Chapter 11 #2
“I have something to do tomorrow after work. Do you still have the money I gave you last week? You could order a pizza for dinner.” Juliana doubted she would bother. If someone wasn’t there to make sure she ate, all she did was drink.
“Stop hovering.”
“There’s chicken parm for tonight. I want you to eat it, do you hear me?”
“Go to work, Juliana.”
Juliana turned and left the room without another word. Why do I bother? If she wants to drink herself to death, maybe I should just let her. No one else cares if she does. Why do I?
Driving back to Butchers Hill on Eastern Avenue, Juliana pondered those questions.
Born eight years after Vincent, Juliana knew she had been an accident.
Her oldest sister and brother, Serena and Domenic, fled the moment they graduated from high school.
Both had families on the West Coast that Juliana barely knew.
Hell, she barely knew them. They moved out before she was six.
She couldn’t blame them for running for their lives after they endured some of the worst years of their parents’ marriage.
Donatella and Vincent lived in Baltimore but only bothered with their mother when Juliana guilted them into it.
All her life Juliana had been the adult in her relationship with her mother.
Maybe it’s my fault she can’t do anything for herself.
Maybe if I just stopped she would have to deal with the mess she’s made of her life.
Even as she thought it, though, Juliana knew she could never follow through with it.
Her mood lifted when she parked on Collington Street. Without even a glance at her own front door, Juliana walked into Mrs. Romanello’s cluttered house. “Hello!”
“Back here!”
The first thing Juliana saw when she walked into the kitchen was the huge vase of at least two-dozen fragrant red roses. “Oh, wow!” She leaned in to breathe in the scent. “Who sent you flowers?”
Mrs. Romanello kissed Juliana’s cheek. “They’re not for me, hon.” She handed the card to Juliana.
Startled, Juliana said, “For me?”
Mrs. R nodded. “Open it.”
Juliana fumbled with the envelope and pulled out the card. “88 days. I love you. Jeremy.”
“Jeremy?” Mrs. R asked.
Juliana nodded and blinked back tears.
Mrs. R reached for Juliana’s hand. “Did something happen this weekend?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Tears and two dozen roses? Something happened.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Of course. How about some coffee or breakfast?”
Juliana smiled. Mrs. R, who was widowed with four children scattered around the country, loved to feed her and Jeremy. “I’m good, thanks. I need to get to work. Why don’t you keep the flowers and enjoy them?”
“Don’t be foolish. Take them over to your house.”
“Um, I’m actually staying with a friend right now.”
Mrs. R’s eyes narrowed. “What friend are you staying with? What’s going on, Juliana?”
Juliana sighed. “Jeremy and I are taking a break. It’s nothing, really. We just need a breather to figure some things out.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. People who love each other don’t take breaks.”
Ouch. “It’ll be fine,” Juliana said with more certainty than she felt. “I’ll take the flowers to the salon.” She tipped the vase over the sink to dump out the water.
“Where are you staying?”
“With a friend. I’m fine. I promise.” Juliana kissed her. “I’ve got to go.”
Mrs. R took hold of Juliana’s chin, her wise old eyes scanning Juliana’s face. “You’re not fine. I know you. But I won’t push. You know where I am if you need me.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Juliana hugged her, picked up the roses, and left.
At the salon she deposited the roses on the reception desk. The salon was all glass, track lighting, mirrors, light wood floors, and modern art. Juliana loved the clean, stylish look of the place and the fragrant scent of the beauty in the air.
“Where’d you get them?” her friend Carol asked. “Jeremy?”
Juliana nodded.
“Uh oh. What’d he do?”
“Since when do roses mean trouble?”
“A dozen red roses means I love you,” Carol said, following Juliana to the break room to stash their coats and purses. “Two dozen means I’m sorry for something.”
“Have you been reading Glamour again?” Juliana asked with amusement, which faded when she thought of the other thing she needed to tell her friend. “Hey, so, you won’t believe who I met on the plane.”
“Who?” Carol filled two mugs with coffee. Her short red hair was stylishly teased into spikes that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. On her the style was avant-garde.
“The Benedetti prosecutor.”
Carol paled. The loss of her young cousin was still a raw wound. “Michael Maguire?”
Juliana nodded.
“I’ve met him a few times at my aunt and uncle’s house. He’s very good about keeping them informed.”
Juliana wasn’t surprised to hear that. She took the cup of coffee from Carol and squeezed her arm. “He says they’re going to get them, Car. He has no doubt.”
Carol nodded and dabbed at her eyes before tears could ruin her makeup.
“Juliana, your nine fifteen is here,” the receptionist announced through the intercom.
“Are you okay?” Juliana asked Carol.
“Yeah. I’ll just be glad when the trial’s over. We all will.”
“I’m sure.”
“We’d better get to work, but I still want to know why Jeremy’s in the doghouse.”
“You’re imagining things,” Juliana said, and they walked out to greet their clients.