A Song For Julia Part 27

She looked at me, seriously, and asked, "So why now?"

Crank had asked me the same question. Why now? The reason I'd given him seemed to still stand. I was sick of being alone.

"Well," I said, "it's going to sound weird. But I met a boy. He just turned seventeen a few weeks ago. He has Asperger's. Do you know what that is?"

"Yeah, I know a couple Aspies at school."

"Do they get bullied?"

Carrie grinned. "Used to. But we kind of have a ... a posse. We don't let anybody screw with them."

I smiled back at her. "G.o.d, Carrie, I love you."

"So what happened? Are you dating this boy? Isn't seventeen a little young for you?"

I laughed. "No-not dating. I'm ... well ... I'm seeing his older brother. You'll meet him tomorrow. But Sean-the Aspie I was telling you about-he's going through a tough time, especially at school. And it's a lot like what I went through in school. And somehow we got to talking. And I told him the whole story. This is going to sound crazy, but I feel-I don't know. Free. Like I've never felt before."

She put a hand on my shoulder. Carrie was so much taller than I was, she didn't have to stretch at all to do it.

"Having people you can trust will do that," she said. "So, Mom ... she doesn't know what happened, does she?"

"She thinks she knows. She knows about the abortion. But not the circ.u.mstances." I sighed. "She never gave me a chance to explain, to talk about it. Just a.s.sumed the worst."

Carrie grimaced. "Yeah, she can do that, can't she?"

I snorted, and she asked me another question, one that shook me. "Do you ever wonder-about the baby?"

Oh G.o.d, did I? All the time. How could I not? I had to struggle to hold back tears as I said, "She'd be about the same age as the twins. And I'll never know ... what she would have been like."

I started crying again, silently, and I said, "G.o.d, could I be more pathetic? I can't stop crying! I did this with Crank last week, too."

My sister pulled me tighter. "Maybe it's overdue."

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Promise me one thing, Julia?"

"What?"

"Let's make a deal. If our sisters ever need us ... like you needed Mom ... we'll be there for them. No matter what. Okay? She means well, but ... she isn't very good at that. But I don't ever want them to go through this. Deal?"

Carrie had no idea that she'd just said and done exactly the right thing. I grabbed her in a huge hug and whispered, "Deal. We'll protect them."

I went to bed feeling good. Really good. What Carrie said about protecting our sisters had reminded me that there were four little girls who needed me. I'd done everything I could for the last few years to avoid being needed by anyone. I'd done everything I could to avoid needing anyone. But something in the last few weeks made me realize I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be isolated, armored, on the defensive all the time and unable to connect to other people. And knowing that in Carrie I had a friend and ally in that? It made a big difference.

Mom and Dad insisted on an early breakfast the next morning in the hotel dining room. They hadn't been happy at all when I told them I was having lunch with Crank's family, but I hadn't given them much option. They'd been even less happy when I informed them I was bringing a guest to Thanksgiving dinner. But again, I'd given them no option. If they wanted me there, they'd have to accept Crank being there, too. So breakfast was a little tense. But that was okay. Afterward, I walked to my car and drove to Jack's.

It was almost eleven A.M. when I pulled the rental car up behind the house and parked. It was cold outside, the sky a steel grey, a few snow flurries falling from the sky here and there, not enough to matter, especially given the mounds of snow piled up on the sides of the road by the plows from the weekend before.

I got out of the car, being careful not to drag the hem of my dress in the crusted, week old snow, then reached in the car for the dessert I'd had delivered to the hotel that morning, a gluten-free cranberry coffee cake. I could tell I'd gain weight just from looking at it. And I wanted to look, a lot. It was a challenge finding it-I'd ended up talking to a specialty bakery in Brookline to get it made. But I wasn't going to bring anything into the house that Sean couldn't eat, if I could avoid it.

I felt a twinge of anxiety as I reached the top step. I could hear shouting inside. It sounded like Sean and Jack.

I sighed and closed my eyes. If Sean was having a meltdown, I needed to mentally prepare myself. I cared a great deal about Sean. But he was emotionally volatile, and I've spent my adult life avoiding emotionally volatile people and situations.

It was hard not to second-guess myself. Was being involved with Crank, with this family, the right thing to do?

Of course, it was a little late to be asking that question now, wasn't it?

I rapped on the door with my knuckles and waited, slightly hopping up and down on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet to stay warm. My mother had looked disapprovingly at my boots this morning. She wasn't a believer in wearing boots with a dress. She wasn't a believer in much that I did.

A very frazzled looking Crank, dressed in torn jeans and a ragged t-s.h.i.+rt, answered the door. His eyes brightened when he saw me. He ushered me in, a grin on his face. "I am so happy to see you. Don't mind them," he said, gesturing vaguely to the front of the house. I could hear Jack shouting something.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Crank sighed. "Sean got in trouble in school yesterday morning, pretty big trouble."

