Gaining Visibility (25 page)

She held her hand up to stop Frank, not needing any reminders of the things she'd let go. What she needed was legal advice. “Let me think about it. You've hit me cold with this.”

“I know. It just came to me this morning when I woke up in the guest bedroom. It felt good, you know?” He dove back into his sandwich with gusto, finishing it in a couple more bites.

Julia pulled a slice of bacon off of hers and munched on it as Frank stood up and began clearing his place.

“I want to hire you and Camille to redo Mom and Dad's house, too. If it's empty, I guess you'll have to start from scratch. I know that won't be cheap, but you always talked about what a showplace it could be.” He put the dishes in the dishwasher and came back to stand by the table like he was waiting for an answer already.

But his comments had churned up questions. “You ask if you can stay here, using the hard economic times as your reason, yet with the next breath you talk about this expensive project.”

He grimaced, and the pain she saw flash in his eyes was real. She knew him well enough to recognize it. “Just trying to come to terms with the inevitable, Jules.” He lowered his voice. “Mom's dying. I know that. I wish to God I didn't have to think in terms of an inheritance, but the time has come for me to think about it. And since, by right, Mom should've been able to spend it, I might as well use it on something she would've wanted.”

Julia bit her lip, feeling like his words had been plucked from her own heartstrings. She'd always imagined what she could do with Hettie's house given the opportunity. Now she regretted the opportunity. She waved Frank away as he reached for her plate. “I'll get this. I'm not finished yet. And thanks. It's delicious.”

“Well.” He rubbed his hands together and glanced around the kitchen. “I'm gonna get out of here for a while. The nursing home is needing the room, so I'm going to pick up Mom's stuff.”

“Oh.” Julia blinked back the tears that seemed to be set at dead ready. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Naw, I need this time alone.”

She gave him the keys to Hettie's house so he could take her personal items home where they belonged.

As soon as he left, she wasted no time phoning Grayson Chapman, her attorney. She caught him between appointments, so she hurried to explain what was going on. Kenneth Chapman, Grayson's dad and law partner, was Hettie's attorney, and Grayson was Julia's attorney during the divorce, so he was enmeshed in the legalities of her private life. He voiced his sorrow about Hettie, asked a few questions, but mostly listened, waiting for Julia to finish.

“Well, you've probably heard that possession is nine-tenths of the law?”

“Yes.” Julia could see where this was going.

“So, let me ask you this . . . do you trust him?”

Grayson had a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter. Julia liked that about him. But this question cut straight through to her heart also. “I—” She had to stop and think it over.

For over twenty years, she'd trusted Frank implicitly. Sharing everything in the good faith that she was receiving the same as she was giving.

He'd taken that trust and shattered it.

She didn't think he'd try to cheat her out of the house, but then she'd never thought he'd cheat on her in their marriage either. She wouldn't give him the chance again. “No, I don't trust him.”

“Then you have your answer, Julia. I can't advise you to let him move into Hettie's house until you have a legal agreement drawn up. Furthermore, I would suggest you wait until Hettie has passed and her will has given you possession before you start trying to draw up an agreement, but you know I'll do whatever you decide on.”

“That's all I needed to hear. You've made up my mind for me. Send me a bill for the time.”

Grayson gave a low chuckle. “We'll work out something.”

“Yes, we will. See you soon,” Julia answered. She and Camille were almost finished with the nursery they'd designed for the twin girls the attorney and his wife were expecting.

The conversation left her agitated with the situation she'd placed herself in, so she decided to work off her frustration by unpacking. She set to work, leaving the camera out but putting everything else away. Once that task was completed, she finally set to downloading the pictures from her camera into her computer.

Vitale in his workshop. Vitale sitting at the table in his garden. A shirtless Vitale, dark stubble thick around his mouth and chin, standing in the doorway the morning she'd made up her mind to leave him. Her breath caught and she brushed a finger down the screen.

Did she dare?

Oh, why not?

A few strokes on the keyboard gave the photo the prime setting as wallpaper on her monitor.

It was a silly thing to do, maybe. But it would serve as a reminder that this home was hers alone as she spent the next few days trying to not feel weird about the fact that, even if it was in the bedroom down the hall, she once again had her ex sleeping under the same roof.

Why had she let that happen?

