A Promised Fate (25 page)

“Why are you in my nightmares, Julia?”

“For the same reason that you’re in mine.”
She fiddled with Max’s flipped open coloring book and crayon and
refused to look back up at me. “Ari, remember when the two of us
used to talk all the time? Like all night long? About anything and
everything?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you do that with Ava?”

“Sure. All the time.”

“Those talks, that’s what made me fall in
love with you. Do you remember the very last night we spent
together?”

“Jules, that was years ago. Come on, we can’t
talk about that stuff anymore. We're with other people now. It’s
not right.”

“Remember, though? We stayed up all night in
my room and we talked about everything.”

“Jules, I think you should stop … It’s time
for you to go now.”

“Remember, Ari? And…” her cheeks turned a
rare hint of pink that came nowhere close to being as pretty as
Ava’s pink. “... and we made love and you told me that story about
Persephone.”

“Yes.” I suppressed a chill. “What is this
about?”

“It’s nothing … I just remember it, that’s
all. Your parents came home a day early and they caught us together
and then your sister found out and told Rory and you broke up with
me. You said it would never work out for us anyway because you
already belonged to someone else.”

“I know what I said.”

“Was it true?”

“I belong to Ava.”

“You didn’t know Ava then.”

“There is no Persephone.”

Her gazed burned into me.

“I belong to Ava. I love only Ava. This crap
isn’t about me. Tell me what is going on with you, Julia. Tell me
now.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She continued to
mark the colored pages of Max’s book. “I have a friend that needs
me right now and tending to him is getting me in a bit of trouble
at home. Rory knows I am lying and I’m breaking his heart.”

“What are you lying about to him?”

She shook her head from side to side and a
strand of hair fell down to her eyes. I looped the strand around my
finger and tucked it neatly back behind her ear where it belonged.
Julia’s lips lifted at the corners and she eased her head into my
touch.

“You need to stop whatever it is you're doing
-- just stop, Jules. Whoever it is you're helping cannot possibly
be worth the damage you're doing to your relationship with Rory.”
Even as I said the words, my inner self reminded me that love is a
kind of silly thing. Rarely rational, often coming at the wrong
time and often directed at the wrong person -- but a feeling so
undeniable and so powerful that bending to the other’s needs and
giving yourself to that person is the only option.

“You love this person?”

“Yes.”

“More than you love Rory?”

“Sometimes, yes … it’s a different kind of
love.”

“Does Rory know you love someone else?”

“In his heart, I think he knows.” She set
down the crayon and tore out the corner of the scribbled-on
coloring book page.

“Listen to me, Jules. Rory will do anything
for you. He’s the best guy I know… he loves you more than anyone
else can love you.”

Her lip quivered and she gasped with the
onslaught of emotion.

“You can’t do this to him,” I went on,
blithely ignoring her obvious struggle. “You can’t do this to
yourself. Look at yourself! You're always crying. You’re so upset.
You're sad all the time. Nobody can be worth these tears and your
pain. Rory has never made you cry, and this person -- whoever he
may be -- he makes you cry, Julie. How come every time I see you,
you cry?”

“Ari!” She sobbed and threw her arms around
me.

I froze and she held me tighter until I
hugged her back, squeezing her to my chest and folding her body
into mine. I held her closer than I had in years and she felt just
as she used to in my arms - tiny and warm. She smelled the same --
orange blossoms and water lilies. Her fingers clutched the fabric
on the back of my shirt and she buried her face into the nook of my
arm and cried.

“Shh… I’m here.” I whispered soothing words
in her ear. “I am here for you. I am always here for you.”

“What am I going to do?” Her words were
muffled by my tear-soaked shirt.

“Just stop. Stop what you're doing. It’s not
worth it. Whoever he is, he isn't worth this anguish.”

“You don’t understand.” Her body stopped its
tremble, her fingers loosened their grip, she shoved a hand into
one of my back pockets and then pulled back from my arms.

