Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [153]
Gino hadn't said anything in almost twenty minutes, Julia realized. And he'd been staring down at his black coffee for at least the last five. "Are you all right, Dad?" she asked, covering his hand with hers.
There was pain in his eyes when he looked at her. "Do you still want to call me Dad?"
"Of course I do. You're the only father I've ever known. I love you. I love Lizzie, too. You're my family."
"But we're not," Liz said.
"Yes, you are. Blood doesn't matter more than love, and we love each other," Julia said.
"If blood didn't matter, why did you need to know your real parents?" Liz asked.
It was a good question. Julia tried to explain. "Because I needed to know myself as much as I needed* the history. I've always felt a bit out of step with everyone. I couldn't figure out where I got my love for music or even my looks. I know Mom used to joke that I had her nose and her legs, but I think she just said that to make me feel like I fit in. She did everything to make me happy. I'm angry in some ways, but in other ways I know I've had a good life because of her."
"She should have told me," Gino said heavily. "I should have asked more questions about you and your father."
"She left that life behind. The only truth Sarah lived was with the three of us. The lies ended when she married you, Dad. You have to remember that."
"You think you know a person, but you don't," he said.
"But you did know her. You knew the little things," she said. "You knew the way she liked her coffee, the way she cried at romantic movies. You knew the way she read the newspaper from back to front, and the way she laughed-half giggle, half snort." She smiled at the memory. "We all knew her. We did."
"What about your other sister?" Liz asked. "What are you going to do about her?"
Julia took a breath. "She's flying out here next weekend. I want you all to meet her. I'm hoping…" She paused, waiting for them both to look at her. "I'm hoping that you'll accept her. She's had a tough life. She grew up in foster homes. She has no family, except for me-no father, no sister, no nothing."
"I'm kind of jealous of her," Liz confessed. "She shares your blood. And you're twins. You're going to get closer to her and forget about me, I just know it."
"I have room in my heart for two sisters. What about you?" Julia challenged. "And what about you, Dad? Do the DeMarcos have room for another person at next weekend's Sunday brunch?"
"Yes," he said, a smile crossing his lips for the very first time. "Of course. We will make room for your sister at our table whenever she comes." 386 "You are a very generous man," she said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, "and I'm lucky to have you. Which reminds me, we need to talk about your drinking, Dad. I know I've been distracted, but not too distracted to notice that you've been drowning your sorrows in alcohol. I don't want to lose you. And I think you should stop. I'll help you, whatever it takes."
He patted her hand. "I feel better when I drink. The pain is not so sharp."
"But Dad- "
"I know," he cut in. "Your sister already talked to me about it."
Julia looked at Liz in surprise. "You did?"
"You told me it was my turn to take action," Liz replied. "Dive in, take charge, stop being a spectator, you said. So I did. Dad and I had a long talk last night."
"I'm glad." Things were going so well, Julia wondered if she should push her luck; then she decided to go for it. "There's one other person I'd like to invite for next weekend's Sunday brunch."
"Alex?" Liz asked with a wry smile on her lips. "I should have figured."
Her heart flip-flopped at the sound of his name, but she shook her head. "No, not Alex. I was thinking about Susan Davidson, Sarah's mother, and your grandmother. I'd like