Last night, she'd been trying to show kindness, but why had she agreed today? It wasn't for Hettie's sake. Hettie's advice would be to let him find his own way. And it certainly wouldn't earn any brownie points with her friends, who referred to Frank as “Public Enema #1.” She didn't need—or want—his money, and not even a dispute over the inheritance of Hettie's house could make her do something this foolish.

So what was her true motive?

She'd told Grayson she didn't trust Frank. While that was true, it wasn't the whole truth.

Frank had hurt her beyond pain. Ignored her. Cheated on her. Discounted her value as a person. Those things should make it easy to hate him.

But she didn't.

She'd been through hell. She'd come through the fire and emerged on the other side. What burned away and what had been hardened by the flame?

She was learning new things about herself almost on a daily basis, it seemed. The trip to Italy had shown her that her subconscious was often way out ahead of her decision making, laying groundwork.

She owed it to herself to find out why she'd deliberately added another hurdle to jump over in her life.

* * *

“You would've been proud of me. I just decided what the hell and went ahead and ordered some fabulous pieces from Vitale and some of the other artists I met in Italy. They should be here pretty soon, and I wish you could see them, Hettie—they're so different from anything I've ever bought before. I'm spending money like crazy, but Camille doesn't seem to mind.”

Julia had been keeping up these one-sided conversations with Hettie for a week now, trying to follow the nurse's advice. But it was getting harder, and she was running out of things to say. Mostly, it was anything that popped into her head—even if she'd said it before. She put a rubber band around the bottom of the braid she'd just finished and laid it carefully over her mother-in-law's shoulder.

“There. You look beautiful. I'll check and see if it's okay first, but if it is, I'll bring some polish and do your nails tomorrow.” She didn't think the hospital staff would mind. They were all being so kind, encouraging her and Frank to interact with Hettie as much as they wanted—even allowing the unconventional. Frank had brought his ukulele and serenaded her yesterday. It seemed that ukulele lessons were something else he'd taken up in Hawaii. Turned out he wasn't half-bad.

“Camille has been preoccupied since I got back. I was afraid maybe she and James were having problems, but he came in yesterday to pick her up for lunch and everything seemed fine. Of course, everybody thought Frank and I were fine, too. We always managed to put on a good front. Even when things were falling apart.” She placed the brush in the drawer of the bedside table. “I'm sure there's speculation among the neighbors that we're getting back together. We've probably got everyone wondering what in the world's going on.”

She moseyed over to the window and looked out at nothing in particular. “And, to be honest, I'm still wondering that myself.” The reflection in the glass shook its head. “I don't mean to sound like I want to reconcile, because I don't. I don't have any desire for that. This actually has nothing to do with Frank, except that his presence in the house makes me . . . I don't know . . . fidgety? It's like . . .” How to verbalize this so it made sense? “I feel like I'm standing at the edge of something. I don't know what it is because I can't see. It's hidden behind . . . darkness. And I want to step through the darkness and explore what's on the other side, but . . . what if it's a void? What if I step off into nothingness and just disappear?”

She wandered back to the bed and sat down next to Hettie. “Yet the little voice in my head keeps telling me to do it, but I'm confused, and the confusion makes me restless and edgy. I know I want action. Change. At the same time, I want . . . peace.”

The revelation her words jarred free stilled her breath. She leaned over and rested her cheek to her mother-in-law's shoulder, missing the hug that always used to accompany the gesture. “You're going through exactly the same thing, aren't you?”

She sat back up and searched the placid face for any movement. . . the slightest tremor of an eyelid or the tiniest tic of a cheek muscle. Nothing moved.

But she didn't need physical proof.

“If Frank had been able to understand and empathize with me the way you've always done, we'd probably still be married.”

As she brushed the backs of her fingers across the smooth forehead, Hettie's response echoed in her heart as surely as if the words had been spoken aloud.

“
But he didn't, sweetheart. And he never will.
”

* * *

The insistent knock on the patio door jarred Vitale from his light sleep. He'd awakened a couple of hours earlier at dawn to a light drizzle and had rolled over and allowed the patter of the raindrops to lull him back to sleep.

Now the sun was shining brightly, making him ashamed he wasn't already stirring. He quickly donned yesterday's shorts and rushed to open the door for his youngest sister and brother-in-law.

“We woke you?” The chastisement in Orabella's tone was overshadowed by her excitement.

