Gaining Visibility (28 page)

As the three of them moved away, Grayson still held Olivia's hand and Kenneth got a firm hold on her opposite elbow. Big as she was, movement was difficult and the uneven ground could be a hazard.

Someone said something, and Julia squinted into the sunlight at the tall figure standing beside her. “I'm sorry. What did you say?”

“I'm Joe Proctor, the administrator of the nursing home Mrs. Berkwith was in.”

“Oh yes.” Julia shook his hand. “We've, uh . . .” Heat moved from her neck into her cheeks as she remembered their first encounter. “We met once before.”

A puzzled dent appeared between his heavy eyebrows. “Have we?”

Of course, he wouldn't remember. She'd been invisible. Maybe still was. She'd found herself wondering more and more of late what had happened to that woman she'd glimpsed in Italy.

But relief Joe
didn't
remember her stamped down the flicker of indignation starting to flare. “Well, it was very briefly.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and waved it dismissively. “I want to thank you for all you did for Hettie. We couldn't have asked for better care for her.”

“I appreciate that. People like Mrs. Berkwith make my job worthwhile.” He smiled a genuine smile and the warmth from her cheeks seeped downward into her chest. Joe Proctor was a nice man. That Hettie had been in his care during her last days of consciousness was a comforting thought.

“And thank you for coming today.”

“It was my pleasure.” His features contorted. “Well, not pleasure.” A flush bloomed on his forehead and cheeks. “I mean, I was glad to be here . . . not that I enjoy funerals.” His face was crimson by then.

Julia laughed. “It's okay. I know what you mean.”

He laughed, too. “Whew! I'd better get out of here while I've only got one foot in my mouth.” Shaking his head, he moved away.

Julia smiled as she watched him go.

“Jules? You ready?” Frank's hand came to rest lightly on the small of her back.

She glanced around, noting most everyone was gone. A few people still stood by their cars talking, but most of the small crowd had dissipated.

Her gaze turned back toward the tent. The workers from the funeral home would want to finish up and get on with their day.

And she needed to start putting the pieces of her life back together. . . without Hettie.

She turned to face her ex-husband and her daughter, who waited patiently. “I'm ready.”

As they moved toward the car, she turned and blew a final kiss toward the tent.

C
HAPTER
26

E
arl and Martha Stone were the last to leave.

“I really want you to consider getting a security system put in here.” Earl paced up and down the porch of Julia's house, scrutinizing the doors and windows as only an officer of the law would. “Lotsa mean bastards out there, you know? A woman living alone needs protection.”

Julia dodged a June bug that couldn't resist the lure of the porch light. “Maybe I should move to one of those gated retirement communities with the old folks.” She landed a soft punch on Earl's bicep, surprised to find it as rock solid as it had been when he was a football star in high school.

Earl grinned. “Maybe you should. Or maybe you just need to be finding yourself a man.”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “I could turn an alarm system off and on whenever I want.”

Earl's laugh shook the paunch around his middle. “You got a point there.”

“Earl, c'mon, and leave Julia be,” Martha called from the car. “I'm burning up out here.”

Earl gave Julia a quick hug. “Call me if you need me, Julia May.”

Julia smiled. Nobody except her mom and Earl had ever called her Julia May. “I will,” she promised. “And don't worry about me. I'm fine.”

Halfway to the car, Earl turned and shook a finger at her. “Lotsa bastards out there.”

“Duly noted,” she called back with a wave good-bye to Martha. She watched until their taillights were out of sight before she went back into the house.

Melissa and Frank were in the kitchen, trying to make room in the refrigerator for the leftovers. For two days, friends and neighbors had been dropping things by in a constant stream. There was still plenty, even after feeding seventeen friends and family members after the funeral.

“I've never seen so much food.” Melissa blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I wish I could take some of it back with me.”

“I wish you could take all of it,” Julia agreed. “It's certainly more than I need.”

Frank pulled a piece of foil off the roll big enough to cover the enormous pan of lasagna. “At least now people use plastic or throwaways that don't have to be returned. Used to, we'd have to sort out and take back all those casserole dishes to their owners.”

“And there would always be a stack of orphans who'd lost the masking tape with their owner's name on it,” Julia added.

Frank handed the last pan to Melissa, who slid it into the fridge on top of Mamie Trimble's blue-ribbon recipe blackberry cobbler.

Melissa stood for a moment, chewing her lip, looking the same as she did when she was four and about to get into mischief. She set the lasagna back out and removed the cobbler. “I think I want some of this.”

“Me too.” Frank seconded her idea.

