Julie's Butterfly (27 page)

He slowly clenched his hands into fists, studying the soft leather that softly reflected the light. They had accompanied him for fifteen years, protecting him from the inquisitive eyes and snide remarks of other people. Now he realized the sense of self-esteem they had given him was nothing more than a sham.

Did he want to continue with that charade for the rest of his life?

He felt his old doubts surfacing as an absurd idea formed in his head. He looked slowly around the bistro. The two young women at the next table were laughing and talking. The waiter hurried past him to a lively group of seven. A little farther away, a pair of lovers were immersed in their own world. A group of older men sat together over an after-work beer. Other tables were occupied by men and women of various ages. There must have been around thirty people in all.

He considered his gloves again.

Familiar voices whispered in his mind, reminding him of his fears, almost as if to warn him against his next setback. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, and he felt an unbearable heat rise to his cheeks. His breathing grew shallower as his chest tightened.

Was he strong enough to accept the reactions of these strangers?

There was only one way to find out.

He took a deep breath.

Then he drew the gloves from his fingers and faced his future.

C
HAPTER
37

Julie tried in vain to concentrate on her studies. Again and again, her thoughts kept wandering off course. It was enough to drive her mad.

She had been deceiving herself.

His letters had changed everything. She now saw him in a completely different light. She had had no idea how bitter he had been or how lonely. The knowledge brought a lump to her throat, above all, because it was up to her to change things.

But her indecision paralyzed her.

If it were only a matter of the two of them, she would have given in to her own longing without hesitation and at least agreed to meet him. Though she remained skeptical—after all, he had hurt her deeply—with his letters, he had succeeded in kindling a small glimmer of hope. Perhaps he would have helped her get over her disappointment and she would have shown him that she would never abuse his trust.

They could have fought for each other and perhaps ultimately even reached solid ground. She would have taken the risk, even knowing that all her patience and optimism might not be enough.

But it was not only about her. In just a few months, she would be holding an innocent baby in her arms. There was no doubt the child would be loved, but it also needed security. That was hard enough in itself, but she worried that she wouldn’t be able to provide it if she allowed Bastian back into her life.

How could it work when he was a ticking time bomb? If she had to worry that he might go to pieces at any moment, consumed by his old uncertainties? A Sword of Damocles would hang over them all as long as Bastian failed to understand that his fears were unfounded.

But she loved him.

It would have been so much easier if she didn’t feel that way. But that was how it was—still. So the idea of a small, happy family would remain nothing more than a dream, making it hurt that much more.

The ringing of her doorbell jerked her out of her thoughts. It was Sunday afternoon. Isabelle had said she would stop by later, but she had a key. Frowning, Julie went to the door and opened it.

Her mother stood there.

Julie flinched. They hadn’t seen each other in months, hadn’t even spoken. But now there seemed no way to avoid it; she could hardly close the door in her face, however tempted she was to do so.

Louisa was holding a huge green box, over which she could hardly see. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes before she jutted her chin out proudly.

“Hello, Julietta,” she said stiffly. “May I come in?”

Julie stepped aside and held the door. She followed her mother into the living room where she put the box awkwardly down on the cluttered coffee table, burying several books beneath it.

“What are you doing here?” asked Julie, not exactly rudely, but with a hint of skepticism in her voice.

“As you have decided not to grace us with your company today or any other Sunday, I’ve decided to bring you a few things,” said Louisa. She even had the nerve to look hurt.

Julie folded her arms tensely, causing her mother’s eyes to drop to her small bump.

“How are you?” Louisa asked.

“Fine,” replied Julie curtly. She wondered whether to offer her mother a seat, but she had little interest in prolonging their conversation. Her mother had already made her take on things quite clear. Perhaps she had come to suggest putting the baby up for adoption; Julie wouldn’t have put it past her.

Louisa nodded thoughtfully. “Over the last few weeks, you’ve proved impressively that you can manage perfectly well on your own,” she remarked. Julie almost thought she heard a note of respect in her voice.

“I’ve never been alone,” she said.

“I heard you and Bastian have gone your separate ways?”

Julie’s heart contracted painfully. “We’ll always have something in common,” she countered tonelessly. Not in the way she would have liked, but at least the child would form a link between them.

