Julia

The rain had finally stopped, thank God, silencing that incessant pitter-patter upon the roof. Fry wandered around the kitchen, sniffing the floor for any tidbits that might have fallen from the counter, while my little feathered screwball climbed all over my shoulders and back, keeping me from fully focusing on dinner. For the first time in a long while, I was truly alone in the house. And with this solitude, came a funny sort of peace.

It was a funny peace, in that it felt unnatural. It felt empty. I did have music playing, mind you; the one KC and the Sunshine Band vinyl was spinning around on the downstairs turntable (I could take no chances; C had very likely heard enough go on within these four walls, the old busybody bastard), but it didn't make much of a difference.

I didn't mind too much, though. Soon my boys would be home, and restore the abundant energy they both radiated. I smiled a little.

Well, one of them is mine anyway, I corrected myself, face falling again. Tomorrow they're sending the other one back. It's for the best, after all- and this has always been the plan. Freddie's got to go. He doesn't belong to me- never did- and he doesn't belong here.

Perhaps another sip of my drink would clear my throat of that new, tight lump inside it. Just before I could bring it to my lips, however, I stopped and looked at my left hand. In it I held not only my already half-downed second cocktail (peach vodka and pineapple juice, for those who are curious), but between two of its fingers smoldered yet another cigarette. In spite of myself, I giggled. For I couldn't help but recall how Freddie would do something quite similar during interviews in the eighties- that is, alternate almost methodically between a sip of alcohol and a drag of a cigarette while the same old questions were posed at him.

But he only did that in order to occupy his hands, to keep from sitting too still for too long, I said to myself. For me, though, this is a cope mechanism. And all because I passed up my happy pill yet again- or rather, Freddie talked me out of it.

Such an idiotic thing to do, to let him deny me my defenses, especially today. Two days without my "blue pill," as Freddie called it- and now, there I stood, a pathetic, unhappy creature that was very rapidly losing control of her emotions. By God, I almost broke down in tears in front of Stuart, Ling, and the whole damn "rescue party" when they stopped by earlier. And it didn't help that I kept inadvertently reliving that impulsive moment between us. I could still feel his lips caressing mine, his hands feeling my body, that fire in his eyes- that hungry, delicious fire...

Just then, my new cell phone struck up a tinny generic trill. A bit unsteadily, I stepped away from the cutlets I'd been seasoning, snatched it off the counter. "Uh- Hello?"

A warm, familiar, woman's voice greeeted me. "Hi, Goose!"

"Oh, hi, Mom," I crooned in my best Tommy Wiseau, cracking myself up in the process. It felt good to laugh, even if deep down my balloon was on the verge of a violent pop.

Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm great, things have just been, uh- it's been a kind of crazy week, that's all." Since it was my mother, I felt safe enough to carry on this conversation in the house; C very likely wouldn't have any interest in hearing us discuss politics or Danny's school shenanigans. "How's Dad?"

"He's doing fine, we've just been straightening up around the place today. Can't wait to see you and the boy next week."

I smiled, brushing a jealous Farnsie away from the phone's speaker, setting him to march over to my other side. "Thank you, I'm excited too."

"What are you up to?"

"Just cooking some dinner. Danny's coming back from rehearsal, should be home before long."

"Ah. I guess Roxie's bringing him home?"

"That's right."

"Mm." I could hear the poorly masked disapproval in her voice; even now, when my mother had fully reconciled with me, Cousin Roxie was still something of a persona non grata in her eyes. Nothing dies harder and slower than a family grudge- just ask Shakespeare. "Whatcha making?"

I looked around the busy kitchen, smiling to myself- though a bit sadly. "Oh, just veal and pasta, with a tossed green salad."

"Wow! What's the occasion?"

"No reason, just felt like some braised veal this evening," I half-lied. It was true, I'd been craving veal and pasta since I walked out of the church, but I didn't see a way I could possibly go on and explain the importance of the food itself, how I had cooked a nearly identical meal ten years ago for a certain someone and his friends.

"That Stuart of yours is a lucky man," my mom declared. "He has no idea how good a thing he's got."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

She sighed; I could picture her wagging her finger at me like the Jewish mother she wasn't as she continued, "If he had any sense, he would have married you a long time ago."

Farnsie squawked as if in agreement.

I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Knowing how to cook doesn't make me an automatic catch."

"You know what I'm talking about," she told me softly. "Why haven't you still haven't so much as let us meet him?"

"He's busy," I copped out. "You know what he looks like, though, don't you?"

