Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [69]
"Help me," he muttered. "Help me figure out what to do next. Should I talk to Brady? Should I talk to Stan? Is there someone I'm not thinking about?"
A large wave took shape, growing in size and power ¦ as it rolled toward the beach. It crashed against the sand just a few feet away, the water coming all the way up to him, washing his feet and the bottom of his jeans in water. Was it some sort of answer?
"A little cold for wading, isn't it?" Julia asked, as she came over to him.
"I didn't move fast enough."
"You didn't move at all. What are you thinking, Alex?"
"Nothing."
"I don't believe you. I know you're hurting inside, and you're not the kind of man who admits that. You like to be big and strong and invincible. And you hate it when you're not."
She had that right. He hated feeling weak, powerless, the way he did right now. The hatred had begun a long time ago when his parents had told him that they were separating, that his father wouldn't live with them anymore, that he'd only see him occasionally. And those powerless feelings had grown after his dad died, after the funeral, after he was left alone. So he'd created a life for himself in which he was in control. He worked for himself. He called his own shots. He decided when to go and when to stay. Everything had worked fine… until now.
"It's hard to lose a parent," Julia continued. "When my mom died, I felt as if I'd lost my right arm. I didn't think I would ever feel whole again. I can't imagine what that would have felt like if I'd been a child, as you were when your dad died, especially since your mother isn't the warm and fuzzy type."
"I hated her," Alex admitted. "For a long time I wouldn't even talk to her. I blamed her for keeping me away from my dad, for the year I'd lost while they were battling for a divorce. I even thought she'd driven him out that night, on that wet, rain-slicked road. I believed they'd had a fight and he was driving too fast. I guess I was wrong."
"You don't sound sure."
He turned to her. "I'm not sure. Everyone lied before. Who's to say they're not lying now?"
She shook her head, understanding in her eyes. "I don't know. Do you think Brady was lying about my mother being in Russia?"
He knew she wanted a different answer than the one he could give, but he had to tell the truth, at least the way he saw it. "No, Julia. I'm sorry, but I think your mother was in Russia."
"I don't want to believe it."
"It makes sense that she was there. Think about it. She was friends with my father. Her grandmother was Russian. She was passionate about the country, fluent in the language. Of course she was there."
Julia frowned. "Then I must have been there, too."
"Yes."
She lifted her chin, a light of battle coming into her eyes. "Okay, then. She was there, and I was there. We have to find out why. What next?"
What to do next-that was a hell of a question. "You could do what Brady said-lie, tell everyone you were born and raised in Berkeley, and that you never left the country. Then you'll be free of this mess. You can marry your Michael and live happily ever after."
"With my past buried in a mystery? That's not me, Alex." She paused. "Actually, that was me. 1 never had the courage to look at myself in the mirror and question who I was. I let my mother die without asking her the questions I wanted to ask. I was too scared. And I'll tell you something: I'm still scared. But I'm not walking away this time. I'm going to follow this trail to the end of the road-even if that road leads me all the way to Russia."
Chapter 11
When Julia entered her apartment she found Liz sitting at their kitchen table with the sewing machine out and a pile of fabric all around her.
"Hey," Julia said tentatively as she set her bag on the floor. She wasn't sure what to expect from Liz. She'd received a dozen messages on her cell phone begging her to call, but she'd kept putting it off, wanting to talk to Liz in person. Now she wished she'd done it over the phone. Her sister's attention was