He knew he should be excited, too—and he was. But Mama's unrelenting skepticism still caused anger to burn slowly in the pit of his stomach, and the resulting irritation kept him awake far into the night.

Cesare had asked him a question, but he had no idea what it dealt with. “What?” He stretched, hoping his inattentiveness would be attributed to having just woken up.

“I asked if you need me to help load the art pieces. The truck bed is almost full, but we left room for one large piece or maybe two small ones.”

Vitale already had the large metal abstract wrapped for transport. He'd chosen the piece not because it was the most expensive but because it drew the eye quickly. As soon as the other hotel owners learned of the Lord Byron project, they would come see for themselves, so he wanted something that would grab them as soon as they stepped onto the property.

He and Cesare loaded the heavy piece gingerly into the truck bed, bolstering it on each side so it couldn't slide on the bumpy roads between here and town.

Orabella gave him an apologetic look. “There's no room for you.”

He gave her a peck on her forehead. “You two go on and start unloading the plants. I have to wait for Adrianna anyway.” His other sister would be there shortly to work on the online facet of his new business. This was becoming quite a family venture. He only hoped it paid off.

Orabella and Cesare were obviously anxious to be on their way, turning down his offer of coffee.

He made himself a cup and went to check his computer for another e-mail from Julietta, but there was none. He took a drink and let the hot liquid burn away the frustration while he reminded himself that everything—their love, his business and his family's part in it—would be okay if he could only keep the faith.

“
Fix your eyes on the goal,
” Julietta had told him. “
See it with your heart, and I'm sure you'll be a success.
”

Julietta was a shrewd businesswoman. He hoped her advice worked on other facets of life as well.

C
HAPTER
23

“I
t's been two-and-a-half weeks. You need to throw his selfish, good-for-nothing, lying-and-cheating ass out.” Camille fished a prune out of the cardboard canister and popped it in her mouth. She shivered as she chewed, and her mouth pulled down so far at the corners she resembled a lizard.

“Why are you eating prunes?” Julia dodged the intended conversation. She'd heard the same line, or something akin to it, every day since she'd returned to work and informed Camille of her and Frank's temporary living arrangement.

“Constipated.” Camille made a dramatic show of swallowing.

“Why don't you take a laxative?”

“This is better for me and—” Camille paused, seeming to contemplate the wisdom of another prune. “Quit changing the subject.” She closed the canister. “When's he going to find somewhere else to stay? He's using you and you know it.”

“It's a trade-off,” Julia corrected her. “We're using each other. We're both saving money. He's been repairing all those things I would've hired done. He's been buying all the groceries, doing all the cooking and the cleaning. There's no way I could've come back to work and made Hettie's visits without hiring somebody to keep up with the household stuff.”

Once she'd laid down the law to Frank that she wouldn't put up with all the sexual comments—had actually told him to either shut up or get out and reminded him she'd never been completely honest with Melissa about the reason for the divorce—he'd cooled his heels and had been the perfect houseguest.

Camille brushed her fingertips absently over the brocade swatches lying on the counter. “Well, you could at least give him some real shit jobs. Stop up the garbage disposal or the toilet.”

“Eat another prune and I'll invite you over.”

Camille snorted, but she didn't laugh, which Julia found odd. “Are you okay?” Julia asked. “You seem a little distracted.”

Camille flashed her a smile. “I'm great. Relatively speaking, of course.” She pointed to the prunes.

Julia held up her hand. “No more details, please.” Camille wasn't ready to talk about it yet. They knew each other well enough to know talk would come when the time was right.

The time had never been right to confide the details about what really happened in Italy, though. Dealing with Hettie and Frank and the business had her life in a strange flux right now.

Camille drummed a beat on the prune carton before moving to her desk. Soon, she appeared absorbed with reading and answering their e-mails.

The door chime sounded, and Julia looked up to see their UPS driver carrying a package in one arm and his electronic tablet under the other. “Hey, Douglas,” she called.

“Morning, Julia. Camille. Got several boxes for you today. Want them here or around back?”

Julia looked at the small showroom, already crowded from wall to wall. “Bring them around back,” she told him as she signed the electronic ledger. “We'll move the items in here once we clear out a space.”

Julia unlocked the double doors that opened onto the alley and propped them back. Douglas made four trips, his dolly loaded down each time.

“One more.” He grinned, wiping away the sweat on his brow with his handkerchief.

