Christmas 2011 Trio A. Кейт Хьюит

it wouldn’t last.”

      “Nothing lasts forever, and we’d be foolish to think otherwise.”

      “My parents’ love for each other did.”

      “Mine didn’t.”

      Julie shrugged. “I’m sorry for you, sorry for them, but I can’t let what happened between your mother and father taint my life. I’m falling in love with you, Roy, and I want it all.”

      With an angry sigh of frustration, he threw back his head to stare at the dark sky. “Julie, come on! I’m willing to give you whatever you want.”

      “But that’s just the point—you aren’t.”

      He placed his hand over hers and brought it to his lips, kissing the tender skin of her palm. “We could have something good. Who cares if it doesn’t last a lifetime?”

      “I care, Roy. I’m sorry, I really am. It would be so easy to let you persuade me, but in the end I’d have nothing left except a broken heart.” He couldn’t possibly know how much she already loved him.

      Roy released her hand. “You’re like all the rest, aren’t you? You want to control me, get your hands on my success and make it your own. Naturally, your term for this is love. I’m supposed to marry you and promise to spend the rest of my life with you? Well, you can forget that.”

      “Oh, yeah, the old marriage trap. It’s worked for thousands of years, but it’s not good enough for you. Silly me—refusing to settle for anything less than love and commitment.” She gestured wildly with one hand.

      “I can’t do it, Julie.”

      “I know.”

      “Then there’s nothing more to say.”

      “Obviously not.” Her throat constricted with sadness.

      Neither moved. Neither wanted to be the first to turn away, Julie suspected, or to acknowledge that this relationship was over almost before it had begun.

      Finally she was the one who turned and, with tears burning her eyes, ran in the opposite direction.

       Twenty-Two

      Saturday afternoon, Christmas music played softly in the background as Anne pulled her suitcase from the closet and laid it on her bed. She sang along with her favorite carols as she started to take sweaters from her dresser drawers. Since Marta had sent her the airline ticket online, she’d had two additional phone conversations with her. Things seemed to be looking up. Jack had made numerous attempts to speak to her and she’d agreed to meet with him—after she got the report from the private investigator. Needless to say, she didn’t tell him that part; Jack had no idea his wife was having him followed. Their conversation would depend on what the investigator discovered. Still, Jack’s willingness—indeed frantic desire—to get his wife back boded well, Anne thought. She was grateful Marta could benefit from her experience.

      Marta hadn’t given Anne any new details regarding the sale of her angel portrait. However, from everything her friend had told her, the news was good. The painting would definitely sell, and for a high price, too.

      A noise in the living room startled Anne, and she paused to listen again. Someone was in her home. “Who’s there?” she called out, a little nervous. She tried to remember where she’d left her portable phone.

      “Mother?”

      “Roy?” She hurried out of the bedroom. “What are you doing here?” Her son’s appearance shocked her. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two and looked as if he’d slept in his clothes.

      “Frankly, I don’t know,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I started driving and then all of a sudden I was on a ferry, headed to your place. I guess I just need to talk.”

      “My goodness, what’s happened?” she asked, resisting the urge to take him in her arms.

      “I wasn’t sure if you’d already left for New York or not.”

      “I fly out in the morning. Now, sit down and tell me what’s wrong.” For once he didn’t argue. She directed him into her kitchen, sat him down at the small table and immediately started cooking. At times like this, food could be a wonderful comfort. She put on a pot of coffee, then took out a pan and set it on the stove. After that, she retrieved two eggs from the refrigerator. When she saw that she was paying more attention to creating the perfect omelet than to her son, she stopped. She pulled out a chair and sat across from Roy.

      “What is it?” she asked gently.

      “I asked Julie to move in with me,” he mumbled.

      Anne sighed heavily. That wasn’t what she wanted for her son; in fact, she saw it as a mistake for both of them, but young people always thought they knew best.

      “You don’t approve. Julie knew her father wouldn’t, either, not that it matters, anyway.”

      “She turned you down?”

      “Lock, stock and barrel. I guess I should be grateful.”

      He certainly didn’t look grateful. If anything, Roy seemed distraught. Immediate questions came to mind, but Anne avoided asking, knowing Roy would explain everything in his own time. “I’m sorry.”

      “So am I. Julie insists on what she calls love and, of course, marriage.” He spit out the words as if they tasted foul.

      “You’ve had setbacks before,” Anne said, hardly able to credit this kind of reaction to a simple rejection. Privately Anne was cheering Julie for having the courage to hold out for what she wanted. It couldn’t have been easy to turn him down. When Roy went after something, he did it with a determination that was difficult to ignore.

      “This is more than a setback.”

      “How do you mean?”

      Roy rubbed a hand tiredly down his face and shook his head. “I was foolish enough to believe she was different.”

      “Julie is different. She’s special. I know you think every woman’s like Aimee, but you’re wrong.”

      “No, Mother, in Julie’s case I’m right.”

      “Julie isn’t anything like Aimee,” she said adamantly.

      “She just proved to me she is.”

      “What are you talking about?” He’d have to show her the evidence before Anne would believe him. Although she didn’t know Julie well, Anne had sensed genuine goodness in her. She felt, too, that Julie had attained the spiritual and emotional insights that only someone who’d suffered could fully understand.

      Roy reached inside his jacket and pulled out a wad of folded papers. “Read this.”

      Anne took the papers, opening them on the table. She put on her reading glasses and quickly scanned the contents. As far as she could see, it was a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo. “It’s some sort of settlement offer,” she said. “Oh, here’s Julie’s name.”

      “I know what it is,” Roy barked, then cast her an apologetic glance. “Remember when I ran into her?”

      “Yes, of course, your car collided with her bike. It’s a miracle she wasn’t hurt.”

      He gave an unpleasant laugh. “Correction, Mother. She was hurt twenty-five-thousand dollars’ worth.”

      Anne snatched up the papers and skimmed them again.

      “She signed the settlement offer,” he pointed out. “A check’s already been issued to her in the amount stated.”

      Anne knew that wasn’t possible. Yet there was Julie’s signature, plain as day.

      Roy focused his gaze on the kitchen wall. “I pressured her at first, believing it was best to deal