chapter 4
Julian stared at his hand, waiting to see if the tremor that’d almost caused him to spill his orange juice would come back.
Having a diagnosis for the symptoms he’d been experiencing provided some relief. At least he knew what was wrong with him and could seek whatever treatments might help—after he decided between the
options his doctor had presented to him. But knowing he had an incurable disease also came with a certain debilitating fatalism.
He wasn’t sure which was worse—worrying about his symptoms without knowing the underlying cause or facing the truth.
It didn’t make things any easier that he felt cheated. He was too young to have Parkinson’s. It certainly wasn’t a rare disease,
but most people didn’t develop it until they were in their sixties.
Michael J. Fox was a notable exception. He’d been diagnosed in his twenties. The good news was that he was still around almost
forty years later. The bad news was that he appeared to be in decline. And Julian had no way of knowing how difficult the
movie star’s journey had been. All he’d ever seen were the pictures and articles that appeared in the media.
At least Michael was always smiling. Julian wished he could tell him how much that helped. Maybe he could be like Fox. Fight the disease for decades before his symptoms became unbearable. Be grateful for the life he had.
Keep his chin up.
Right now, that didn’t feel very likely. Whenever he imagined the years ahead, he just felt sad and scared. Mostly scared,
which was such a foreign emotion to him. He’d never had reason to be frightened of anything—except the bear that’d charged
him when he was in Alaska a year ago. That had caused a bolt of alarm before he played dead and the bear moseyed off into
the woods.
He should still be out there, facing bears and moose and whatever other wild things crossed his path. He shouldn’t have this
disease. Not only was he in the prime of his life, but there was no genetic component. Parkinson’s didn’t run in his family.
The doctor couldn’t pinpoint a cause—unless he’d been exposed to some toxin he wasn’t aware of that’d caused his body to start
misfolding the alpha-synuclein protein that was now destroying part of his brain.
How long would he be capable of hiking to the remote areas he liked to photograph? Of holding a camera steady? Would he be
able to make enough money before he could no longer work to carry him through the rest of his life? And how would this diagnosis
change the coming years in other ways?
There was no question that his future would be very different from the one he’d envisioned for himself.
Now he didn’t even know if he’d ever marry, have kids.
He couldn’t imagine any woman wanting a partner already so compromised.
If he’d already been close to someone, he could conceivably see her sticking around—the way Michael J.
Fox’s wife had remained committed to him over the years.
But he hadn’t been dating anyone when he realized his body was no longer functioning correctly.
And if a woman knew he was damaged goods before she fell in love with him, why wouldn’t she simply choose another man for the sake of her own future?
His mother came into the pool house his father had converted into a home office—Jerry was at his company’s headquarters downtown—and
laid a hand on his shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked, twisting around to look up at her. He’d been using his laptop all morning, was supposed to be editing
pictures. He loved the process of perfecting the shots he took. But since his latest muscle spasm, he’d been buried in his
own thoughts, didn’t even know how long he’d sat there, inert, before she interrupted.
“Charlotte’s here. It’s so good to see her again. She brought me flowers, which is lovely, but she also brought your father a special pillow to sit
on.” She arched a reproving eyebrow at him. “I wonder how she knows about his surgery . . .”
“Whoops,” he said with a laugh. “I shouldn’t have told her, but I had no idea she’d bring him a butt pillow.”
“You’re incorrigible.” His mother rolled her eyes. “I’ll just hide it for a few days, and if he’s still experiencing tenderness
in that, um, area, I’ll bring it out and pretend I bought it for him myself.”
“Steal Charlotte’s credit and lie to him to keep him from getting mad at me? That’s positively diabolical.” He grinned. “I
like it.”
“I wouldn’t have to steal her credit and lie to anyone if you could keep your mouth shut.” She gave him a playful swat on
the back of the head as she left. “Hurry,” she called before the door could swing shut. “Charlotte’s waiting.”
