"Great! Jules, I get the feeling there's something here you're not telling me."
Actually, there were a lot of things Julia hadn't told her simply because Abby hadn't allowed her time to speak. She thought about Crazy Myrtle, the fact that Lance was living with her, and the missing Veronica, and she also remembered what her mother always said about lasting relationships being rooted in truth. She adjusted her grip on the phone and aimed tor "completely reliable business associate."
"No," Julia said. "Nothing else."
Chapter Eighteen
WAY #18: Value persistence.
The single people who cope best with life are those who are persistent and surround themselves with people who don't settle for second best. People who are truly happy set their sights on their goals and then keep plugging away until they reach them.
—from 707 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
randpa calls him Twirp," Cassie was saying. "That means small, contemptible person," she explained to Lance as Julia eased down the hall toward the nursery. She could see Nick sleeping peacefully in his crib and Lance standing beside him with Cassie mounted firmly on his back. "At first, I didn't want a little brother," Cassie went on. "But I know women have longer life expectancies, so it's okay that I'm older."
"Five going on forty, huh?" Lance said softly as Julia appeared in the doorway.
"Oh, yeah," she whispered back. She took Cassie from Lance and felt the little girl's arms and legs wrap around her. "Whatcha doing, girlie?" she asked her niece.
"I'm explaining how to be a sister, because Lance doesn't have one."
"Oh?" Julia asked, eyebrows raised. "That's very nice of you."
Julia carried Cassie toward the door. She felt Lance place his hand on the small of her back and guide her around the array of toys that Cassie had left, like a trail of breadcrumbs, to follow. Don't we look like a little family, Julia thought, but she didn't protest as they eased down the long hall.
"Lance knows Shrek!" Cassie squealed.
Julia cut him an inquiring look.
"Well," he fudged, "I know a guy who works as Mike Myers's stand-in."
For Cassie, and by extension Julia, that was close enough.
"There you are!" Caroline shouted as she suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. She leaned over and fought to catch her breath. "I ought to be a size two, as many times a day as I go up and down these things," she said to no one but herself. Then she straightened, looked at Lance and Julia, and exclaimed, "His agent is here!"
Instinctively, Julia tightened her grip on Cassie, as if she were going to have to get the children to safety before the shots started to fly.
"You didn't let him in, did you?" Lance asked.
"No," Nina said, appearing behind Caroline. "He's at Myrtle's."
Caroline hadn't been exaggerating when she said she could stand in the upstairs playroom and keep an eye on Crazy Myrtle. As Julia peered through the telescope, she could see straight into what must be Myrtle's formal living room, where Richard Stone sat with the older woman, enjoying a cup of tea. At least Julia thought it was tea. It could just as easily have been human blood.
"Oh, she's enjoying this," Caroline said, sounding bitter. When a buzzer sounded from deep within the house, she bolted for the stairs. "Whites are done."
"Caroline," Julia said, "can't that wait"
Caroline wheeled. "Julia, the sun is going to come up tomorrow, whether my family has clean underwear or not." She took a step down the stairs. "I'll be right back."
With Caroline gone, Lance was next in turn for the telescope. "How's Harvey?" he asked, and Julia had to remind herself that Lance had never even met Harvey; she fought to remember that only a few days before, she had never met Lance.
"He's better," Julia said, reflecting on the quick call she'd shared with Francesca after she'd said good-bye to Abby. "He'll be in rehab for a while, but things look good."
"Great," Caroline said over the heaping pile of sheets and towels she had dropped in the center of the playroom floor.
"Mom will be glad to hear African violets haven't lost their healing power."
Caroline plopped down on the floor and started folding like a pro. Lance joined her, and Nina shifted into place for telescope duty. Julia watched Lance with the laundry. As he neatly tucked the corners of a fitted sheet into one another, she thought, He actually knows what he's doing. "You really didn't have a sister?" she asked.
He grinned. "I bake, too."
"So what did your new editor say when you told her about the lost Veronica?" Caroline asked as she segued from sheets to hand towels.
"Well ..." Julia started.
"You didn't tell her," Caroline said, sounding completely unsurprised. "Julia, you're going into business with her. She's taking a chance on you. You can't let—"
"She doesn't need to know. Abby Warner is used to dealing with the nonfiction big boys—corporate CEOs, prime ministers, chairmen of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Trust me, she's not going to give someone with Veronica White's sales history the time of day."
"If you say so," Caroline chimed.
"Maybe we're reading too much into this," Lance said. "Richard Stone's not going to care what type of books you used to write."
"Are you kidding?" Julia asked. "This is fresh wood for the fire. This keeps the headlines on the front page a few days longer." She looked out the window at Myrtle's house and the decaying subdivision and fought not to say, This is how my career might end.
"What happens when he reads it?" Nina added sheepishly.