It did seem like a shame to refrigerate the cobbler just yet. “Get three bowls,” Julia instructed. She ducked into the mudroom and raided the freezer for the tub of vanilla ice cream Mamie had brought as accompaniment for her still-warm-out-of-the-oven cobbler.

They heaped their bowls and made for the Florida room to enjoy the evening breeze, which brought not only respite from the heat but also the quintessential sound of the summer cicadas and bull frogs.

“We've been so distracted by Gram, I haven't heard much about Italy yet, Mom.” Melissa pinched off a piece of crust and dragged it through her ice cream as if it were chip and dip. “Did you have a good time, or did the broken toe manage to spoil the whole thing?”

Frank set his cobbler aside and propped his elbows on his knees, all ears. He suspected something happened in Italy, she could tell.

Julia thought back to how unabashedly relieved Melissa had been when she learned Dawn and Frank had broken up. Julia wasn't sure if it was the woman, the age difference between her dad and the woman, or simply one of her parents in a relationship that made their daughter react that way.

She finished the bite she'd taken, using the time to gather her wits and choose her words. “Well, I was pretty bummed at first, but I met a wonderful Italian family. The son is an artist and he kind of took me in and helped me get around. To pay him back, I photographed his work for a Web catalog and he's starting to make sales, so everything worked out well for everybody. The country's even more beautiful than I had pictured.” She hurried on, diving into an extended monologue about the colors and the terrain.

She talked until Frank became interested in his cobbler again, and she could almost see the glaze of boredom dropping across his eyes. At that point, she passed the conversation to Melissa. “But enough about Italy. Now that I can see your expressions, I want to hear in person what it's like living so far north. You know, the stuff you don't tell me over the phone.”

Melissa snorted. “Where do I even begin?” But she found her start with how different it was from what she expected and let her zeal for the new experience carry her on for a long time.

Frank joined in, adding his two cents about Hawaii, and the conversation turned lively, reminiscent of past conversations around the dinner table.

One subject segued into another with the easy verbal sparring that had always characterized their family discussions.

Time passed quickly, and before Julia knew it, Frank was looking at his watch, exclaiming, “My God, it's after eleven!” As if brought on by the acknowledgment, a wide yawn contorted his face.

Melissa's girlish giggle faded into a long sigh. “This has been nice. Tonight. The three of us here, together again.”

Their daughter had been away at college during the divorce and had kept a stoic attitude about it anytime she'd been home, ever the trooper. Her wistful tone displayed the truth behind her cool façade, and it squeezed Julia's heart.

“Yeah, it has,” Frank said. He cut his gaze to Julia and allowed it to linger a shade too long.

She shifted in her seat, not wanting to spoil the moment, but not wanting to let it develop into something it wasn't. “Hettie would be pleased,” she said. Maybe reminding them of the occasion that brought about this reunion would squelch any false hopes.

It seemed to work. “Well, I don't know about y'all, but I'm going to bed.” Frank stood and began gathering up the dishes.

Julia stayed put, waiting to see if her daughter would want to stay up and talk more. Her emotions volleyed between disappointment and relief when Melissa agreed it was probably time for bed.

The three of them made quick work of washing and drying these last dishes by hand and putting them away.

They went up the stairs together, dropping Frank off at the guest bedroom.

Julia's room was next, and Melissa gave her a long hug. When she stepped away, her bottom lip drew up in a thoughtful pout. “Are you sleepy, Mom?”

“No,” Julia answered honestly. “I'm probably going to read for a while.”

A big smile brightened her daughter's face. “I'd love to see your pictures of Italy.”

Ack! The Italy pictures were all in one file. One big file, which consisted primarily of Vitale. Julia had been meaning to create a separate file with pictures of the scenery—pictures she could share when someone asked—but had never gotten around to doing it.

“Oh, honey, they're all in one file with lots of duplicates. I, um, I haven't deleted any yet. Let's wait until I sort them out. You won't want to wade through all of them.”

Melissa slid past her and bounced onto her bed, grinning and looking thirteen again. “It's only after nine by my time, so I'm not sleepy. C'mon, Mom. I want to see all of them.”

Busted,
Julia thought.
I'm soooo screwed.

* * *

Julia took a deep breath and tapped the computer key. The monitor came to life, the image of Vitale filling the screen.

Melissa giggled. “You go to Italy for a week, come back, and put an Italian model as your screensaver?”

“That's not an Italian model. That's Vitale, the guy I stayed with.”

That certainly got her daughter's attention. Melissa shot into an upright position and leaned closer to the screen. Her eyes widened. “This is the guy who took care of you?”

Julia nodded and wished her mouth had not gone so suddenly dry.

