really wanted to love him. But there must have been something missing, because when he pulled away he looked even more troubled than before. They had to talk. She had to tell him. They had to be honest with each other.

  "Michael," she began again.

  He shook his head. "No, not now. I don't want you to say anything until you're sure. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Julia blew out a breath as he left. She had a feeling she was sure—sure that she couldn't marry him. But she was so confused. She didn't want to hurt Michael. She didn't want to make a mistake in either direction. She needed time to think. But tonight her mind was too full to concentrate. Maybe tomorrow, in the cold light of day, everything would make more sense.

  "I'd like to thank Guillermo Sandoval for being our guest today," Julia said, smiling at the slim, classically trained Brazilian musician whose group would be playing popular Latin American rhythms later that night at a San Francisco nightclub. "There are still tickets available for tonight's performance. Don't miss Guillermo's intriguing blend of samba, chow, and bossa nova, the music of his homeland. We'll be giving away two free tickets after this message from our sponsor." Julia hit the button to go to commercial and took off her headphones. "Thank you so much for coming," she said as Guillermo got to his feet. "I know eight o'clock in the morning is early for a musician."

  He smiled. "I didn't mind. It was my pleasure. Your station has wonderful programs, important music that should be shared with the world."

  "I completely agree." Julia escorted him out of the control room as the next on-air host arrived to take over at the microphone. In the lobby, the receptionist offered Guillermo coffee and pastries. Julia stopped by her cubicle to check her messages and found Tracy in her chair, reading the newspaper and eating a doughnut. With only four full-time employees at the station, they were very casual about sharing office space. "What's up?" she asked.

  "Not much. Good interview." Tracy popped the rest of the doughnut into her mouth.

  "Thanks. Anyone call while you were sitting at my desk?"

  "Only about half a dozen people. How did you suddenly get so popular?" Tracy tossed a yellow pad in front of Julia, on which she had scribbled several messages. "Your sister called twice. Michael, your father, and some guy named Alex, who I'm betting is the hunk who came by to see you the other day, also called."

  Julia stared down at the list of names. It was early in the morning. What on earth could have happened?

  "That guy, Alex, said to call him before you call anyone else," Tracy continued.

  That definitely didn't sound good.

  "Is this all part of the wedding mania? Or is something else happening?" Tracy asked.

  "It's a long story."

  "If you need to talk, I'm here. Now I'll get out of your way. Let me clean this stuff up."

  As Tracy picked up the newspaper, one of the sections slipped to the desk. Julia picked it up, her heart stopping at the headline and the photograph. "Oh, my God," she murmured. "I can't believe they printed this."

  "Printed what?" Tracy grabbed the paper from Julia's hand, then whistled under her breath. "You're a celebrity, girl. Not the best picture of you I've ever seen, but… Wow." She looked at Julia with a question in her eyes. "Is this why everyone is calling?"

  "I think so." Julia glanced back at the newspaper, reading the headline again: FOUND! WORLD'S MOST FAMOUS ORPHAN. How could they print such a thing without any proof? She took the paper back from Tracy, flipping to the page with the article, where there was another photo of Julia as well as one of Alex. The story focused on the exhibit and the fact that one of Charles Manning's most famous subjects was now living in San Francisco. They gave her name, spoke of DeMarco's Seafood Cafe, and finally admitted that, while the photographer's widow, Kate Manning, said they were almost convinced that Julia was the orphan girl, proof had not been clearly established.

  "Is it true, Julia? Are you her?" Tracy asked.

  "I don't know. What I do know that
is no one should have printed this article without concrete evidence."

  "They always print gossip in this section. It's what sells the newspaper."

  "Well, they shouldn't print anything that isn't a fact. This story could hurt a lot of people—my father, my sister, Michael." She shook her head in frustration. She should have realized that once the reporter had a photo of her, she would probably print it. "Dammit, what am I going to do?"

  Tracy offered her a compassionate smile. "I have no idea, but I think you're about to be rescued by the cavalry."

  Julia looked up to see Alex stride through the front doors of the office, a grim, determined expression on his face.

  She ran out to the lobby to meet him, the paper still in her hand. "I just saw this. I had no idea they would run a story based on nothing."

  "I know. Are you all right?"

  She shook her head, feeling completely overwhelmed. Her head was spinning so fast she was dizzy. She didn't know what to do first, where to turn. When Alex held out his arms, she moved into his embrace without a second thought. He pressed her head to his chest, and she closed her eyes, feeling for the moment that she was in exactly the right place.

  Unfortunately, the moment ended far too soon. "I did some research this morning on your grandparents," Alex said, stepping away from her. "I found Susan Davidson, the surviving spouse of Henry Davidson. I called her on the phone and asked her if she had a daughter named Sarah."

  Julia's eyes widened. She'd been thinking about contacting Susan Davidson, but hadn't quite found the nerve to take that step. "What did she say?"

  "She said Sarah died twenty-five years ago in a fire."

  "No!"

  "She also said that Sarah attended Northwestern and not a day went by but that she didn't miss her daughter."

  Her nerves began to tingle. "Did she know about me?"

  He shook his head. "No. She said Sarah died single and alone. Then she started crying and had to hang up."