Cause For Alarm (14 page)

J
ulianna moved to Mandeville to be near Richard and Kate. She found an apartment, half of what New Orleanians called a shotgun double. Small, shabbily furnished and more expensive than other, nicer apartments available in the area, she'd chosen it for its location—in old Mandeville, only six blocks from the Ryans'.

Renting in their neighborhood made perfect sense to Julianna. Living within blocks of them, it wouldn't be odd for her to be seen hanging out at the waterfront park, it wouldn't be unreasonable for her to walk or drive past their house several times a day, or to frequent the restaurants, shops and other places Richard and Kate enjoyed.

And frequent them she did. Julianna spent her days watching the Ryans. Following them.

She found doing so surprisingly easy. They came and went, blissfully unaware of her presence. She quickly learned their schedule, their likes and dislikes, who they associated with for work and who for pleasure. Richard enjoyed golf and Kate reading, most often mysteries. Richard ordered fish more than meat when out to dinner; Kate preferred shellfish and loved desserts. The list of Julianna's discoveries went on and on; each new fact she committed lovingly to memory, a sort of mental scrapbook or family album. Every so often, she would open the album and wallow in what she had learned, stroking and holding each fact, getting to know her new family, growing to love them more each day.

After the first two weeks, Julianna focused most of her attention on Kate. She studied her—the way she moved and gestured, how and when she laughed, her expressions. She discovered the scent she wore, the coffee she preferred, studied the cadence of her speech.

Julianna had gone to The Uncommon Bean, careful to choose times Kate was away, eavesdropping on conversations as she pretended to read, staying as long as she could without drawing attention to herself. She learned that the other woman was both liked and respected by her employees. She discovered she had a sense of humor and seemingly boundless energy, that she was an all-around nice person.

Everything about the other woman inspired Julianna. But of all her qualities, the one that impressed her most was Kate's artistic ability.

Her first time in The Uncommon Bean, Julianna had gazed in awe at the stained glass creations that hung in every window, dappling the café's interior with colored light.

Julianna had looked at the creations and ached with longing, with envy. Once upon a time, Julianna had fantasized about being an artist. She had fantasized about going to Paris or New York to study art. John had forced her to face the truth—she had neither the talent nor the discipline to succeed as an artist.

Kate did. Kate, it seemed to Julianna, had everything.

But not for long. February had become March, March became April. Dr. Samuel said she was close now, that it could happen anytime. She had begun to dilate, he'd said. The baby had dropped and was in position.

The baby was as ready as she, Julianna thought, standing before her bathroom mirror, naked save for her bra and panties. Her face was as naked as she, freshly scrubbed, devoid of expression. She turned this way and that, studying her reflection, studiously avoiding looking at her bulging belly, hating it.

Finally, she could ignore it no longer. Purposefully, she turned sideways and gazed at her body's profile. She splayed her hands over the tightly stretched flesh. It was smooth and hard, extended to its limit.

She smiled suddenly, taken aback by the sense of wonder that filled her. Maybe Kate could mold glass and lead into amazing images, beautiful
things,
but she couldn't do this. She couldn't create life.

Beneath her palms, the baby stirred, then kicked. Julianna laughed and pressed her hands closer, for the first time delighted with the discomfiting sensation, with her pregnancy.

Kate was smart and classy. Kate lived in a beautiful home and owned her own business. She had inspired the love of a wonderful man.

Julianna could be like her, she could have all those things. She
would
have them.

But the thing Kate longed for most, she couldn't do on her own. She needed Julianna for that.

Julianna laughed again. That made her feel good. Made
her
feel important. And special.

Time to get started.

Julianna closed her eyes and breathing deeply, cleared her mind and pictured Kate. She pictured her talking, then tipping her head back and laughing; she pictured her smiling at her husband or daydreaming when she thought no one was looking. Minutes passed; the Kate images filled her head, crowding out all others.