He smoothed the hair she’d mussed and studied his reflection in the glass door, searching for some telltale sign of his disease—something
that marked him as defective. But he still looked perfectly healthy. Most of the time, he felt perfectly healthy, too.
He wondered how long that would last . . .
Charlotte was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water when he walked in, and his mother was trying to press every
treat they had in the house on her. He heard her politely refuse a lemon square and a soda before Karen offered her a cookie.
“I’m fine, really,” she murmured. “But thank you.”
The moment Charlotte saw him, she smiled in what he thought was relief. “Want to go grab a coffee?” she asked a little too
brightly.
“I’ve got plenty of good coffee here, and it won’t cost you a cent,” his mother volunteered, but he grabbed Charlotte by the
hand and led her straight to the door, saving her from the most persistent food-pusher on earth.
“I think we’ll go out,” he told his mother. “We’ll see you in a bit.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Davis!” Charlotte added.
“Have fun!” she called but looked slightly crestfallen that he’d stolen the object of her attention.
“What’s going on?” he asked once they got outside. “Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure.” She lifted her own keys to show him since he was digging his out of his pocket. “I’ll drive. My car’s behind
yours.”
“I see that now.” He got into the passenger side of her expensive Range Rover—a vestige from her marriage to someone who made
an obscene amount of money. He assumed the vehicle was paid off and she wouldn’t be strapped with monstrous car payments—if
she got to keep it—but now was not the time to ask. She was upset. He could see that even if his mother hadn’t realized it.
“I assume you’ve heard from Cliff. Is that what’s wrong? Has he seen the pictures?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, boy! I bet he wasn’t happy.”
She backed out of the drive. “He wasn’t. He asked me to lie low and not embarrass him again.”
Julian turned down the music that’d come on with the engine. “How are you embarrassing him?”
“By being seen with another man in public, I suppose.” She waited for a break in traffic before pulling into the street.
“Like he’s lying low and not embarrassing you with that ugly model?”
“Ugly!” She gaped at him until she realized he’d been joking. “Yes, exactly,” she said, calming down.
Hoping she’d held her own and hadn’t let Cliff get the best of any argument, Julian scowled. “And did you promise to do that?”
“No. I told him I hated his new tattoo and left.”
She sounded so proud of herself he couldn’t help but smile. “Wow. You did that? Said you hated his tattoo? Brutal! That must’ve
torn him up.”
She shot him a dirty look. This time, she knew immediately that he was baiting her. “He’s sensitive, Jules. It really did bother him.”
“Do you honestly hate his tattoo?”
“Of course,” she replied with a grimace to show just how much. “He had Predator from the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie—which is how many years old now?—tattooed on his shoulder in the weirdest colors.” She
tapped her right deltoid. “It looks positively ridiculous.”
He could tell she thought he’d agree with her, which was why he had to tease her instead. “That movie might be old, but it’s
still cool.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Maybe so, but why would anyone have something so tacky tattooed on their body? Can you imagine seeing
that in the mirror when you’re seventy-five?”
“You’re right. It’s tacky. I don’t like it, either,” he said as if he was just sucking up, and laughed when she swatted him like his mother had earlier.
“Quit messing with me!” she said, but he enjoyed doing it. Spending time with her helped—worrying about her problems distracted
him from his own.
“In all seriousness, I love that you’re standing up for yourself—in whatever small way.”
“It wasn’t a small way,” she insisted. “He was really mad.”
Julian laughed even harder. “Good. I’m happy to hear it.”
She glanced at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “He asked me if I wanted to try again, Jules.”
“And you said . . .?”
“No.”
“Because you’d never be that naive, right?”
Tears welled up as she pulled into Barista Ted’s Coffee and Confections. “Right,” she mumbled, but that word was barely audible.
“I’m not sensing a lot of conviction here,” he said.
“I’m trying,” she responded. “I really am.”
“I know,” he said with a sigh.
Once they got inside, they each ordered an espresso before sitting down among the smattering of people who’d come to work
on their laptops.