When Julia saw the large, heavy box he unloaded on his last trip, her heart skipped a beat. They'd ordered only one thing lately that would come in a box that size. The return address confirmed her suspicion.

In spite of her promise to keep in touch, she'd only e-mailed him once—her first night home. And that had been in answer to his message. Instead, she moved through her days on automatic pilot and fell into bed exhausted at the end of each one. She'd even started checking her phone each morning as soon as she woke to remind her what day it was.

He hadn't written her any more either, which probably meant she'd faded from his memory as quickly as she'd appeared in his life.

She said a hasty good-bye to Douglas and grabbed the box cutters, holding her breath in anticipation as she slashed away at the cardboard and tape. A mountain of Styrofoam peanuts gathered around her feet as the box broke open. Then there was cording and bubble wrap to deal with.

She felt like one of the bubbles crawled into her throat when Vitale's sculpture emerged, a twisted mass of wood, steel, copper tubing, and gold leaf.

“Wow!”

Camille's whispered exclamation right beside her caused her to jump. “Amazing, isn't it?” she whispered back, not trusting her full voice.

Camille nodded mutely.

A small black card dangled from a black string attached to one of the wood pieces.

Camille stilled it. A gray etching of Vitale's studio stood out against the black. “Villa de Luca,” she read. She opened the card, sounding out the Italian inscription, handwritten in silver ink. “Ses-pug-leo in fy-am-me.”

“The Burning Bush,” Julia translated. “
Cespuglio in Fiamme.
” Her heart vaulted to her throat as she remembered the sultry way Vitale uttered those words when he gave her the name of the piece.

Camille flipped the card over, and Julia's heart stopped briefly before bounding into double time.

Vitale stared back at her, not smiling. Serious. Brooding. Sexy. She closed her eyes as a surge of heat flashed through her body.
Julietta in fiamme.

“He's . . . wow, he's . . .” It wasn't like Camille to stammer. “You didn't tell me he was
this
hot.”

“I told you he was gorgeous.”

“This isn't gorgeous. This is hubba-hubba-momma-mia-damn!” Camille punctuated her words with a few pelvic thrusts. “How could you stay with him for a week and not be all over him?”

“He's more than
just
gorgeous. He's funny and gentle and kind, and—”

“You totally have to fix him up with Melissa.”

Julia's praise for the artist froze on her tongue. “Melissa?” Her daughter's name fell from her lips, sounding like it belonged to a stranger.

Still gawking at the picture, Camille didn't seem to notice. “I mean, just think of the two of them together.”

Julia waved a hand in front of her face, trying hard not to conjure the image Camille had suggested.

“Can you imagine the grandkids they'd give you?”

Geez!!
Now Camille was picturing her as a grandmother. She was only forty-eight, damn it. Her admission of their fling bungeed from Julia's heart to her mouth several times. As she fought to get the timing right between the two, Camille looked up and her eyes filled with concern. “Oh, Julia, don't look so mortified. I'm sure she could talk him into moving to the States. And if not, wouldn't you like to have a good reason to go back to Italy?”

An exclamation she
had
an excellent reason to go back to Italy—and it had nothing remotely to do with mothering or grandmothering—clawed at her throat, but she couldn't force it out. Camille would think she'd lost her mind.

Had she?

She'd certainly made a lot of odd choices lately. Three weeks ago, she'd gone topless on a beach.

Camille took her hand and squeezed it. “I guess grandbabies are on my mind right now.” The expression on her face softened in a smile, but tears welled in her eyes. “I'm pregnant again.”

The words engaged the emergency brake in Julia's thoughts and shifted her attention to Camille. She understood the strange mood her friend was in now. After two miscarriages in two years, Camille and James feared children might not be in their future. “Oh, Camille. That's wonderful news.” She pulled her friend into a hug.

“Yeah, it is.” Camille sniffed and dabbed at her eye. “But I'm afraid to get too excited yet. I found out for sure yesterday, but I've been suspecting for a couple of weeks. We haven't told anybody.”

“Your secret's safe with me.”

“I know. I'm not worried about that.” Camille chewed her bottom lip and a ragged breath escaped. “I know now isn't the best time to hit you with this, but I'm worried I might have to quit work. All the heavy lifting and ladder climbing and stretching we do.” She indicated the boxes surrounding them, still waiting to be opened. “I don't want to take any chances this time. And I think I might want to stay home after the baby's born, too.”

