Two from the Heart(22)

He looked so handsome and prosperous—if I hadn’t known him as a skinny teenager, I’d probably be too intimidated to talk to him now.

As I settled myself at the table, a waiter glided over and poured me a flute of Champagne. “Will you be having the four-course tasting menu also?” he murmured. “The ahi tuna salad, the tagliatelle with fresh herbs, the king salmon, and the zabaglione?”

The what? I thought. My mind was spinning a little. For one thing, my first love was sitting three feet away from me. For another, my road meals were basically four courses of Cheetos. I must have nodded, though, because the waiter said “Very good” and slid away.

“Nearly twenty years,” Julian said, shaking his head and smiling. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know,” I said, taking a sip of the golden bubbly wine. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? I’m almost twice as old as I was the last time I saw you. So why is it, Julian Fielding, that I so rarely feel like a real grown-up?” I laughed. “Do you ever have that problem? You don’t really look like you do.”

Julian’s eyes sparked with humor. “I’m a true grown-up from approximately nine to five, Monday to Friday. Your typical working stiff. Other than that, all bets are off.”

“What do you do now, anyway?” I asked. My haphazard Facebook sleuthing had turned up little besides his relationship status—Julian wasn’t much of a poster.

“I’m a lawyer,” he said. “And I’m glad you couldn’t immediately guess that. I specialize in estates and trusts. But that’s all you need to hear about my job, because it’s deadly boring.”

“Oh, but very respectable,” I said, a slight lilting tease in my voice.

“Yes, that’s what I always meant to be when I grew up: respectable,” Julian said wryly.

“Well, I wanted to be an art photographer, and instead I take pictures of pets. Weddings. Bridezillas. I guess that’s just what happens when you get older: You have to get realistic. You compromise.” I sighed as I speared a lettuce leaf.

Julian smiled. “But if being a grown-up means you can leave work to take a long lunch with a gorgeous woman, then I’ll take it.”

I flushed again, wondering how in the world he was still single.

“So what brings you to town, anyway?” Julian asked.

You, I wanted to say.

What I actually said was “I’m working on a new project—it’s a mix of words and pictures at the moment. I’ve been informally interviewing people all over the country about their lives, their stories. And I’ve been taking their photographs.”

“That sounds amazing,” Julian said.

“I don’t know about amazing, but I hope it’s at least interesting,” I said.

Julian pointed his fork at me in mock exasperation. “Still self-deprecating after all these years. When are you going to accept the fact that you’re brilliant and talented and that whatever you do is going to work out?”

“Well, my marriage sure didn’t work out,” I said dryly. Then I felt like an idiot, because I hadn’t meant to bring that up at all.

But Julian smiled with both sympathy and understanding. “Marriage is undoubtedly complicated.” He seemed about to say something, but then he took a sip of wine.

“Were you married too?” I asked.

Julian gazed down at the plate of herbed pasta that had just been placed between us. “Actually I still am,” he said.





Chapter 25


WHAT?”

Because Julian was winding a piece of tagliatelle around his fork, he didn’t see my shock.

“But probably not for much longer,” he added, looking up.

“I had no id—I’m so sorry,” I said.

I couldn’t believe how close we’d once been, and how little we knew of each other now. “Can I ask…” But then I stopped.

“I used to tell you everything, didn’t I?” Julian said. He gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “I see no reason to stop now. Sarah, my wife, was a ballet dancer. As you can probably imagine, it’s a beautiful but brutal business. She’d struggled for years with an eating disorder, but by the time we met she was healthy. We married five years ago on Mykonos, and not long after that she decided that she wanted to have a baby.”

“And you?” I asked.

He smiled. “I can’t pretend I was excited by the thought of wiping some squalling infant’s bottom, but I came around,” he said. “We tried for a long time, and after almost two years, she got pregnant. We were elated. But then she miscarried. When she got pregnant again, she miscarried again. And again.”

“You’re kidding,” I breathed, knowing that he wasn’t. “I’m so sorry.”

I’d been expecting a story of infidelity like mine, but this was a pain I couldn’t even imagine.

“She had five miscarriages in two years. The last one was at sixteen weeks; he had tiny little fingernails. He seemed… so perfect.” Julian took a glug of wine. “It just took too big of a toll on her—I think because she felt like somehow it was her fault. That she’d made her body incapable of carrying a child. She left town three months ago. I think she’s on a silent retreat in Sedona, but I honestly don’t know. And I don’t know if she’s coming back.”