“I’m sorry, Ari,” She looked up into my eyes,
“but it
is
worth it. It's worth everything to me. I would
risk everything for it.”

“Julie…”

“I have to go. Love ya.” She patted her dewy
cheeks with her palms and slipped out of my arms and off the deck
without a glance back.

I took a crumbled piece of paper from my back
pocket and read her note scribbled in Max’s red crayon.
“Xo.”

“Julia!” I screamed down the beach.
“Julia!”

She was gone.

****

Clusters of people bustled around backstage
in a chaos of organization, making sure clothes were lined up in
the correct order and that shoes and accessories were arranged with
the corresponding outfits. Long metal clothing racks were jam
packed with the upcoming
baio
line and had been pushed
against the edges of the corridors. Bright bulbs framed large
mirrors and countless rows of tables were covered with makeup
brushes and beauty supplies. At the stations sat jumbo-sized
designer tote bags from
baio,
full of gifts for the models
in the show. Each bag was the same -- bright yellow and covered
with the
baio
logo. Attached to each gift bag was a fancy
square of card stock printed with the image of Margaux and
nine-year-old Ava as they prepared to walk down the runway, hand in
hand at the first-ever
baio
fashion show. The cards were
addressed to each model by name and signed, “
Xoxo, Ava
.”

Lirik had actually signed each one and then
filled the totes with Ava’s favorite goodies including a complete
line of professional hair care products, the newest bottle of
baio
perfume, top-selling colors from a nail polish company,
necklaces and earrings from a local jeweler, skin care products,
the best headphones out on the market … I had made sure to snag two
extra pairs, one for Ava and one for myself. There were salted
caramels from a candy shop in Oceanside, her favorite brand of
lip-gloss, her favorite mascara, her favorite tea – the list went
on and on. Models gathered in matching silk
baio
robes and
sat with stylists as the prep work for their hairstyles began.

The noise in the cramped space was deafening.
Conversations and music bounced off the white painted cement walls,
unadulterated sound with nothing to absorb it. My morning with
Julia had left me with a sour stomach. Bile shot up my esophagus
every few minutes, leaving a trail of bitter tasting acid that
burned my throat. My head started to hurt. Pulsating, pounding
throbs started in my temple and ended up behind my eye sockets. The
air was thick with the smell of bodies and various products being
sprayed into the atmosphere.

Bile rushed up from my stomach again like an
erupting volcano and this time, I knew it would end ugly. Dodging
haughty models and stylists dressed in black, I flew through the
open doorway to the V.I.P lounge, grabbed a trashcan and heaved out
remnants of the morning’s burnt coffee and my dose of half a bottle
of pink Pepto. Dimly I heard my phone ring and dimly I realized
that someone was answering it.

“Ari is unavailable at the moment,” Lirik
said. “He’ll call you later.”

“Who is it?” I asked, gagging at the same
time.

“It’s detective Bryant calling for you. He
says it is important.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said to
myself, and Lirik blinked at me.

“Um, no, I’m not kidding. He’s holding for
you. Will you take the call … or do you want to finish up?”

Unclasping my fingers from the edge of the
garbage can, I shoved my palm out for the phone.

“I’ll talk to him, Lirik. Thank you.” She
dropped my cell into my open hand.

“This is Ari.” I pushed through the backstage
door out to the hot, sunny service entrance. A small row of tour
buses idled as roadies carried in last-minute equipment and heavy
speakers to corresponding side stages.

“Hello? Ari?”

“Yeah, I’m here … can you hear me?” I found
that moving past the buses and heading toward a line of dumpsters
inexplicably gave my phone an extra half of a bar of reception.

“Ah, I can hear you now. This is Detective
Bryant from the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. We met earlier
this week after your home was invaded.”

“I know who you are. Believe me, I haven't
forgotten. Tell me you have good news.”

“I am just calling to
let you know that we recovered some fingerprints that don't match
up with any we got from your family. They may belong to the
perpetrator. We got some DNA samples left on some broken
glass.”

“And?” My heart leapt
in my chest.

