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“Hi, Dad,” she said dreamily, twirling around, her arms poised like a ballerina’s.

He grabbed the camera beside him and snapped a few shots—for Mike. “How was it?”Advertisement

She swept over to the couch and dipped down like a hummingbird, planting a feather-light kiss on his cheek. “Totally awesome. Perfect. I took tons of pictures for Mom.” She stifled a yawn.

He gazed up at her, loving her so much, it was an ache in his heart. “She’ll want to see each one.”

Smiling, she spun around and floated toward the stairs. He followed along behind her, turning off lights as he went.

At her bedroom door, she stopped and grinned up at him. “Guess what happened.”

He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “What?”

“Julian True showed up at the prom. He asked me to dance. Me. He called me Jacey of the midnight hair. I’ll remember this night forever.”

Liam’s hand froze against her cheek. “But—”

“Good night, Dad.”

Before he could answer, she kissed his cheek and went into her room, closing the door.

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He stood there a long, long time. Then, slowly, he knocked on her door. When she answered, he tried to find a smile. “I … uh … just got an emergency call—don’t worry, it’s not about Mom—but I have to run to the hospital. I’ll be right back.”

She smiled dreamily; he could tell that she was barely listening. “Okay. Drive safely.”

He nodded and closed the door. Anger seeped through him, rising steadily. It fit uncomfortably on him, this dark and stinging emotion, like a cheap wool sweater that was a size too small. He raced down to the garage and jumped into his car.

He found Julian on the front steps of the bed-and-breakfast, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—the fool—and his whole body was shaking.

Liam skidded to a stop and jumped out of the car. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

Julian looked up. The cold was cruel to his face, leeched the color from his cheeks. “I had to see her.”

Liam lost his hold on anger. Without it, he felt drained. There was a wealth of sadness in Julian’s blue eyes, a look of pure defeat. Of course he’d had to see her.

“She’s beautiful, Liam. The spitting image of Kayla, and when I looked at her … I couldn’t see anything of me.”

Liam didn’t know what to say. He could tell that Julian had never really considered his daughter before, what it meant to have fathered a child. A young girl.

Julian took a last drag on his cigarette, then stabbed it out in a cushion of new snow. It hissed and sent up a thread of smoke. “I didn’t tell her. I can’t imagine I ever could.”

Liam took a step forward. “Why not?”

“How could I make a man like you understand?” He sighed; a cloud of breath puddled in front of his face. “I break everything I touch.” He tried to smile. “I think I’ve only just realized that. I don’t want to hurt J.C.”

Liam felt as if he’d finally glimpsed something real in Julian, and he couldn’t help pitying the younger man.

Julian got slowly to his feet. “Don’t tell her, Liam. Please, don’t …”

Later Liam would wonder what had gotten to him, the sad regret in Julian’s eyes or his own fear of wounding Jacey’s tender heart. Whatever it was, he found himself saying, “Okay, Julian.”

Chapter Seventeen

Julian sat by Kayla’s bedside, spoon-feeding her the stories of their life together. Finally he understood how momentous a blink would be—right now, he’d take any sign of life.

Her skin seemed to have gotten paler in the past twenty-four hours.

“Hey, Kay,” he said softly, scooting toward her. The chair legs made a horrific squeaking sound on the linoleum, and he was glad for the noise. Anything was better than this godawful silence.

He closed his eyes. It made it easier to slide into the past. In darkness he could remember the girl he’d fallen in love with. “I was thinking about the day I asked you to marry me. Do you remember that?”

It had been late in the autumn. The air in Sunville had been crisp and cold, and with every indrawn breath came the pungent scent of ripening apples. He hadn’t really meant to return to Kayla. When he had left her, after the movie finished shooting, he’d thought she was simply another notch in his bedpost, not unlike the French gymnast he’d slept with while he was in Paris shooting Bone Deep. But every hour away from Kayla had felt like a day, every day a month. To his shock, he’d found that he missed her.

And so he’d returned to that flea-bitten spot on God’s ass. He’d waited until it was closing time at the diner, until she was alone, and then, very quietly, he’d gone inside and stood by the jukebox …

“I’ll always remember the look of you, standing by the lunch counter, the way that ugly orange uniform clung to your body. The way my name sounded wrapped up in your voice …

“I could tell you were afraid to hope that I’d come back for you. I knew you were thinking about the price tag that came with a man like me. You said, ‘I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you came to find out.’”

He almost smiled. “I remember wishing I was the kind of guy who would have come back to ask that question. I knew I should turn around and walk away, but I could feel it sparking between us again, that passion. I’d never been so scared, and somehow you knew that.

