Seeing Julia (13 page)

Lianne signals to me with a finger to her lips that my baby is already sleeping. We whisper about his schedule, knowing he should sleep through the night. I feel this twinge of guilt for not being sure of Reid’s schedule anymore. Lianne squeezes my hand and assures me I’m doing just fine, when I admit this aloud.

“He felt a little warm when I put him down,” Lianne says.

I rush over and lightly touch his forehead. He’s just beginning to drift off. We take his temperature with the instant ear thermometer and exchange worried looks when it registers one hundred and one degrees. We use the last drops of Infant Motrin and search all the upstairs bathrooms for more, but there isn’t any, so we’re standing in the hallway, deciding what to do, when Jake comes up the stairs. “He’s running a fever. He’s been fighting a cold the last few days,” I say. “Now, we’re out of Infant Motrin. I don’t believe this.” Déjà vu with Evan comes back full force.

“I’ll go,” Jake says.

I shake my head. “I can’t let you do that.” I lean against the wall and close my eyes for a moment. “I’ll go. There’s a Rite-Aid in Bridgehampton a little over a mile away. Maybe, they’ll still be open, even though it’s Christmas Eve.”

Jake looks confused by my reaction. “I’ll go with you.” I just nod. I’m unable explain this devastating feeling to anyone else. Lianne helps me put on my coat. I hand Jake the keys to the SUV without a word.

“Well, at least it doesn‘t start with the letter
A
,” I say with a shaky voice, once we’re in the car.

“The letter
A
? Amagansett?”

“No,” I say in a low voice. “Advil.”

I watch him nod in the dark. “He was going to get Advil when he swerved to avoid the little boy on the bike and hit the truck.”

“Yes. I had a headache so he went to the store for Advil.
For me
.” I swipe at a sudden tear and stare out at nothing but darkness and intermittent house lights.

“So you must blame yourself … for being human,” he says.

“Yes, pretty much.” I try to laugh through my tears and it breaks up the overwhelming sadness. “You know I’m paying over $200 an hour for therapy. Would you like cash or a check?”

“No charge.” Jake glances over at me again. “So Motrin starts with the letter M. I think we’re going to be okay, Julia.”

“It’s still Ibuprophen, just not called Advil. It’s crazy I know.”

“No. I can see where the letter
A
would start to give you anxiety: Advil, Afghanistan, the Army.”

I wince remembering I talked with him about Bobby that fateful night. “Athens,” I whisper, before I can stop myself. One of his hands slips off the steering wheel when I say this.

“Athens, Greece?”

“Yes. My parents. When I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

I nod trying to regain some semblance of control.
Why am I telling him this?

“I don’t normally talk about it.” I give him a pleading look and search the darkness for the Rite-Aid neon sign. “There. On the left.” He doesn’t seem to hear me and has this faraway look. I reach out and touch his arm. “Jake. Right there on the left.” He pulls the SUV into the parking lot. “I’ll be right back,” I say.

“I’m coming with you.” He meets me on the sidewalk and keeps his hand in the middle of my back as we navigate our way through the pharmacy. This awareness of him travels through me again at his touch. It’s confusing. There are so many things he does that remind me of Evan. They both have this thoughtfulness as a part of their nature. Both tall. Both handsome.

He smiles at me with reassurance as we make our way to the counter. I catch my lower lip between my teeth to circumvent these wayward thoughts about his attractiveness, but they come anyway.
On a scale of one to ten, with ten being gorgeous, off the charts.
Jake is in a league all his own. He is so good-looking; it’s disconcerting. He has these amazing eyes that just draw you in like warm sea water. His smile is like the glimpse of moonlight on a dark night. His lips are almost feminine and when he smiles they curve in this perfect oval shape that you just want to reach out and trace with your finger. He’s angular with perfect geometric proportions in his jaw line, in his straight nose, in his forehead. His hairline is like a field of straight wheat bowed by a caressing wind. When he runs his hand through it, you can’t help, but follow the movement and wish you could just reach up and do this for him. He’s tall, even taller than Evan with this muscular build, but long and lean.

He’s a Greek god, not entirely real, certainly privileged, and fantastic. All I know is time spins on and eternity doesn’t apply to me, the mere mortal standing next to him. I think of Evan’s fine traits and Jake eclipses even my dead husband’s. And, I shouldn’t be having any of these thoughts, but it’s a reprieve from the grief that’s invaded me for so many days, so I’ll take it, knowing I’ll have to contend with the guilt and shame that will come soon enough. They’ll be by any second now.

He gives me an intense look and leans down toward my face. My heart races.

“Before I forget to say this,” he whispers in my ear as he hands the cashier the money. “You do look amazing. Tragic, sad, but incredibly beautiful, Julia.”

I’m too taken aback by the personification of one of my favorite mannerism of Evan’s to do more than mumble thank you as this awareness of him rages through all of me. My long black wool coat is unbuttoned and I glance down at my risqué neckline of the black dress and pull it closer around me. ”Thank you,” I say again.

There’s this intensity in his blue eyes I want to understand. His own sadness over Evan is obvious and I almost reach out to touch him in sympathy, but being this close to him has revived all these feelings of attraction for him. I’m pretty sure it’s mutual. He just paid me the highest of compliments and he’s looking at me now with complete concentration. It’s both electric and terrifying. As to the reason why we’re having this bizarre connection in the harsh fluorescent lights of Rite-Aid, it’s impossible to comprehend.

Minutes later, we’re back in the car. He hands me the bag with the three bottles of Infant Motrin, “So we won’t be caught without it again,” he says.

We. We won’t be caught without it again.
His assurance draws me in and I move toward him. The faint smell of his cologne dances around me and I breathe it in. Polo Blue? Lacoste?
Armani. My favorite.
I move away from him to the farthest point of the passenger door and pull my coat even closer around me. Then, I busy myself with looking out at the dark night with profound interest and fight the overwhelming urge to kiss him, again, while guilt and grief steal in to attack me from both sides.

The minutes tick by and the silence stretches on between us. He hasn’t started the car.

Finally, I look over at him. He stares straight ahead as if the answers are all right there somewhere. His hands drape the steering wheel, but he’s motionless, except for his steady breathing, in and out.
Definitely, most definitely alive, the most alive human being in this car.

“Jake? Is something wrong?” He doesn’t answer at first, just shakes his head.

“You know how you’re unsure of something. A decision? And, then, it comes to you and you just know … it’s right? Time goes by and it becomes even clearer?”

“Sure. I know it happens to other people,” I say. “I wish it would happen to me.” I look at him uncertain and even more afraid he’s going to tell me.

“Okay. Well, let’s just say, I realize it’s the right decision.”

“Okay, let’s say it is.” I nod my head not understanding him at all. He doesn’t volunteer anything more. He studies my face for a few seconds, finally smiles, and then, starts the car. I try to concentrate on Christmas lights, knowing this day has been far too long, too intense and that this ebb and flow awareness of him is all too confusing for my mind, body, and soul.