“You stayed at his house?”

“Uh-huh.” Julia tried for a nonchalant tone as she clicked on the file that brought up the rest of the photos.

“Just the two of you?”

Julia shrugged. “We're adults.” She pointed at the screen. “This is the hotel in Lerici.”

“He's hot, Mom.” Melissa's voice held the same wonder it had when she was six and Julia gave her a cherished gold locket.

“Yeah, he's nice looking, and a little conceited. But he's very pleasant . . . and talented.” She clicked through the next group of pictures she had taken on the first sightseeing cruise. “This is the town. And these are other villages. Look at all the colors.”

“These almost look like they've been enhanced.”

Julia breathed easier as Melissa became absorbed in the scenery photos. But her finger trembled against the mouse pad when the first shot of Vitale's house came up. “This is Vitale's home. He built it himself along with almost all of the furniture.” She tried to steer attention away from the man in the picture and onto the house or garden or whatever piece of art was showing.

Close-ups of flowers gave her a respite, but then the screensaver photo came up and her breath caught as it always did. She cleared her throat. “I was out in the garden taking pictures one morning, and I couldn't resist this shot.”

“I don't think I could have resisted
him.
”

Julia tapped the mouse pad absently. “This is the Cinque Terre, which I didn't get to hike, but I did get to walk for a bit.” Her finger froze as an image hit the screen. She and Vitale kissing on the Via dell'Amore. She took a fortifying breath and met Melissa's stunned look head-on.

“You hooked up.” Melissa's eyes darted from the monitor to her mother and back several times.

“No,” Julia protested. “We didn't ‘hook up.' ”

Melissa's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs and her grin stretched across her face. “Yes, you did! I can see it on your face. You totally hooked up with an Italian hottie!”

“It wasn't a hookup. It was . . . it was more than that. We . . . enjoyed each other's company.” She tapped through the photos of embraces, looking for safer ones. “This is the market where we had lunch.”

Melissa gave it a quick glance. “Pretty.” But she obviously wouldn't be deterred from the other line of conversation. “Omigod, my mom had a fling! Tell me about it.” She held her palm up. “No embarrassing details, just the cool stuff.”

Cool stuff.
“Well, he doesn't have a car, so we traveled around on a Benelli motorcycle.”

Melissa smacked her hand across her eyes. “Oh, man, I can't see my mother riding around on the back of a motorcycle! With an Italian stallion!”

The word choice vibrated a disconcerting thrum through Julia. “It wasn't just a fun fling,” she blurted, sounding defensive. She bit her tongue to slow it down. “I mean, not that I really believe it, but he says he loves me . . .” Her stomach tightened around the cobbler she'd eaten.

Melissa's sarcastic snort spoke volumes. “Don't they always?”

The warning in the words put a blip on Julia's mom-radar. “Why do you say that?”

Melissa's lips pressed together in a thin line before she spoke. “I mean, what is it with guys that they can use the L-word without batting an eye, and fools that we are, we lap it up and believe everything they tell us?” She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. “If he really loved you, he'd be here with you, right? But he's not. And it's one of your worst times.”

“Well, like I said, I didn't really fall for his line. But in his defense . . .” Not quite sure
why
was she feeling a need to defend him, she pressed on. “He is, after all, in Italy.”

“
Where
doesn't make any difference. He's not
here
. He's in Italy or Alaska, or... or Kamchatka.” Melissa's inflection on the last word made it sound like she was cursing.

What?
Julia's mouth dropped the words it had prepared. “Kamchatka?” She had the feeling
he
no longer referred to Vitale.

“It's a Russian peninsula, not far from Alaska but very remote.” Tears welled up in Melissa's big green eyes. “Michael left five days ago on an expedition to study the brown bears there.”

“Oh, baby, I noticed you'd hardly mentioned him since you got home, but I didn't want to pry.” Julia scooted over onto the bed and pulled her close. “Why didn't you say something sooner?”

“I don't know. Y'all had Gram to worry about. And honestly? I felt stupid, I guess.” Melissa buried her face against Julia's chest. “I followed him to Alaska and within a few months he takes off and goes to Kamchatka. What does that say about our relationship?”

“I don't know. Maybe that he thinks it's strong enough to survive a separation?”

“Nine months, maybe a year, with little to no contact?” She smacked the pillow and tossed it away. “That's not separation—that's divorce.”

Wow. That was perceptive. The gelled hair spikes on the back of Melissa's head tickled as Julia's palm smoothed across them.

“I want him to follow his dream,” Melissa continued. “Really, I do. I guess I just wanted that dream to include being with me.”