I grimaced. "And they're still fighting about it?" I asked.

"My dad said something that set him off."

I sighed and followed Crank to the living room. "Can I put this in the fridge?" I asked.

"I'll take it," he said. "Getting by them might be challenging."

I pa.s.sed the cake to Crank and shrugged out of my coat, laying it on the back of a chair. A moment later he was back in the living room, and his eyes widened.

"You look ... lush. Almost edible." His eyes swept up and down, like searchlights, and I suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. I was wearing a grey sleeveless dress, tight fitting in the bodice, with an ankle-length skirt. He approached, putting his hands on my waist. "I'd really like to kiss you right now."

"Um ... I'd like that," I said in a small voice.

He leaned his head close and nipped at my lower lip with a grin and then kissed me. My mouth opened, our tongues just touching.

The front door slammed open, rattling the doorstop.

"Mother of Christ, it's cold out there!" shouted Tony as he entered. Crank and I separated, just slightly, and Tony shouted, "Don't let me stop you two from smooching!"

I laughed a little, and Crank and I leaned our foreheads together for just a second. Then I stepped back. "Tony, are you always this obnoxious?"

"Only around beautiful women," he said. "Why do you think I'm still single?"

He wandered into the kitchen, chuckling. A moment later I heard Jack say, "Look, can you just drop it! Our guests are coming in."

Sean didn't get a chance to answer, because Tony shouted, "Who you calling a guest?"

A few seconds later, Sean came storming into the living room. He saw me and stopped.

I smiled at him. "Hi Sean. I'd like to hug you, but you look so angry, you're scaring me a little."

Sean's face immediately went slack. His eyes pointed somewhere near the shelf as he said, "I'm sorry. Hi, Julia."

I walked forward and hugged him. "Happy Thanksgiving," I said.

"You too," he said. He awkwardly grasped my shoulders then stepped back.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Crank said you ran into some trouble at school ... if you want to talk, I'm here."

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, his eyes sliding off to the side.

"It's okay."

I can't even begin to describe the contrasts and differences between spending Thanksgiving with my own family and with Crank's. Most years, in my family, Thanksgiving consisted of official functions in emba.s.sies and consulates around the world. Less formal when I was very young, but by the time I was in middle school, my father's responsibilities meant we often had to host large, official dinners for emba.s.sy staff, important expats in whatever country we were in, as well as the occasional important visiting dignitary from Main State.

In other words, when I think of Thanksgiving, I think formal dinners, formal dress, stiff backed chairs and enforced, absolute silence for everyone under thirty. I also often think of Corporal Lewis. Three years running, in Belgium, Carrie and I sat with him at a table a fair distance from my parents. He snuck us candy and sweets, told silly jokes, and generally kept us entertained. I can't imagine what he thought of it all. In what world would a United States Marine essentially end up as a babysitter for a preteen girl and often her little sisters? But whatever he thought, he never said anything, simply keeping up a constant banter about cars, girls, growing up in Texas, his fascination with professional wrestling and the vagaries of service in the Corps.

I was too sick to go to any Thanksgiving functions my freshman year in high school. I didn't realize at the time I was already pregnant, I just knew I woke up that morning and immediately had to puke my guts out. Odd, now that I think about it, that my mother didn't think to call a doctor. I spent that Thanksgiving in bed in our apartment in the diplomatic compound. Alexandra was too young to attend the dinner, so the two of us sat up most of the evening, playing go-fish and later watching a movie together, curled up in bed.

Thanksgiving at Jack's house? Totally different.

For one thing, no one dressed up. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my formal dress, but everyone was very nice about it.

Second, everyone brought a dish. I was so glad I thought to bring something ... it didn't occur to Crank to warn me, of course. Mrs. Doyle actually pushed a small cart down the street, with covered dishes precariously teetering on top. Margot brought pumpkin pie, and Tony brought wine. Italian wine, which made me chuckle and made Jack burst into a string of colorful curses. The table was a scattered mix: a plump turkey Jack had been up half the night cooking, steaming b.u.t.tery mashed potatoes, half a dozen vegetables brought over on Mrs. Doyle's cart, fresh lobster, which caught my attention instantly, and homemade pies. Homemade.

I'd never eaten a homemade pie in my life. I think I shocked Mrs. Doyle when I hugged her and told her it was the best pie I'd ever eaten.