Caroline's hand flew to her mouth. "He's going to notice."
"I noticed as soon as I saw the picture," Nina agreed. "Lance fits the description exactly. That's why I thought it was true!"
"What aren't you telling me?" Lance demanded. Caroline and Nina stared at each other, then Nina gave Caroline a "go ahead" nod, and Caroline said, "It's about you." "Caroline!" Julia cried.
But Nina picked up the novel and began to read over Julia's protests: "Philippe's arms, still sore from the long journey, hung loosely by his side while the wind blew through his dark brown hair. His gray eyes squinted against the rising sun. His chin ..."
"So, there are some similarities," Julia jumped in, stopping Nina.
"Similarities?" Nina turned to Lance, thrusting the book into his hands. "The hero looks like you. Exactly like you. Twelve years ago, Julia wrote a romance novel about a man who looks like you," Nina finished. Then, keeping the same tone she'd had before, she said, "I'm hungry," and she and her GIVE LANCE A CHANCE T-shirt disappeared down the stairs.
Lance looked at the book again. "How many of these did you write?" he asked.
Julia answered, "Eight."
He studied her, then asked, "Did they sell well?" She had to laugh a little. "Yeah," she said. "They did really well."
"There's nothing wrong with what you wrote," he said. "There's nothing wrong with who you are." "I'm not her," Julia stated.
"Yes, you are. Isn't that what this crisis is about? And what I m telling you is that there's no shame in that."
She struggled to believe Lance, but she knew too well that he world wasn't that idyllic. Veronica White died the day Candon Jeffries took Julia to lunch at the Ritz. A card turned over. Everything changed. She had traded one life for another, and to be the person she was now, no one could ever know who she'd been then. "No one can know about these books," she said simply and solidly, steadying herself for the arguments that would come next. But she felt Lance's hand on her arm and knew the topic was closed.
"Something's happening," Caroline spoke from the telescope. A moment passed while Lance and Julia crowded around. "Yep. There he goes."
Together, they watched Myrtle's front door open and Richard step onto the front porch. He shook the woman's hand and turned to leave, walking with a slight bounce in his step through the underdeveloped area between the unfinished houses across the street.
Lance eased away from the window. "Crazy Myrtle doesn't know what she's got yet. Or, if she does, she's smart enough not to share it with Stone, and hold out for someone bigger. And be certainly doesn't know what she's got."
"How do you know that?" Julia asked.
"Because he wasn't carrying anything. If that manuscript I what you say it is, no way in hell does Richard Stone walk on without it."
"We could steal it," Nina said from the doorway. She was eating a cherry Popsicle, and the juice ran, like blood, down her hands. It made for an ominous scene.
In unison, they all yelled "No!"
Chapter Nineteen
WAY #92: Lose yourself in a good book.
Life's best adventures are often as close as your nearest bookshelf. Tour Europe with the Count of Monte Cristo. Dance at a ball with Mr. Darcy. Hunt down the bad guys with Stephanie Plum. Amazing things can happen when you read.
—from 707 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
The fire crackled, and her house felt warm. Julia stretched her legs across the couch, trying to focus on a back issue of Publishers Weekly, but she kept looking down at Lance, who lay on the floor beneath her with his feet near the fireplace, reading Veronica White's first book. Either he was a very slow reader or he was very thorough. Slow. Definitely slow. Nothing there to savor, she said to herself, the way a highway patrolman says "Nothing to see here, folks." Yet that didn't change the fact that a man was lying on the floor, reading her deepest secret, literally. To make matters worse, every few pages he'd moan.
He turned slightly, rested his elbow on the floor and hit head in the palm of his upturned hand, and read aloud: "Isabella's hands, small and narrow but fiercely strong, gripped the horse's reins as if she were holding on to life itself. Her] blood ran hot beneath her cool, pale skin, and the pounding of ; her heart matched the pounding of the horse's hooves. ..."
He climbed onto his knees and inched closer, putting his elbows on the couch beside her, crowding into Julia's space. He read on: "Isabella's mind outran the Thoroughbred as she leapt in space and time between her desperate flight on the runaway stallion and the strange figure she had seen the night before, the silhouette that seemed to call to her, a ghost from another lifetime."
"You're an excellent reader," Julia said dryly as she tried to snatch the book away, but he was too quick and too strong. In a flash, he was on the edge of the couch, with Julia pinned to the cushions behind him. One large hand was pressing against her collarbone while the other held the book far away from her flailing arms. Heat burned from his fingers through her T-shirt, and he continued to read, despite her constant jabs and lunges. He read louder, drowning out the sound of Julia's cries.
"The mud-soaked road didn't slow the stallion's hooves."
"Lance, give me the ..."
"Her thin nightgown flew violently in the night wind, her unruly auburn hair as wild as the horse's mane."