Free Seeing Julia by Katherine Owen Page A

Elizabeth, now Evan.” I shake my head slowly. “After that, I couldn’t take it anymore. I just left the basket full of stuff and went out to the car and sat there and waited for Kimberley to find me.”
    I make the familiar trek over to his large office window and look out. “I just want to be lost somewhere, where no one knows me, or who I am, or who I’ve lost.”
    The good doctor sits silent, perhaps in search of the right words for consolation in talking me away from this particular ledge. My propensity to fill silence takes over.
    “Kimmy wants me to go with her to Paris, possibly take a position with her PR firm, Liaison . There’s a project in Paris she’d like me to lead for a while.”
    “I know the firm,” he says. “Is that what you want to do?”
    I turn back and lean against the window ledge. “It’s all … a little overwhelming … what to do. Where to live. Right now, Paris sounds pretty good.” I give him a wry glance. “The Hamilton’s are … more than a little dismayed that I’m considering leaving.”
    “It’s not their decision to make.”
    “Right. Doesn’t mean they don’t want to make it for me.” I have trouble hiding my resentment. “I’m not their first choice for daughter-in-law. Not sure what I am now…” I turn and proceed to draw an imagined Christmas tree on the glass. “I had Evan buried next to Elizabeth, his first wife. You would think that would have made them happy, but it’s never enough.” I shrug reaching for the semblance of nonchalance. “Elizabeth died three years ago. Of cancer.”
    “How did Evan deal with Elizabeth’s death?”
    “He was devastated.” I make a conscious effort to hide my anguish over Evan’s first wife by avoiding the doctor’s insightful gaze.
    “How did he make you feel about her ?”
    I shoot him a please-don’t-make-me-talk-about-this look; and then, before I can stop myself, say, “I could never be Elizabeth. We both knew that.”
    “So, how did it make you feel that you could never be Elizabeth?”
    I hesitate with my answer, knowing it could turn the tables on a lot of things we’ve discussed here. All the pretty, trussed-up stories I’ve put together for him so far could disappear.
    “Our marriage wasn’t perfect.”
    There. I said it. Just saying it out loud causes some sort of release inside. I breathe easier.
    “I wasn’t perfect and neither was he. We weren’t perfect together.” In defiance, I raise my head to look over at him, awaiting his judgment, I suppose.
    “I didn’t ask about the marriage. No one’s is, by the way. I asked you how it made you feel that you could never be Elizabeth.”
    I shake my head at him and give him a pleading look. He just returns my gaze, imploring me to answer. With a heavy sigh I say, “Inadequate. I always wondered how much he loved me. I knew he loved me, but I was always left to wonder how much. He didn’t always tell me everything. Share everything. I wasn’t Elizabeth. And, I sensed his disappointment in discovering that.” I wince and swipe at a tear that’s escaped down my face.
    Did I take truth serum or something? Stop saying these things.
    Silence ensues and I struggle to keep from filling it. As a distraction, I pace the room, while he just watches me for a moment and then starts writing in his notebook.
    “What did she look like?”
    His question stops me in my tracks. His perceptive ways are so eerie. I’m taken aback and unable to answer for a few minutes.
    Finally, I say, “long dark hair, blue-violet eyes, slender, tall, she had a Liz Taylor in Black Beauty thing going on.” Reluctance sets in. Do I really want to put this together for him?
    “Like you,” he says.
    Pandora’s Box opens. Chocolate anyone? An abundance of heartbreak. Rare happiness. Plenty of self-destruction. Take your pick. Julia’s got everything in here.
    I turn and face him and incline my head in his direction. “She looked a lot like me. Or rather, I looked a lot