Julianna opened her eyes and smiled—Kate's smile. Quick, broad and warm. It transformed Julianna's face, changing it subtly. She did it once more, repeating the motion until it felt natural not forced, never letting go of the images in her head.

“Hi,” Julianna said, “welcome to The Uncommon Bean. What can I get for you?”

That wasn't right, she realized, frowning. That wasn't the way Kate spoke. Kate had the habit of lifting her voice slightly on the consonants, lending it a musical quality.

Julianna said the words again. And again. She practiced tirelessly, working to mirror the other woman's speech pattern. As it became more natural to her, she added Kate's smile, her laugh; she tucked her hair behind her ear, as Kate was wont to do, she gestured with her hands, copying the other woman's small, fluid movements.

The light streaming through the bathroom window changed, becoming harsh with midday, then mellowing as the day began to fade. Still, she practiced. Hunger pulled at her; so did fatigue. Her back ached; her head pounded. She broke for food and drink, but propped a hand mirror up on the kitchen table so she could use the opportunity to imitate how Kate ate, how she took small bites and chewed slowly, how she patted her mouth with a napkin and sipped her water.

When she had finished her meal, Julianna forced herself to her feet and to the bathroom's big mirror, though her body screamed for rest.

She switched on the overhead light, then opened the vanity's center drawer. She removed a photograph of Kate, a close-up shot she had stolen from the couple's photo album, and the bag of cosmetics she had purchased the day before—cosmetics in the warm earth tones Kate preferred.

Julianna taped Kate's photo to the mirror, then gazed at it, noting each shadow and curve of the other woman's face, analyzing the way she wore her makeup—subtly, artistically, in a style that heightened her assets.

Imitation in mind, Julianna selected the foundation and applied it, smoothing it carefully over her face and neck. From there she applied blush, powder, eye color.

Each step of the way, she paused to compare her reflection to Kate's image, looking for differences or imperfections and eliminating them.

She knew she would never be Kate's twin. The shape of their faces was different, their features. Her aim was to create the other woman's look, her style, on her own face.

Finally, she had it. She had Kate. A facsimile of the woman stared back at Julianna from the mirror. Julianna made a sound of triumph; it came out in a twisted gasp. She doubled over and clutched her middle as a thin, sharp pain speared through her.

Julianna sank to the floor, to the puddle of liquid pooling around her feet. She looked at it in amazement, realizing her water had broken, realizing what it meant.

The baby was here.

A
fter fifteen hours of labor, Julianna gave birth to a baby girl. A week and a half early, she weighed a mere five pounds, two ounces, but what she lacked in size, she made up for in lung capacity.

Julianna had held her briefly in the delivery room, though not because she wanted to. Without asking, the nurse had laid the howling infant on her chest, beaming ridiculously at Julianna, babbling about how beautiful her daughter was. As far as Julianna had been concerned, the baby looked like a red-faced frog, and she hadn't wanted to have anything to do with her.

She'd turned her gaze away and asked the nurse to take her. Ellen, who had stayed with her during the entire ordeal, had stepped forward, eager to hold the child. Julianna had watched the woman cradle the baby, tears streaming down her cheeks and had wondered what the big deal was.

She still did.

Ellen popped her head into the room. “Hi,” she said softly. “How are you?”

“Tired.”

“I'll bet. Can I come in?”

“Sure. Is that for me?” Julianna indicated the bud vase containing a single pink rose surrounded by white baby's breath.

“Of course.” Ellen set the vase on her bed table. “Congratulations, Julianna. You did great.”

Just then the nursery attendant entered the room, pushing a bassinet. The woman smiled brightly. “I thought you might like to spend a little time with your daughter.”

She scooped up the sleeping infant, careful Julianna saw, to support her head. She placed the baby in Julianna's arms. “Just ring the nursery when you need us to come get her. Congratulations again. She's just precious.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Julianna murmured when the nurse was gone.

“What's that?”

