“You really love her, don’t you?”
Julian nodded, pressing his lips together and blinking back tears.
“Do you think she’ll remember me?”
“Of course she will. We talk about you every day, and she keeps a picture of you on her bedside table.”
“And does she know I’m coming home?”
“No. I wanted to be sure first. I couldn’t take the chance that something might go wrong and hurt her all over again.”
“I understand. That sounds like the right call.” She unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over to the cooler on the back seat, and pulled out a cold LaCroix. “Would you like one?”
He shook his head, and she flipped open the tab on hers and drank. “I need you to know how afraid I am. I’m not sure anyone can truly understand how it feels to know nothing about yourself. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to know that I have a daughter I don’t remember? How does a mother forget her own child?”
This is good, Julian thought. She was opening up to him, telling him what she was feeling. Trusting him. “I don’t know how that feels, you’re right. But I do know that it must be awful for you. I want you to know that you can be honest with me about your feelings, whether you’re scared, or angry, or sad, or whatever. I want us to put our life back together the way it used to be. And for that to happen, we have to be open and honest with each other.”
In a small voice, she said, “Thank you.”
Julian drove on, not speaking and keeping to the promise he’d made to himself to let her be the one to start any conversation. The silence was less awkward now, however, and he felt himself becoming more relaxed. They were just over an hour and a half from the house when she asked if he would mind pulling into the next rest stop.
Julian parked the car, and they headed in together. Once inside, she went to the restroom, and he waited in front of a display of sunglasses, wondering who would be foolish enough to buy these designer knockoffs.
Cassandra walked over to him and picked up a pair of aviator frames from the carousel. He was about to tell her he’d buy her the real thing when her hand began to shake and she dropped the sunglasses like they were a piece of hot coal.
“What is it?” Julian asked, alarmed.
“I . . . I don’t know. Something. I saw something bad. In my head. But it was so fast. Too fast.” She was backing away from him and turning to the exit. “Please, let’s go. I have to get out of here.”
She was almost running, and Julian caught up with her as they neared the glass doors to the parking lot. When they got into the car, he started the engine but didn’t pull out. He was disturbed by what had happened. She’d had some sort of flashback to a trauma in her past, that much was clear. There was so much he hadn’t told her, so much she didn’t know yet. What if it all came crashing back at once? The confidence he’d begun to feel slowly evaporated. He knew now what might lie ahead, and it wasn’t good.
Part II
??33??
Addison
I’m awakened by Julian’s voice, telling me we’ve arrived. I must have fallen asleep after we left the rest stop. Yawning, I rub my eyes and try to bring the world into focus. I look over at Julian, who still looks fresh and rested, his blue eyes clear, his hair perfect. It’s a quiet road we’re on, where high walls and hedges block any views of the houses behind them. This is definitely not your average middle-class neighborhood. Julian turns left into the next driveway, which winds quite a way up a hill to reveal a massive dwelling of red brick three stories high. My mouth drops open. It’s wide enough to fit four houses the size of Ed and Gigi’s inside it. There must be over fifteen windows in the front, the ones across the first floor tall and gracefully arched at the top. When Julian stops the car in front, I sit there and try to take it all in. If the late-model Jaguar with its plush interior was a clue that Julian was comfortable, this house says he is much more than comfortable. It says he is rich.
He turns off the engine, and we’re encased in tomblike silence inside this luxury vehicle. “You got some rest. How are you feeling?” His face shows concern, and I’m touched by his kindness.
“Better,” I say. “The house. It’s so . . . it’s so big.”
He laughs. It’s a nice laugh, I think, and I smile in spite of the apprehension I’m feeling right now. He tells me that our house is in Brookline, which I’ve never heard of. He explains that it’s next to Boston, but the quiet streets feel far removed from the city noise.