"Thanks to the university website, yes. And he's a handsome man, obviously smart, and he's clearly got more than enough to be a good provider to you both. But when we come up there, he's never available- and you- Look. Tell you what. You need to bring him down here sometime, maybe even this next week for Christmas if he's got no other plans."

"Are you sure you want-"

"I mean it! Let us get a good look at this guy! Let us, you know, put our hands on him, talk to him, meet this man you've been with for, what's it been, three years?"

"Okay, okay, I'll ask him," I agreed, "but he may want to spend Christmas with his own family- and something tells me that sixteen hours trapped in a Jetta with Danny, me, and a conure will very likely destroy any and all interest he has in ours." I laughed self-deprecatingly.

Long pause, broken finally by my mother. "Julia?"

"Yes?"

Another pause. "Are- are we the reason we haven't met Stuart yet?"

I frowned. "Mom, what are you talking about?"

"I just wonder," she murmured, "if, you know- you might feel like you can't tell us things anymore, because of what, um, happened with Danny and everything- and how we reacted."

I rubbed my eyes, fingertips drumming quietly against the counter. "Mom, that was ages ago, I've long since gotten over it- and I can only hope you've forgiven me too."

"We have," she assured me, "but- I know it sort drove a wedge between us, and we handled things so badly in retrospect, and now- I get the feeling you don't tell us anything on your own anymore."

As sincere as I knew my mother was being, I was not in the mood for another mutual guilt trip- which was why I cleared my throat and as lovingly as possible attempted to set her back on track. "You have nothing to worry about, Mom, I promise. We can either keep this up, find ourselves apologizing in every conversation for things we've already forgiven each other- or we can move forward and put it behind us."

"I'd like that," Mom hummed.

"Which one?"

"The moving forward, of course- but I still worry, still- have my moments of doubt."

"As do I," I conceded, thoughts drifting to the afternoon. "That's something we both have to work on."

"Everybody's got something, I guess."

"Exactly. Now- what was it you were calling about?"

"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to say hi and- Oh, yes!" she remembered. "I was calling to ask you if you'd heard about that man everyone's having a fit about up there, they say he looks just like your old friend."

"My old friend?" I squinted.

"You know, your little seven-year obsession?" Mom teased.

A pit formed in my stomach. My parents perhaps still knew nothing about what really happened in the T-Rod incident- but they remembered all too well, the man who had so occupied my adolescent mind. "Oh, the- guy who looks like Freddie? Um- yeah, I heard about him. How did you find out?"

"Saw the headline this morning. It's all over the Internet apparently, people saying he looks like him, talks like him- I watched the video, and I must say, it's a pretty darn convincing impression."

I bit my lip. Oh, God. This has gotten so far out of hand. Poor Stu, this is all my fault.

"Mm-hm." I could hear the smile. "I checked his hand, too, doesn't seem like he's married; you should get Wes to introduce you two, he seems like your kinda guy."

Good old Mom, still quietly on the lookout to find me a husband. I automatically opened my mouth to negate that last sentence, only for the phone to start buzzing with another incoming call. "Hang on, Mom, someone's trying to call me, it might be Danny."

She of course understood, and we bid each other a rushed "Merry Christmas" and "Can't wait to see you!" When I looked at the number before answering, I realized it was that of the Deacons' home phone. A strange mixed-up wave of relief and apprehension washed over me- but no matter my feelings, I had been waiting to hear from them for two days straight. I pressed the green icon.

"Hi!" I greeted them. "What took you?"

The voice that finally answered turned out to be Veronica's. "Hello, Julia. It's late, so I want to make this quick in case he wakes up."

"John's asleep?"

"It's nearly one in the morning over here, dear. He just now dropped off, he's been absolutely wired for the past couple of days, I'm amazed he's sleeping at all. But I'm taking my opportunities where I can."

"I'll bet he was," I nodded.

Then Veronica came right down to cases. "Julia, what did he tell him?"

I blinked. "What?"

"John spoke to Danny earlier today," she explained. "He was at school, and Danny must have said something to do the trick."

"What trick? Ron, what are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath. "John's flying out to New York tomorrow morning."

My heart fluttered. "Come again?"

"And once he reaches JFK he'll head straight away for your house. So-"

"Hold on, hold on! Let me get this straight." I leaned my back against the counter. "John is coming."

"Yes," Veronica confirmed.

"To my house."

"Right."

"Tomorrow."

"That's when the plane leaves. Yes."

I tried to take a big, deep breath, but it didn't seem to be enough. "Do I- want to know why?"

"You already know, dear."

"I suppose I do," I nodded weakly. "So are you coming too?"