“I tried to tell you the truth about me. I told you I was no good for you, that I’d never been faithful to a woman in my life, but all you did was smile. So I told you everything, that I’d gone back to Hollywood and started reading scripts and doing interviews and talking to people … but I woke up in the morning and I thought of you. I went to bed at night, and I thought of you. I screwed other women, and I thought of you.

“I knew it would hurt you, but I told you anyway. I thought maybe it would keep me from saying the rest of it, that maybe you would throw me out and I’d have to leave you again. But you just stood there, smiling up at me, waiting.

“Do you remember what I said next?

“‘I don’t want to love you, Kayla.’

“I knew you heard the word that mattered—don’t—but next to love, it seemed to have no power at all. I pulled the small velvet box out of my pocket and handed it to you. When you saw the diamond ring, you started to cry.

“I knelt down on one knee—remember that? It was the only time I’ve ever done that in my life. I knelt down and begged you to marry me. You took the ring and slipped it on your finger.

“I meant to say something romantic, but what I said was ‘If you’re smart, you’ll say no.’”

He touched her hand. “I knew I would hurt you, Kay. Sooner or later. And I’m so damned sorry …”

The door creaked open.

He heard the familiar cadence of Liam’s footsteps. “How is she today?”

Julian shrugged. “The same.”

Liam popped a tape into the player—Air Supply’s “Lost in Love”—then took his usual place on Kayla’s other side, standing close to the bed. “Heya, Mike.”

Julian envied Liam, who was able to sit here for hours, talking to his wife, holding her hand, believing in a happy ending, even as they saw how she was fading into the sheets.

Julian gazed down at Kayla, his thoughts turning again to the day he’d asked her to marry him. “I hurt her,” he said softly, realizing a second too late that he’d spoken aloud.

“Why?”

After last night, Julian felt a strange kinship with Kayla’s husband. Liam was the only one in the world who knew how it felt to sit here, hour after hour, praying for a miracle. “There’s something wrong with me. I don’t love for long. I wanted Kayla, wanted her like I’ve never wanted a woman before or since. I was so goddamned in love with her …”

“I think maybe ‘in love’ has the shelf life of whipping cream. No matter how you handle it, it goes sour. But if you’re lucky, you get past ‘in love’ and end up just loving someone.”

“That’s how you love her.”

“Yes.”

Julian knew his next question would wound Liam, but he had to ask it. “Did she love you that way?”

Julian saw that Liam wanted to lie to him, to say certainly, absolutely, with all her heart; he saw, too, the moment Liam lost that battle.

He gave a lopsided, half smile. “Ironically, I think she loves me … but I don’t know now if she was ever in love with me.” Liam paused, then asked, “Have you ever had a family, Julian? I mean, a real family that lasts through good times and bad … the kind that keeps you out of the deep end?”

The question stung. He’d always wanted a family, but a family was give-and-take. He had always specialized in take-and-take. His only chance had been Kayla; if he’d held on to her, he might have known what it felt like to belong to a group of people who loved you no matter what, who cried when you failed and cheered when you won.

Julian patted his pocket, looking for a pack of cigarettes, then remembered he was in the hospital. Liam was staring at him now, seeing him. Julian felt as if his insides were splayed out on an operating table for Liam to see, and like a smoker’s lungs, they were black and ruined.

Julian didn’t answer. Finally, Liam pulled up a chair and sat down. For the next hour, they took turns talking quietly to Kayla.

After a while, Liam looked up at the clock. “Well, I have to get going. The kids’ll be home soon.” He stood up and stroked Kayla’s cheek. “Heya, babe. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead, murmuring a word that Julian couldn’t make out.

Liam was almost to the door when Julian asked, “How do you do it?”

Liam glanced back at him, his hand on the door handle. “Do what?”

“How do you keep believing she’ll wake up?”

“I love her.”

Julian frowned. “I know. But how do you do it?”

Liam’s gaze flicked over to his wife. “I have to.”

Julian watched Liam leave the room. Without Liam there, the silence felt awkward. He moved closer to the bed, picked up Kayla’s limp hand, and squeezed it hard. “How is it I can remember falling in love with you, and have so little memory of the end? Our love affair is clear as glass, but our marriage, our life is … gone. All I remember is the day you left. I don’t even remember trying to stop you. Did I? Did I ever say, ‘Don’t leave me’? Did I know what I would become without you?” He sighed. “Jesus, Kayla, did I even care?”

She hears him call her name.

She tries to reach for him, but there is nothing beside her. She feels the panic building again, swirling around her.

Pictures twirl through her mind like images in a child’s viewfinder, and when they stop, she is somewhere else. A house.

She tries to say something, to call out, but there is something wrong with her throat. In the distance she can hear a moan. It is her … or maybe not … pqdm.com