“You were always headstrong,” said Louisa, glancing at her pile of books. To Julie’s amazement, she smiled. “Even when you were only two, you always wanted your own way. Joanna was the cautious one, but you couldn’t wait to explore, to push beyond your limits. Sometimes you stumbled and fell, but you always got back on your feet.” She paused for thought, tucking a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, just as Julie often did. A small crease furrowed her brow. “It’s not easy to stand by and watch your own child heading for a cliff,” she continued. “You believe they can jump far enough to reach the other side, but there’s always the fear they’ll fall. You can only do your best to protect them.”

That was so typical of her mother; she couldn’t have been more melodramatic if she tried. It was clearly impossible for her simply to say she was sorry. But Julie had to give her credit for the fact that her words did reveal genuine concern, and Louisa’s regret was plainly visible.

“I’m not heading for any cliff,” she said calmly. “I’m expecting a baby. Just like millions of other women all over the world.”

Louisa smiled stoically. “You’ll learn what I mean soon enough,” she said without a trace of reproach in her voice. “These things are for you and the baby,” she said huskily. “If you need anything, you’ll always be welcome.”

With that, she squared her shoulders and turned to go. Her sudden departure was bewildering. An expert at making demands, she normally nagged at Julie for as long as it took for her to get her way. But she had just presented Julie with a concealed apology garnished with a declaration of love, a completely new phenomenon.

As her mother opened the door, she could hold back no longer.

“Mom!” she called.

Louisa stopped and looked back hesitantly.

It might have been one of those classic tearjerker movie hug moments, but Julie wasn’t quite ready for that. Instead, she folded her arms more tightly around herself and smiled. “I’ll see you next Sunday.”

Louisa had had plenty of practice maintaining her composure, but even she could not prevent the relieved smile that crossed her face. “I look forward to it,” she replied imperiously and left.

Julie couldn’t claim to be overjoyed at the prospect of reviving their Sunday tradition, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

She turned back to her table, which was still occupied by the gigantic box. She lifted the lid and peered inside. On top was a pink-and-blue-striped baby blanket. She took it out and gave a sudden sharp cry.

Surrounded by rompers, baby toys, and plush animals was her grandmother’s music box. She blinked incredulously before taking the merry-go-round carefully out of its fabric nest and setting it down. As she turned the little key in the base, there was a quiet click, then the carousel began to turn, filling the room with the familiar melody from her childhood. A smile spread across her face, and for the first time in months, she felt warm inside. She had a fleeting vision of a happy future, saw herself and her child—enveloped in security—dancing to the tune that was now ringing out through the silence. Her mother could not have given her anything more valuable.

She rewound the music box three times and listened, entranced by its melody. She then turned her attention to the other gifts in the box.

A short while later, she heard the door opening.

“Hi,” called Isabelle. Her hair was now shaggy and dyed a deep blue, which made her eyes look huge. She glanced at Julie’s dining table. “What’s all this stuff?” she asked, undoing the top buttons of her blue winter coat.

“My mother stopped by.”

Isabelle wrinkled her nose critically. “I hope she threw herself down on her knees before you and begged your forgiveness.”

“Something like that.” Julie grinned, causing Isabelle to blink in astonishment.

“You’re too much of a pushover,” she said darkly. “But while we’re on the subject of forgiveness, have you finally called Bastian?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I still have no idea what to say to him.”

“That’s enough!” Isabelle turned and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Julie called after her.

“I need some fresh air.”

“But you just got here.”

“That’s why you’re coming with me,” Isabelle announced, turning to Julie with Julie’s down jacket and winter shoes in her hands. “To help you think more clearly.”

Julie folded her arms stubbornly. “But it’s freezing out there.”

“I know,” said Isabelle with a grin. “Exactly what you need.”

Cursing, Julie slipped her feet into her shoes and threw her coat on. She pulled a thick woolen cap onto her head on her way out the door, following Isabelle, who steered her to the park. They walked together in silence for a while, Julie staring doggedly ahead. They passed a few families and other people who seemed not to mind the arctic temperature. It hadn’t snowed for a few days, and the snow was crisscrossed with dirty ruts and footprints. But the sun was shining and Julie’s inner tumult began to ebb.

A light rustle drew her attention to Isabelle who was rummaging for something in her purse. “Want one?” she asked, holding a gummy bear under Julie’s nose.

