Gaining Visibility (29 page)

“You're young, sweetie. You have lots of time.”

“I know. These are the best years of my life, which is why I wanted to spend them with Michael. I moved to Alaska so we could be together. And now we're not.”

The misery in Melissa's tone broke Julia's heart. “If you're unhappy up there, you can come home.”

Melissa shook her head. “Oh, I like it. It's exciting getting to experience a different part of the world. And I love my job.” She sniffed. “I'm afraid his leaving says something about our relationship he couldn't admit consciously yet. I'm beginning to wonder if I can count on him. I mean, I knew Gram was dying and I was prepared for that. But what if it'd been something else? Something unexpected and horrible? What if something happened to you or Dad? He wouldn't have been there for that either.”

Julia's heart ached that her precious baby was having to learn one of life's hard lessons so early—that you couldn't always depend on other people. She cupped Melissa's chin and raised it so she could look her directly in the eye. “You would face it like the strong woman you are, and you would deal with it.”

The chin in her hand wobbled in protest. “But it's okay to lean on other people sometimes, too. That's what love's all about, isn't it? Being there for each other? I mean, I'm not strong like you are, Mom. The things you've been through. Taking care of Gram. Cancer. Dad.” She stopped abruptly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. So she
did
know—or suspected. “You handle everything by yourself. You're so solid and so . . . logical.”

“Most of that comes with age, sweetheart. You'll learn. And you know your dad and I will always be here for you.”

Melissa's lips pursed, and her eyes closed briefly before opening and locking back on Julia's. “Mom?” She hesitated as her eyes cut back toward the computer monitor. “Do you think you and Dad are ever going to get back together?”

Julia's spine stiffened at the question, but before she could answer, Melissa went on.

“I've been watching the two of you since I got home. It's plain as day Dad's still crazy in love with you. It's all over him when he looks at you. You're more guarded, but there still seems to be something there. . . .”

Julia could hear the wistfulness, knew what her child wanted the answer to be, and she hated to disappoint her, but this was something she couldn't fix any more than she could whatever was going on with Michael. “There will always be ‘something there,' baby. It's
you.
You unite us.” She shook her head. “But, no, we won't ever be together again as a couple. I'm sorry.”

Tears started to slide down Melissa's face, and each one of them burned Julia's heart like drops of acid. She reached for a tissue and dabbed them away.

“Love sucks,” Melissa whispered.

Julia shook her head again. “No, love doesn't suck. Love's wonderful when it's right.”

“Can we finish your pictures tomorrow?” Melissa drew a jagged breath. “I think I want to go to bed after all.”

“Sure. There were only a few left anyway.”
Of the beach, which I wouldn't show you.
“Frank called about Hettie shortly after that last one.”

Melissa stood up and grabbed another tissue. “Sorry I've been weepy. Everything hit me at once.” She smiled a sad smile, tight and forced.

“Don't ever apologize for your feelings.” Julia kissed her daughter's forehead. “You'll get them sorted out and you'll do the right thing about Michael. I'm sure of it.” The logical, prophetic words landed heavy in her chest.

Melissa gave her a long hug, then slipped out, closing the door behind her.

Julia moved back to the chair in front of the computer and sat down hard. She tapped the mouse pad through the photos of Vitale's work until she came to the pictures of her on the beach.

She stared at herself. Topless. Carefree. Exposed to the world. She didn't even know the woman she was looking at. That woman had vanished sometime during the stress of the last few weeks.

Julietta was indeed fantasy. Not life. Not logical.

She didn't even exist except in photos.

The real Julia had a home to take care of and a business to run. Responsibilities.

She fingered the silver flip-flop that had lain at the base of her throat since Vitale placed it there. A memento of a beautiful summer. . .
fling.
Her arms felt leaden as she reached behind her neck and undid the clasp.

Then she pulled out the drawer of her jewelry chest and dropped it in.

C
HAPTER
27

C
amille glanced up from the box she was opening when Julia entered the office. Her face creased in concern. “You shouldn't be here. You should take off at least until Monday.”

“I'm only going to stay until Melissa and Frank finish their golf round.” Julia frowned when she saw the large box Camille had been cutting into and all the others scattered around her desk. “And you shouldn't be doing that. I thought we agreed I would take care of the heavy stuff.”

“I didn't touch any of it except with this.” Camille held up the box cutter. “Promise.” She crossed her heart with her other hand. “James is taking excellent care of me. He came in with me yesterday after we left your house, and he moved everything right here so it would be handy.”

“How are you feeling?” The question was rhetorical. Camille already had that pregnant woman glow about her, which people chalked up to the vitamins, but Julia suspected was more from happiness. “You look wonderful,” she added.

Camille patted her tummy and a smile spread across her face. “Fine. So far so good.”

“Well, I have an idea, which is why I came in.”

Camille narrowed her eyes. “It's not gonna involve the two of us posing naked for a calendar or anything, is it? 'Cause my body's not gonna be at its best for the next few months.”

Narrowing her eyes in response, Julia chuckled. “Are you channeling Hettie?”

Camille gave a fake evil laugh and patted her tummy again. “I hope so.”

“Me too.” Julia grinned and gave her a wink. Snatching the phone book off the counter, she flipped through it as she answered Camille's original question. “I know in the next couple of months I'm going to have to decide on some major changes here, but last night, I came up with a small one that I think will get us by for now. I'm going to call Tanya Fields at the Placement Office at the college. Students are always looking for part-time work. We'll hire a stout young man to come in a couple of hours a day to move this stuff and help around here.”