“Do you need me to go with you to get the rest of your stuff from Cliff’s house?” Julian asked. “The day’s young. We could
rent a moving van right now.”
“I won’t need a moving van,” Charlotte said. “I’m almost positive everything will fit into my SUV.”
“Seriously? With the kind of money you’ve had over the past few years? I assumed you’d need a fleet of moving vans.”
The barista called out their order, and she got up to retrieve their drinks.
“I’m only leaving with my clothes and a few personal items,” she told him once she’d sat down again. “All the furnishings will be staying with the house.”
“I guess that simplifies things. Still, I say we go over there, get whatever’s yours and be done with it.”
She looked appalled, as if he’d just suggested they blow up the place. “No! I’m not ready to face him again. Besides, I don’t
want to get you into a fight. Cliff’s very territorial.”
“He’s the one who let you go! Besides, I’m not afraid of him. It would suck for you to have to go there and pack up yourself.”
“The whole thing sucks . . .”
Julian took a sip of his espresso. “Have you heard from your in-laws?”
“Nope, and I don’t think I will. They’ll be especially loyal to Cliff since he’s the one who pays their bills. His mother
raised him as a single mom, had a hard life. I can understand why he wouldn’t want her to continue working as a motel maid.
But his father and his sisters always have their hands out, too.”
“That would drive me nuts.”
“It was definitely annoying,” she admitted. “But it was mostly his money. And when you marry someone, you marry their family,
too.”
“Someday he’ll regret losing you.” Slouching more comfortably in his seat, he crossed his legs at the ankles. “When you do
go get your stuff, let me know. I’d like to see the house.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Not tacky?” he said with a taunting smile.
“It probably would’ve been without me—and Sloane. We spent weeks decorating that place.”
Julian’s phone buzzed with a call. “Speak of the devil.”
“What do you mean?” Charlotte sat back. “It’s Sloane?”
He nodded as he sent the call to voicemail. He didn’t want to take it in the coffee shop. “Have you talked to her recently?”
“No. I’ve been wanting to reach out. It’s just . . . I’m afraid she’s mad at me. We got into an argument about Cliff the last time we talked.”
“You know Sloane. She’s passionate and excitable but quickly forgives and forgets,” he said while he texted his sister that
he was with Charlotte and he’d call her back in a few minutes.
Charlotte shifted in her seat. “Was that my name? You told her you were with me?”
“I did.” Sloane would already know he’d been in contact with Charlotte again, except he’d been avoiding his sister. His mother
had been badgering him to tell her about his diagnosis, but the more people who knew, the more real it became, and he wasn’t
ready to shoulder his twin’s sadness along with his own.
“And?” she prompted.
He turned his phone so she could read Sloane’s response.
That asshole Cliff better hope I never get hold of him.
“I’d say she’s still on your side,” he said wryly, but that only made Charlotte choke up.
“I don’t deserve her support. Or yours,” she said. “I let my own friends and family down trying to appease my husband.”
“You’re feeling terrible enough already. Let’s not worry about that,” he said and stood up. There was a middle-aged woman
eyeing them from the corner. “Grab your cup and let’s get out of here,” he said.
But the other patron got up, too, and hurried over, catching them just before they went out the door.
“Aren’t you Charlotte Jackson, Clifford Jackson’s wife?” she asked. “I’m a huge fan—loved your book! Can I get a picture with you?”
Charlotte looked as if she wished she could disappear, but Julian accommodated the woman by taking a selfie of all three of them.
“Thank you so much!” the woman gushed.
“No problem,” he said. “Be sure to post that and tag Cliff.” He wanted to make it clear that Charlotte wasn’t going to put
her life on hold just because Cliff didn’t want her to be seen with another man.
The woman looked a little startled by the request but quickly acquiesced. “I will!”
“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” Charlotte whispered as they left the shop and started across the parking lot.
He put his arm around her. “I’m trying to get you out of trouble,” he said.