Julia kept her body from reacting to the cringe she felt inside. With everything else going on in her life, she didn't need the loss of her business partner added to the list.

Still . . . “I don't blame you a bit.” She brushed a tear from her friend's cheek. “I want you to do what's best for you and the baby. Don't worry about the business. You were here during my cancer ordeal. I'll be here for you. We'll make it work, whatever you need to do.”

Camille looked her in the eye. “You're more than just a business partner to me. You know that? You're a second mom.”

Julia smiled, taking the statement for the compliment it was meant to be, and then pulled Camille back into her arms for her best mom-type hug.

* * *

Vitale didn't expect to see Adrianna's auto still at his house, but his smile grew even wider at the sight of it. Except for Julietta, there was no one he'd rather share his news with.

“He did it!” he announced as soon as he walked through the door.

Startled, Adrianna looked up from the computer, eyes wide and curious. The next instant, his words sank in and she jumped up. “Mario commissioned the piece?”

Vitale proudly waved the signed contract and the sizable check for the down payment.

Adrianna ran to meet him halfway, flinging her arms around his neck and letting out a squeal loud enough to be from one of the children . . . or two or three.

“I can't believe he came around so quickly. Something must have happened to change his mind. Do you have ideas for the piece yet? Have you made sketches?” The words tumbled from Adrianna's mouth on one breath. When she sucked in some air, Vitale jumped in with his answers.

“Several other owners have been up to see the work we've done. In fact, Mario caught Bastani sneaking around last night taking pictures.”

Adrianna gaped at that news, and Vitale chuckled at the image in his mind of the two men in confrontation. It was well-known how fiercely they took the business competition, so for Bastani to go at all was astounding. To be caught sneaking in? Priceless. But Bastani's interest was no doubt the final push Mario needed, and Vitale made a mental note to thank Bastani with one of his small pieces.

“And, yes, of course I know what I am going to do.” He continued answering her questions. “I've been planning this piece for several weeks, and yes, I have sketches.”

“Will you show me?”

Adrianna's enthusiasm was delightful, but he wasn't sure he wanted to share his design with anyone yet. What he had in mind was controversial, to say the least. It had been a hard sell, even to Mario.

“I will show you sometime after I get started,” he promised. “But I would like to keep it a secret for now.”

Adrianna's pout didn't last long. Of all the siblings, they were the closest. She had to know she was the first he would share with when the time came—which, of course, still caused a sting because it reminded him of how she'd turned to Julietta in her time of need rather than him.

“Come look at this.” She pulled him to the computer desk where she'd been working all day and picked up a small stack of paper. “We have more orders!”

Vitale thumbed through invoices, astonished at the addresses of so many faraway places. Brazil. Japan. New Zealand. The wonder of seeing international destinations where his art would find new homes caused his head to spin, and he sat down hard on the chair. How had Julietta known this was possible? His heart ached with the frustration of not being able to share this news with her in person.

He wiped his hand down his face, and it came away wet with perspiration.

“Are you okay?” Adrianna's touch to his shoulder was as gentle as her voice.

“I'm fine.” His throat tightened. “It is just that . . . everything is happening so quickly.”

“And you wish Julietta was here to share this time with you.”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “Exactly.”

“But she is where she needs to be right now.” Her earnest look begged him to agree. “With her family.”

He certainly wasn't the one who needed to be reminded of the importance of family. His vexation flared again, a little higher this time. “I know that.”

His tone came out gruffer than the conversation warranted, and her head tilted in question. “What, Vitale? What is it that you've been holding in since Julietta left?”

“It isn't about Julietta.”

“Then what is it? Are you still angry with me because I was going to take her to the hotel? Because I really didn't have any say in the matter—and I
was
returning a favor.”

“It's not about your agreement to take her to the hotel.” Although he still
would
be aggravated about that disloyalty if the evening had turned out differently. “It's that . . . when you had the lump in your breast, you should not have turned to Julietta.” Her brown eyes flashed at the mention of the delicate matter. “If you didn't want Antonio to know—and that was your first mistake because you should have gone to him. It's a husband's job to be there for you. But if not him, then you should have come to me. I'm the one who should take care of you in his absence. Not someone like Julietta, whom you hardly knew.”