The Stranger in the Mirror(2)

Julian smiled as he remembered how adamant Cassandra had been, insisting upon staying apart the morning before the ceremony. “You don’t really believe in bad luck, do you?” he’d asked her, and she’d looked at him, her eyes wide, and said she was just being cautious. Julian considered himself a rational man of science, and his career in medicine had shown him that luck had nothing to do with the course of people’s lives. But he’d decided to humor her.

“Daddy, keep going.” Valentina pushed against him.

“Right. So . . . it was a very small wedding, with just a few of our friends and your grandfather. A young music student from the university played her cello as Mommy came into the room and walked toward me.”

“Did she look beautiful?”

“Yes, Valentina. She looked very beautiful.” An image from that day filled his head. Cassandra standing for a moment at the arched entrance to the room, in a high-necked, long-sleeved sheath that skimmed her slender figure and then fell straight to the floor. She smiled, her eyes meeting his as she walked down the aisle. When he noticed a white gardenia in her long black hair, he was touched by her loving acknowledgment of the flowers he’d given her the night he proposed.

“More, Daddy,” Valentina urged.

“That’s enough for tonight, sweet girl. It’s time for bed.” He gently rose from the sofa, but his daughter remained seated.

“No, please. Can’t I stay up a little longer?”

He reached down and wrapped her small hand in his, pulling her to her feet. “Afraid not, little one. What would Mommy say if she knew I was keeping you up past your bedtime?”

Valentina’s expression darkened. “Mommy wouldn’t care. If she cared, she would come home.”

Julian had no answer for his little girl. He’d tried to explain it to her so many times, but the problem was that there was no explanation.

He thought back to the last time he’d seen Cassandra, and the familiar ache of loss and regret filled him. They’d had their problems like any couple, of course. She could be mercurial and moody. He didn’t like to think about the night they’d had their worst fight, both of them spewing angry words neither could take back. Afterward he’d thought all was lost, that he’d have to raise Valentina alone. But then, miraculously, everything turned out okay. For a while, anyhow. Now, two years later, and not a trace of her. It was unbelievable, really, as if she’d vanished into thin air. But he believed with every fiber of his being that she would be found. It was the only thing that kept him going. Well, that and Valentina, of course. She was the image of her mother, with Cassandra’s face and hair, but her lips were Julian’s, full and generous.

Now he steered his little girl to the stairs, and together they climbed to the second floor. “Teeth brushing and then a very short bedtime story,” he said to her.

“Two stories?” she asked as she walked over to the white bookcases that filled one wall of her pink bedroom.

“Don’t push your luck, little one. It’s late.”

After the bedtime ritual was over and he’d kissed his daughter good night, Julian headed reluctantly to his own bedroom. As he entered, his eyes went right to the antique dressing table, where all of Cassandra’s lotions and perfumes sat just as she had left them, next to the jeweled hairbrush he’d given her on their first anniversary. He walked over and picked it up, raising it to his nose. He imagined he could discern her scent, but he knew he was kidding himself. Placing the brush back on the table, he moved to one of the large closets—her closet—and opened the doors. All of her beautiful clothes hung neatly, untouched since she’d disappeared. He couldn’t bear to get rid of her things. That would mean she was gone for good.





??3??

Addison




“More tea, sweetheart?” Gigi asks me as she closes her fingers around the ceramic pot.

“Yes, thank you.” I slide my mug closer and look at the strong fingers as Gigi pours, the nails short, professional and unpolished, the way a nurse’s hand should look—proficient and assured. But the rest of her is all warmth and comfort, from the womanly curves and red hair swept up in a soft and loose bun to the blue eyes that always have a sparkle in them.

Sitting at the wood farm table in her and Ed’s cozy kitchen always makes me feel cared for and protected.

“Last night was wonderful, Addy. You and Gabriel are so perfect together. Ed and I are thrilled for you.”

She looks so pleased, but all at once I’m feeling the same thing in my stomach that I felt last night—a fluttering anxiety, as if my insides are twisting around each other. I hold my breath, trying to subdue the pulsating, and smile back at Gigi. “I’m very lucky,” I say.

“You need to remember that Gabriel’s the lucky one too. Right?” Gigi’s eyes tell me she knows what I’m thinking. That as someone with no past and no family and barely a career, I have little to offer Gabriel. He is a smart and successful man, popular, well-liked, and from an amazing family. Blythe and Ted Oliver, his parents, opened their gallery in Philadelphia’s Old City soon after they married thirty-two years ago. Blythe is an artist and Ted is in charge of acquisitions. The gallery’s specialty is contemporary art, and often the two of them travel, searching for new and promising artists, while they leave the day-to-day management to Gabriel and his sister Hailey. They’re a close family who make it obvious that they love spending time together. Their dinner conversations are animated and lively, with the topics ranging from art to social issues to world events. For me it’s like watching a tutorial on what it is to have parents and siblings, and I always wonder what my own family might be like. Do I have any sisters or brothers? Did we enjoy each other the way Gabriel’s family does?