Seeing Julia by Katherine Owen Page B

doesn’t fully mask her own sadness. It crosses her features for a moment and then it’s gone. We all miss Evan. “You look fantastic, Jules. We’re not going to be sad tonight or tomorrow. We’re not.” Kimberley steps back to survey me one more time.
    “Okay.” She looks surprised when I agree. “Hey Kimmy? Thanks.” I hug her close. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
    “Same,” the PR wonder girl says back to me.
    ≈ ≈

    Bernard and Francesca Powers arrive from New Haven around five. My parents have been dead for almost ten years and Kimberley’s family has been a part of my life for eight. I hug them close and take delight in the way they fawn over Reid. My seven-month-old looks like a little angel in his white sweater with a snowman imprint, red little vest and black sweater pants with the black and white spat shoes Kimberley bought for him. I take a few pictures of the group with the digital camera Evan bought me a couple of months before and smile at the sight of my son and this quasi family surrounding me.
    Within a few hours, Kimberley’s promise of this party just being the close inner circle increases to more than thirty people as neighbors stop by, including Robert and Helen Hamilton, Evan’s parents. Helen even makes an attempt to be nice to me, though we all know she longs for her first choice in a daughter-in-law, that one being dead and buried next to Evan. Lianne rescues Reid from the cloying woman’s arms and takes him upstairs to get him ready for bed, while I try to make idle conversation with my grieving in-laws.
    I’m on edge. Of course, I am. The unexpected appearance of Evan’s parents and the inevitable question of: What are you going to do, Julia? A question that’s been posed by just about everyone in this room adds to my inner turmoil.
    What am I going to do? Tonight, I’m going to get good and drunk; and tomorrow I’m going to stay in bed all day. After that? Who knows? Of course, I can’t share these plans with anyone, Robert and Helen, least of all.
    I can only hope they don’t stay too long. Kimberley rescues me after another ten minutes and pulls me across the room from them, pressing a margarita into my hand.
    “Sorry,” she says with a heartfelt groan. “I invited them because I didn’t think they’d come. And, if we didn’t invite them, they’d hear about it. Shit. I’m sorry.”
    She knows my pain about them, too.
    “Maybe they won’t stay long,” I say under my breath.
    “They won’t,” Kimberley promises.
    ≈ ≈

    Half past eight, I glance at my watch. As if a visitation from Evan’s parents isn’t enough to fill me with anxiety, now, I’m bracing for the appearance of one Mr. Jacob Winston. I take a deep breath and another swig of my margarita, but neither, steady breathing nor tequila, can calm the edginess raging inside of me now.
    “Jules? Are you even listening to me?” Kimberley’s brother Brian asks.
    “What? Sorry. No. What did you say?” I touch his hand.
    Brian shakes his head and grins. “You okay?”
    “I’m fine. Just tired. I think I’ll step out on the deck and get some fresh air. Can we talk a little later?” I give Brian a reassuring hug and escape through one of the French doors and watch him saunter off in the direction of the food table.
    The roaring surf of the Atlantic welcomes me. The muted sounds of the party inside fade away as I near the edge of the deck, lean against the rail and look out at the dark ocean. I breathe deep and experience simple serenity from the crisp salty air that December always brings. Standing here for a few minutes, reflecting, I realize I’ve been anxious, since the Hamilton’s arrival. I cannot be what they want to me to be. I’m not Elizabeth. Now, it’s true more than ever.
    I lean back against the railing with my back to the ocean and watch the party underway inside. Kimberley is draped in an embrace with Gregoire; she certainly isn’t suffering with doubt about