"I'm trying to convince him not to go at all," she replied. "He'll be so embarrassed when he realizes the bloke is just a lookalike!"

I swallowed, cleared my throat. For the moment, I had no words.

"You just don't know how hard he took it when Freddie died," she went on. "I thought he'd gotten past it, but this- madness that started this week, ever since you sent that photo of your friend- and now he's all over the news- and Danny playing jokes on John, telling him it's all true, it's all real-"

The hits just keep on coming, don't they? I asked myself. "Ron, I swear I didn't tell him anything. I don't know what Danny told him, but I- look, none of this was supposed to happen- this got way out of hand way too fast-"

"Julia, I believe you, I do," she assured me. "John hasn't gone mad, and he's not ill. He- had a period of time in the nineties where it could almost be argued as much, but- he's not crazy. I know it and you know it, and the kids- well, anyway. They are the kids, after all." Veronica allowed herself a chuckle at that. "I've simply tried everything, but he's adamant. 'There's no one else it could be,' he says. 'It's the real thing.'"

With another deep sigh, I suggested, "All you have to tell John is that he's leaving tomorrow. John will surely decide he couldn't make it in time."

"No, he won't. All he'll do is kill himself to get there even faster. You know how he is. That's why he- he needs to hear it from you, I think."

"Hear what from me?"

"That it's not true," Veronica said. "That it's all a big set-up- another one of Brian's publicity stunts, perhaps. That's the most believable thing I can concoct, but I'm sure you can come up with better."

Is she wanting me to lie to John? "Do you believe it's real?" I asked her then. "Do you think it's the real thing?"

She thought a moment. "To be perfectly honest, no," she admitted. "But what I think doesn't matter; only you can convince him- and me, as well. One word from you would decide how I see this entire fiasco."

Frustrated, I hit my hand against the salt and pepper shakers, knocking them over.I was alone in the house, prepping dinner and standing there in front of an omnipresent, invisible mike (according to K), waiting for me to either defy my dear Stuart and face the consequences, or lie to one of my greatest friends and risk hurting poor Deacy.

Before I could make this decision, I heard the front door knob rattle and a fist rap impatiently on the window. "I think Danny just got home, Ron, can I call you back tomorrow?"

"Actually, I can hold if you don't mind," she told me.

"Hold?"

"I need to know as soon as possible. Not tomorrow, not the next day. Now. Greet Danny, hug his neck, get all that out of the way, then come back to the phone. I'll be here."

I had to smile. She wasn't letting me get away with this one. "You're on to me."

"Not really; I've simply been with John too long not to know evasion when I hear it," she quipped. "Hurry, though."

Assuring her that I would do my best, I pressed "Hold" and smoothed my hair out of my face. I was a bit confused, though; Danny had a key, so I didn't know why he would be knocking for me to answer.

I flung open the door only to find Freddie standing there, looking about ready to explode. "Oh, thank God," he sighed, "You're here."

Before I could react, he dove inside, his notebook clenched firmly in both hands, and raced downstairs like something was after him. I heard the liquor cabinet open, and the sound of clinking glass as he rummaged around to make himself a drink. I scanned the gray wet world in search of Charles's yellow car, but I saw none. Apparently Freddie had ridden home with both Roxie and Danny. I covered my mouth. No wonder he made straight for the liquor cabinet.

Must have had an interesting ride, I mused. Oh, well. At least he's back.

Now Danny was barreling up the steps, jumping every other one, with Roxie bringing up the rear. "Hey, Danny," I greeted him. "Good rehearsal?"

"It was fine," he shrugged, also hustling past me toward the stairs, Fry jumping and frolicking about his ankles as he did.

"What am I, chopped liver?" I quipped.

When Roxie reached the front door, I pointed toward the stairs. She looked confused. "What?"

"In case you wanted to pile down there with the others."

"Oh, no," she laughed. "I'm just the chauffeur."

"Would you stop? You're much more than that, we love you and you know it," I said. "Come on, I've got a cake for you."

As we made our way into the kitchen, Roxie asked me, "Remind me again, how do you know Rick?"

"We're old friends," I replied dismissively.

"Where did you meet him?"

I thought it over a moment, then smiled as I answered quite honestly, "I met him in college. Why?"

"Just curious. Oh, Julia, that's beautiful, can't wait to dig into that when I get home," she cooed upon seeing the cake- which didn't look half bad for a replacement, tied up so nicely with green and red ribbons. "He was just asking me all these weird questions during Danny's rehearsal."

I looked up. "Questions? About what?"

Roxie shrugged. "Mostly Danny's father."

