The Stranger in the Mirror(31)

As the audience filtered in, he felt himself grow edgier. How was he supposed to get through the eight hours before he could see Cassandra again?

*

It was a relief to get back to his room and be alone at last. The hours of waiting had been agonizing. There were times during the day when he’d actually been rude to some of his colleagues, his impatience and anxiety getting the better of him. Now he had a little time to think about what to say and what to do when he saw her. It was going to be a very delicate thing. Unpredictable. But he was trained for unpredictability, he reassured himself.

Julian changed out of the shirt and tie he’d worn to the symposium. Cassandra used to tell him he always overpacked—more like a woman than a man—but as he buttoned a fresh blue Brooks Brothers shirt, he was grateful that he had brought extras. A little after five he left the hotel and walked to the Oliver Gallery. He ran his moist palms along the sides of his jacket as he approached the building. He was finding it hard to take a deep breath. Then he was standing in front of the gallery with his hand on the doorknob. He hesitated, and someone behind him said, “Going in, buddy?”

“Sorry,” Julian said, startled, and pushed open the door.

Only a few people were wandering about in the main room of the gallery, where glasses of wine and trays of cheese and crackers sat on two high round tables in the middle of the floor. Julian walked around, still trying unsuccessfully to get a full breath of air into his lungs. He swept his gaze across the entire gallery and saw that one of the two side rooms looked more crowded than the other. That must be where her exhibit was, he thought, and strode over to its entrance.

Suddenly he saw her across the room. The hammering in his chest began again, just like the night before, when he thought he wouldn’t be able to keep his beating heart from crashing through his chest. She looked beautiful in a simple black dress, her long hair touching her shoulders and her eyes shining with excitement. She held a glass of white wine in her hand as she chatted with a few guests. Julian stood rooted to the spot as a good-looking guy with a mop of curly brown hair walked over to her and put his arm around her waist. Cassandra looked up at him, smiling, and Julian clenched his jaw. He flexed his fingers, forcing the blood to circulate, and walked purposefully toward her, never taking his gaze from her.

He waited until the man had stepped away to approach her. She extended her hand, not seeming to know him. “Hello, I’m Addison Hope. Thank you so much for coming tonight.”

Julian shook her hand, staring into her eyes, and she continued to smile blandly at him. No flicker of recognition. “Hello. I’m Julian Hunter. I’m here from Boston for a medical conference, and I saw the sign for your exhibit last night.” He watched her face carefully as he spoke. Nothing.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the exhibit and your time in Philadelphia,” she said, turning away to greet someone else.

“Wait,” he said, touching her arm.

She turned around to him, frowning slightly. “Yes?”

“There’s something I’d like to show you. Would you mind if we moved to a quieter corner of the room for a moment?”

She cocked her head and gave him a quizzical look.

“Please. Just for a moment.”

They walked to the edge of the room, and Julian took the picture from his wallet and handed it to her. “Take a look at this,” he said.

She stared at the picture, her brows knitting as she held it up for a closer look. When she looked back at Julian, her eyes were clouded. “That’s me.” She glanced at the photograph again. “Who are you?”

He had to tread lightly. “Addison. That’s not your real name, is it?”

She took a small step back from him, and he saw fear in her eyes.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.” He hoped his tone was reassuring. “You don’t remember anything about your past, do you?”

“Do you know me?” she asked, and Julian thought he saw a flicker of something like hope in her eyes.

“I do.” He looked past her to see the curly-haired man approaching.

“Everything all right here?” he asked, looking from Cassandra to Julian.

“This man knows me.” Cassandra’s voice shook. “He knows who I am. He has a picture of me. From before.”

“Let me see,” the man said, and Julian handed the picture to him. Then he brought out his phone and pulled up all the photos of Cassandra.

“Take a look at these, too,” he said, giving the phone to Cassandra.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, leaning against the wall as she scrolled through.

The man next to her stared at Julian. “Just who are you?” he asked.

“Her husband. I’m her husband.”





??27??

Addison




I lean against the wall as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing. It is me, that much is obvious, but I don’t recognize the man or the child with me. Husband. The word reverberates in my mind. I try and connect to it, but there’s nothing. I look up at him, trying to place his face. His looks are the opposite of Gabriel’s. Thick blond hair, crystal-blue eyes, and a strong jawline. He’s handsome, almost too handsome. He looks like he might be in his late thirties or early forties, tall and slender and elegantly dressed. I glance at his hand and see the gold wedding band on his finger. Why can’t I remember him?