Jack's parents showed up too. Imagine Crank's charm and Jack's humor and affability on a seventy-five-year-old man. Ryan Wilson was a retired Boston cop who arrived in the United States with his parents at four years old, just a few months before the 1929 Stock Market Crash. He grew up during the Depression and ran away to enlist in the Army at 16 years old. The Army sent him to Europe, where he ended up as part of the invasion force that landed on Omaha Beach.

After the dinner, where I unashamedly stuffed myself to the gills, I ended up sitting next to Margot on the couch, while Jack's father told stories of what he called Old Southie, when rival gangs dominated the whole neighborhood. Tony sat down on the floor next to Sean, controllers in hand, while they played one of the video games Crank gave Sean for his birthday. At one point, I jumped when Tony let out a loud shout. He'd died, body parts flying everywhere. It was gruesome. Sean started to talk, fast and excited.

Margot leaned close to me and said, in a soft voice, "I'm so glad you could come."

I gave her a shy smile. "Thank you. I've really had a wonderful time. I never imagined a Thanksgiving like this."

She gave me an odd, curious look. "Like what?"

I looked around the room. Then I sighed. "You've got a wonderful family here. It's so-warm."

She looked down. "I think I know what you mean. You know Mrs. Doyle ... she's a widow. Mr. Doyle was on the force, he was shot during a liquor store robbery in ... oh, I guess it was around '85. Jack just ... adopted her right into the family. It's the same with Tony, really. Ever since his divorce, he spends all his holidays here."

"Jack's a wonderful guy."

She blinked her eyes, looking at her husband. "He is. He's the most generous man I've ever known."

She gave me an appraising look. Something about it made me feel naked. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," I replied. What I really meant to say was, No. Please don't.

"Are you and Dougal ... are you serious?" She was openly studying me now.

I took a deep breath, looking back at her. "I don't know."

She gave me a faint smile, but I could tell she wasn't terribly pleased with the answer. "Well ... that's honest."

"I think it's too soon to tell," I said. I didn't like this line of questioning. I didn't even know how I felt about Crank. How was I supposed to explain that to her?

She nodded. "I understand. All I'm going to say is ... my son has had a tough life in some ways. He's a very strong young man, but that strength comes from being hurt. Badly."

I nodded and kept listening.

"Anyway," she said, looking down at her hands. She was holding them together, moving them restlessly, as if she were unsure of herself. "It's none of my business. But I'm hoping you won't ... I'm hoping you won't hurt my son. You seem like a nice girl, and he's never brought anyone around before. I think he may be more serious about you than you are about him. And that worries me."

I looked at Margot. I didn't want to make an enemy of this woman, or offend her. My heart ached for what she'd gone through. But I needed to set some boundaries, and quickly. I liked her, but whatever was happening between Crank and me, it was between us.

I sat up straight, put one hand in the other. In a gentle tone, but a firm one, I said, "I understand your concern. But ... I can't help you with this. This is new for both of us, and it's going to go where it goes ... and that's between us. I hope you understand."

Her face adjusted into a fake smile, and she started to say something, but I kept going. "I won't ever intentionally hurt him. But neither of us exactly has a good history when it comes to relations.h.i.+ps."

"Maybe you should consider slowing down," she said, meeting my eyes.

I shook my head and said something I shouldn't have, "You're right. It's none of your business."

She froze in place, her smile fixed automatically, like a mask she'd slipped on for the party.

I tried to soften the blow of what I'd said. "Margot-I care about him a great deal. Can we just leave it at that? Please?"

"I suppose that's fair," she replied.

I looked at my watch, tangled on my wrists with my bracelets. "It's getting close to time for us to go."

Her eyes narrowed, and she reached out and touched my watch. And I felt a sinking feeling. The watch was delicate, on a thin chain which I'd had extended when I was sixteen and it didn't fit any more.

Her fingers touched the chain, then trailed down to the scars on my wrist, the edges just showing from underneath the bracelets. Then her eyes jumped to mine, and she said, "I'm sorry if I've judged too soon."

I almost got up and ran. I almost asked her, how dare she? But I didn't. I just sighed and said, "Sometimes things aren't what they appear. We all have hurts that we don't show."

She bit her lip and nodded. Then she said something that surprised me. "I think we should get to know each other better. Maybe we can meet for lunch sometime?"

I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to know Margot any better. It was one thing to sit here, with everyone laughing and happy and part of a big adopted family that Jack had put together. It was another thing entirely to open up to a woman who had the gulf of pain that Margot carried around. I didn't want to open up to her, or tell her anything at all about me. I wanted to run. I wanted to tell her to go to h.e.l.l and mind her own business. But I didn't. Instead, I lied and said, "I'd like that."

So we exchanged numbers, and then I stood, and said to Crank, "It's almost time."

He grinned at me, that boyish, sideways grin that made my heart melt every time I saw it. And just because of that, everything was okay.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.