“Oh, great idea.” Camille gave her a high five. “And tell her we want our money's worth, so she should send a good-looking one that'll take his shirt off and strut around showing off his six-pack.” She reached into an opened box and pulled out the Villa de Luca label and pointed at Vitale's picture. “One that looks like this.”

Julia's forced laugh came out on a staccato beat. “Nobody else looks like that.”

Camille eyed the photo and grunted. “Mmmm! That is one fine specimen of human masculinity.” She licked her lips appreciatively.

Julia searched for the Placement Office number, and once she found it she lost no time making the call. She'd been spinning her wheels around here for a few weeks and it was time to do something productive.

As soon as Tanya Fields heard Julia's request, she came up with a name. “Bryan Thomas. Great kid. IT major. Big guy and he's looking for work. When shall I send him by?”

“Hold on.” Julia moved the phone away from her ear. “Tanya has somebody. Is next Monday good?”

Camille gave her a thumbs-up.

“How about Monday afternoon?” Julia said.

“Okay, then. I'll give him a call and tell him he has an interview next Monday at two. If that doesn't work for him, I'll give you a call back.”

Julia thanked her and hung up. “He'll be here Monday at two.”

“That should work out fine.” Camille looked at her watch. “I'm going to Lucinda Sherril's house now. I told her I'd drop those blind samples by and measure the windows today.” She shook a finger at Julia. “And you need to go on home.”

“I won't stay long,” Julia promised.

Camille gave her hand a sympathetic pat. “I'll put the
BE BACK LATER
sign on the door.”

“Thanks.”

Camille left and Julia started to examine the boxes. Five were from Italy, and two of them bore the Villa de Luca emblem on the return address.

She grasped Camille's abandoned box cutter and slit the largest box. The bubble wrap and Styrofoam pulled away to reveal one of Vitale's ornately carved washstands.

Julia's breath caught in her throat. She forced air through the constricted muscles as she smoothed her hands across the delicate scrolls.

Assuming the small box held the knobs and handles for the washstand, she sat it on top, determined to deal with it when she could breathe easier. But her eyes scanned the address label and her breath came to a complete halt this time. The small package was addressed to her personally, not the firm.

With shaky hands, she sliced through the cardboard to find a mass of bubble wrap. She took it out and examined it closely. A small box hung suspended by all the protective layers around it. Hardware shouldn't require that much cushioning. Besides, the package was much too light.

As she carefully unwrapped it, the plastic fell away to reveal a carved wooden box. On the top, a small white card had been attached. And on that card, one handwritten word—
Julietta.
A gift from Vitale? She didn't know whether to be happy or sad.

She used a fingernail to cut through the tape at the sides, not trusting the box cutter on the beautiful wood. More bubble wrap inside. She plucked at the tape that held it, but her fingers shook and made it difficult to get a grip. At last she did, and the plastic dropped away to reveal a circle carved of wood and another small card.

Examining the circle closely, she could see it was a bracelet, hinged in back. The design was two arms—two strong arms with muscles intricately detailed by the passion of the artist—with hands that closed together to form the clasp. The wood was stained a deep brown and polished to a high luster. She gasped as she recognized the color as Vitale's skin tone.

She unfolded the card. Vitale's bold scrawl filled the inside.
I hold you.

The wood warmed against her skin when she slipped it around her wrist, and she closed her eyes and imagined herself wrapped in Vitale's arms. She glided her fingertips across the bracelet, marveling again at its beauty, its intricacy . . . the love that had gone into the details.

I hold you.
He was doing his best to “fix” things for her—to make her feel better and to be with her in the only way he could.

With the force of a knockout punch, understanding shook her. Vitale was a man of his word. Hadn't he told her that repeatedly?

He loved her.

He hadn't been feeding her lines just to get a hookup. It was more than that. Her heart had known all along it was more than that. The bracelet was Vitale's way of showing his love in the most intimate way he could across the miles.

And . . .
oh God!
She loved him, too. Her heart had known that as well.

She stood still, allowing the joy to consume her heart for one long, blissful moment.

And then her brain came out of
sleep
mode.

She and Vitale loved each other. What did that change? They still belonged to different generations. She still couldn't give him children. An ocean still separated them. If she wrote him and told him how she truly felt, which of their major stumbling blocks would change?

None.

So what was the use of putting either one of them through that?

There wasn't any.

The double loss of what she'd had with Hettie and what she might have had with Vitale if things had been different gushed out on a sob then, followed by another and another, making her thankful Camille had locked the door.

Her conscience told her she should send the bracelet back, but for once, she refused to let her conscience goad her into giving up something she wanted to have for purely selfish reasons.

But there was something she had to do immediately. She went straight for her computer and pulled up her personal e-mail, dashing off a message.

She stopped. The muscles at the back of her neck tightened to the point of pain, and she pressed her fingertips into them, trying to massage away the tension.

She forced her fingers onto the keys again.

As she pressed the send button, she knew she was saying their final good-bye. No way would Vitale accept her offer of friendship. He had too much pride.

The hot flash started in her chest and crept up her neck, perspiration breaking out above her lip and then on her forehead, mixing with the tears that streaked her face. She imagined the fluids as a cleansing force, purging Vitale from her system.

It wouldn't happen instantly. Unlike the cancer, there wasn't an operation that could remove him from her heart.

She grimaced as she realized the biggest difference between healing from cancer and healing from love. When she was diagnosed, she wasn't even aware the cancer was there.

No pain.

On the other hand, letting go of Vitale felt like a huge chunk of her heart and soul had been carved out of her with a dull knife.

“You're right, Melissa,” she said aloud. “Love sucks.”