She grabbed it sullenly and put it in her mouth.

Isabelle giggled. “I knew that would cheer you up.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you were complaining I didn’t eat enough.”

“True, true,” agreed Isabelle, passing her the pack. “Listen, things simply can’t go on like this.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Julie muttered.

“You’ve been saying that for weeks, but the time has come to sort this out. He’s apologized hundreds of times for his mistake, he’s called you, he’s sent you flowers, he even wrote those letters. By hand!” Isabelle was counting off on her fingers. “Why don’t you just give him a chance to make it up to you?”

“He broke my heart,” Julie objected. And he would do it again. It was only a question of time.

“I won’t deny that he hurt you really badly. But don’t you realize that he’s the only one who can put your sweet little heart back together again?”

Isabelle stopped abruptly and looked ahead with a smile. Julie followed her gaze. Her heart suddenly skipped a beat as she saw Bastian walking toward them.

“Damn it, Isabelle!”

“Look at him. He looks so miserable.”

Frozen to the spot, Julie could do nothing but watch him slowly approaching. Isabelle was wrong. He looked good; he always did. His gorgeous green eyes looked tired, but bright, and he was smiling. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, and his pace was steady and determined. He didn’t look half as despairing as she had expected him to. Instead, he appeared to be taking in every slight change in her expression.

“At least listen to him,” Isabelle begged. “If you don’t like what you hear, you can go on rejecting him.”

She kissed Julie’s ice-cold cheek, nodded to Bastian, and walked back the way they had come.

Bastian stopped a few feet in front of her. He glanced down briefly at her belly. He looked disappointed that he could make out nothing beneath her thick down jacket, then his expression turned to one of concern. He searched her eyes for some telltale sign but seemed unable to read her expression and did not dare to ask after their child. Julie thought it would be cruel to leave him in the dark.

“The baby’s doing well,” she said quietly.

Bastian breathed a sigh of relief. Her words seemed to encourage him, and he took a step forward. Julie’s body reacted with a fleeting tingle of excitement.

“I’ll never forgive myself for all those things I said.” He fought for breath. “You were right,” he continued in a firmer voice. “I was eaten up by self-doubt and insecurity. I’ve never really accepted myself as I am. It took me a long time to understand that.” He pulled a small white box out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Julie. “I’d like to give this to you.”

“What’s in it?” she asked suspiciously.

“My gloves,” he replied. He opened the lid to reveal countless tiny scraps of leather nestling in a bed of soft paper. “You can do what you like with them.”

Julie’s eyes widened in surprise. Her eyes fell instinctively to his hands. She hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t wearing them, because she had been too preoccupied by the sight of him. His fingers were reddened by the cold, deepening the contrast between his scars and unblemished skin. There was a large bandage on his left thumb.

“I’m never going to wear them again,” he continued. “Let people stare. I don’t care. I’m a nice person, and I . . . I like myself.” His words sounded uncertain, as though he was not used to saying them aloud. He smiled bashfully.

The small glimmer of hope awakened by his letters now began to spark, but Julie was unable to move.

Bastian shoved the box awkwardly back into his jacket pocket. He didn’t even notice that a few leather scraps had fluttered to the ground. Then he closed the remaining distance between them and slowly raised his hand.

Julie didn’t resist. She longed for his familiar touch too much to push him away.

As he pressed his cold hands to her cheeks, a smile appeared on his lips. His eyes held nothing but sincerity. “I love you, Julietta.”

Julie was close to tears.

Until that moment, she had not thought him capable of changing. But it looked as though he had finally found a way to see himself more clearly.

She wasn’t stupid, though; she knew that his insecurity would return when he reached his limit. She could live with that, with one exception. “What if our child is also affected?” she asked softly.

“Then we’ll deal with that together,” he said resolutely. “We’ll teach him or her how to live with it and feel valued as a unique human being.”

What woman with raging hormones who had lived without love for so many months would not fall into the arms of the man to whom her heart belonged?

Julie melted like butter in the sun. Before her knees buckled, she threw her arms around his neck, and he held her tightly. He buried his face in her neck, gently touching her bare skin with the cold tip of his nose, and inhaled deeply.

She laughed as a tear ran down her cheek.

“Our child will be happy,” he murmured in her ear. “And so will we.”