“Congratulations.”

“That's because the birth of a child is something to celebrate.”

“I suppose.” Julianna lowered her gaze to the bundle in her arms, swaddled in a pink receiving blanket, her moon-shaped face overwhelmed by the knit cap covering her head.

Julianna studied the sleeping child. The infant's chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing; peeking out from above the blanket, her hands were squeezed into fists, her puffy eyes shut tight.

An unfamiliar ache in her chest, Julianna shifted her gaze to Ellen, hovering at the foot of the bed. “She is beautiful, isn't she?”

“Yes,” Ellen said softly, “she is.”

Julianna returned her gaze to the baby. She traced a finger across the infant's cheek, finding her skin almost unbearably soft. “I did this,” she murmured. “I made her. All by myself. And she's perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“That she is.” Ellen cleared her throat. “A tiny miracle.”

“Yes.” Julianna smiled and looked at Ellen once more. “I didn't understand that before. I didn't know. But I do now.”

A look of distress crossed the other woman's features, then just as quickly disappeared. “How are you feeling? It was rough going in there.”

Julianna agreed, though after a point in the labor she didn't recall anything. The pain had been unbelievably intense, building, cresting, then retreating. After a time, one crest had led directly to another. The best she had been able to do was suck in a lung full of air before the next contraction had racked her body.

Even so, she had refused the epidural block and welcomed the pain, finding it almost pleasurable. Cleansing. Affirming. It belonged to her and her alone.

She hadn't been about to let anyone take it away from her.

“At one point you passed out. Believe me, you gave us all a scare.”

“Did I?” she murmured, still gazing at the baby. “I don't remember.”

“Julianna?”

“Yes?”

“Now that she's been born, how do you feel about giving her up? Are you having second thoughts?”

“Why would I be?”

Ellen hesitated a moment, then lifted her shoulders. “The baby's real now. You've held her in your arms. This is when some women realize they can't go through with the surrender.”

“I'm not like that. I know I'm not meant to be her mother.” Sudden, sharp emotion welled up inside her, taking her by surprise. She tamped it back. “Kate is.”

“Are you certain? If you have any misgivings, now's the time to acknowledge them. Afterward…after placement, it's hard on everyone. Even the baby.”

She hesitated a moment. “I don't have any misgivings.”

How could she? This moment, Julianna Starr ceased to exist. Her old life was gone, her new one beginning. Starting this moment she became the woman Richard would love.

“Buzz the nursery and tell them to come get her. Then call Kate and Richard. Tell them their daughter's been born.”

K
ate gazed at her new daughter, cradled in her arms for the very first time. A bundle of pink and white, she had been born two days before, on April twenty-ninth.

Kate and Richard had named her Emma Grace. Emma after his grandmother and Grace at Kate's insistence because she believed it had been only through God's perfect grace that Emma had come to them.

She moved her gaze over her sleeping daughter's face, taking inventory of every feature: the turned up nose, the tiny rosebud mouth, the eyes, still puffy from birth and squeezed tightly shut, the cap of silky dark hair, skin as fine, soft and white as a gardenia petal.

Kate trailed a finger across Emma's cheek. As she did, the infant turned her head slightly, following Kate's finger, instinctively seeking a nipple.

Kate drew in a shuddering breath, a tidal wave of love and protectiveness rising up in her. Before now, this moment, she hadn't had a clue what a mother's love really meant. Now, she knew. It was an awesome thing, all-encompassing, powerful. She would go to any length to protect her child, she realized. She would face and beat back any who meant her harm, she would give herself, her own life if she had to.

Kate lifted her swimming gaze to Richard's only to find his on her, damp with his own tears. In that moment she loved him more than she ever had.

“She's so beautiful,” Kate whispered. “So perfect.”

“You're perfect. You're beautiful together.”

Emotion choked her. For long moments she couldn't speak. When she found her voice, all she thought of to say was thank you.