“And everything's
been sent to the lab to see if any of it is already in our database
... so we can identify him and know who we're looking for.”

“That’s great. How
long will all that take?”

“Well, we have a
sizeable backlog in the lab right now. We're looking at anything
between six to ten weeks. Maybe longer.”

“Ten weeks! You can't
be serious. Listen to me, something is going on. Someone is after
my wife. She's not safe.”

“I’ll be honest with
you, Mr. Alexander. We don’t feel that you and your family are in
any real danger. Nothing was stolen, there was no major damage to
your home, in the end, it was just some broken glass. This isn’t
going to be a priority. I’m sorry.”

“
That’s it? Not a priority. Just “
some broken glass?”
We
might
find something out in ten weeks, or we might
not?

“
Well, there
is
something we have learned ... you know, your wife wasn’t sure
if the alarm had been set. We checked with the alarm company and
found out that she actually did engage the alarm system that
morning at eight a.m. Whoever entered your home used the family
code at 8:10 to get in.”

“And he was still
there at 11 when my mother went in. She actually saw him and he was
nobody she recognized.”

“Well, somebody knew
the code, had a key and disabled the alarm at 8:10 that morning. It
sounds to me that we're dealing with someone close to you or to
your wife -- a relative or a friend. Can you think of someone who
may be angry with you? Do you have a list of people you’ve granted
access to your home? Or to your personal information? Maybe at some
time in the past you gave someone the code so he could get in to do
work? Maybe a gardener or a handy man? I did notice that you
recently had a bedroom painted…”

“The baby’s
room.”

“Yeah, the baby’s
room. Did you give the decorator the code?”

“No. Never we’ve
never done that. Only family has access and a couple of very close
friends… um, my assistant, but she was at work the time that it all
happened.”

“Do you trust
them?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound so
sure about that, Ari.”

“I’m not sure about
anything anymore.”

“C'mon, Max. This is
good
stuff. Give
it a little try. Just
one
bite. Mama said you'd like it …
and it’s your daddy’s favorite!”

“Hey, Ma.” Coming in from the garage, I found
my mother in a face-off with Max, seated and scowling in his
booster chair on the other side of the island.

“Hi, Sweetie!” She leaned toward me and I
kissed her cheek hello.

“What’s the matter with Max?” My chin lifted
in my son's direction. He was slouched in his seat wearing just
swim trunks and a pout. His little arms were folded across his damp
chest and his eyes were focused on the floor. Eating the spinach
pie plated on the counter in front of him was not looking
likely.

“Ava just pulled him out of the pool for an
early dinner. He wanted a hot dog. She gave him spinach pie.”

Kissing his damp, chlorine-smelling hair, I
stole a bite of his spinach pie and then moved towards the
refrigerator. Pulling a cold hot dog from a pack, I stabbed it a
few quick times with a fork and then heated it in the microwave on
a chintzy paper plate. With a big glob of mustard, I sat the plate
in front of Max and traded him the hot dog for the spinach.

“Yes!” He fist-bumped the air.

“Ava said no more hot dogs!”

“Ava’s not the boss.”

“Ha!”

She laughed at me and I turned towards her in
all seriousness. “Mom, are you sure you didn’t recognize the man
who was in our home?”

Her lips dropped from a carefree smile to a
deep, worried frown. “Ari, I see his face every time I close my
eyes and I promise you, I don’t know him. If I did, you know I
would tell you. It kills me that I can’t help you.”

“You said you thought the woman was familiar.
What did you mean by that?”

“I don’t know … she was just sort of …
familiar … in a distant kind of way. Like maybe, I had seen her at
the grocery store once or something. But, Ari, I didn’t see her
face, it was just her hair and maybe the shape of her body. It was
just a feeling I had. I’m sorry.”

If I told my mother our intruder had had the
key and the code to our home and had probably been watching Ava all
morning, stalking her, just waiting for her to leave the house, my
mother would break down. And my state of mind couldn't handle her
level of worry along with my own.