I blinked, feeling the room start to lean to one side. I instinctively grabbed the side of the counter to stay upright. "What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything personal. I don't know much about his dad anyway, there's not a lot you've told me- sober, that is."

But still my heart pounded. For the few things I had told her, sober or not, were enough to compromise the whole facade. "So then, what did you tell him?"

She thought a moment, fiddling with her ring. "All I really told him was that you miss him- and that you love him. I figured that was safe enough to say. Everything else I pretty much copped out of, said he'd have to ask you. Where's Rick from, anyway? Has to be some foreign country, because that is the weirdest attempt at an American accent I've ever heard."

"American accent?" I frowned. "Why's he trying to sound American around you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Roxie chuckled. "Maybe he's hiding something."

"Aren't we all," I sighed. "Stay for a drink?"

"No, I've got somewhere to be," she winked. "Call it a date, perhaps."

I managed a smile and a lighthearted jab at Roxie's "wild" love life- but all the while it began to dawn on me, how much Freddie wanted to know about Danny's father. It was one thing to ask me, but if he was willing to pester my own cousin about it- one who clearly rubbed him the wrong way somehow- this really mattered to him. And I wondered if he even knew why it mattered.

He probably doesn't, I reasoned. But Freddie doesn't always need a why like I do. Sometimes he just makes up his mind, and follows through, moving forward until he gets it, or becomes it, whatever IT may be. It's always an act of will- a demonstration of being in control, of having the power and the determination to achieve his goals. And for the most part, he succeeds- just not when it comes to relationships.

But then again, to be fair, neither of us did.
***********************************************************************************************

Danny

I stand quietly at the foot of the stairs while Freddie takes the Stolichnaya bottle out of the cabinet, I guess to make a drink. Usually he puts ice in the glass, maybe some tonic water too- but tonight he just pours the vodka in and gulps it down. I don't know how he does that. Mom at least puts juice in hers- but straight? Gross.

Upstairs I can still hear Mom's and Roxie's voices; they're not coming down, so for right now it's just us guys. I tiptoe up to Freddie, shivering a little. I can't tell if he's still mad at me for reading the notebook.

So I ask him, real softly, "Did you decide?"

Freddie looks at me with a little cough. "Decide what?"

"To be mad at me. For the notebook."

He gives me a funny little half-smile, then walks toward the piano. "Should I be, do you think?"

"I don't know. I didn't see anything bad. I- was just reading that one song you showed me." This actually isn't completely true- but it IS true that when he caught me, that's what I was looking at. So it still is, in a way, because it was true at that one point, but not the whole time. (I wonder if this kind of thing is why Mom sometimes says I'd make a great politician.)

"Danny, it's not a question of you seeing anything bad, it's just- there's things in this notebook I intend to keep to myself." He starts noodling on the keys.

"Even if I did see anything, I wouldn't tell anyone," I say.

That makes him laugh and roll his eyes. "Oh, really? You mean like how you kept it to yourself about Roxie?"

I wince. "I'm so sorry, that was an accident."

"Mm. That's what I mean. I can't trust you." He pinches my nose as he says this; I think that pretty much says he's not mad. But still, I want Freddie to trust me.

"Maybe I can tell you one of my secrets," I offer. "That way we'll be even."

"I tell you, that's really not necessary. I don't- I don't sort of need you to tell me something that's, you know, near and dear to your heart just to make it up to me."

"Is there anything you want to know about me, though? Or Mom?" Suddenly I have an idea. "Or- or my dad?"

Freddie slowly turns again, stopping the music. "Your dad?"

I think back to all the stuff he was asking Roxie about my dad. Stuff like "What did he look like?" and "How old would you say he was when they were together? He and Julia, I mean" and "Where did he come from?" What makes me really sad, though, is not only did Roxie not know the answers to those questions. I didn't know either.

But still I nod. "Yeah. You want to know something about him?"

He shrugs, takes another drink. "What did you have in mind?"

Now that he's called my bluff, I don't know what to do. I could make something up, I guess- but I don't want to straight up lie. Sideways fibs are okay, they don't blacken the heart; they may bruise it a little, but it heals later on, because there's still some truth in the mix. But I want to be honest with him, so that he knows he can trust me even though I screwed up with the Roxie thing.

And then I remember.

"Mom has a box," I begin.

Freddie's eyes get bigger. "A box?"

"Uh-huh," I nod. "It's got all kinds of stuff that used to be my dad's in it-"

"Like what?" He's not even close to playing anymore. He's too intense for that. And now I'm in too deep.

"Uh-" I stammer, "I- can't tell you."

"Oh, come on, Danny, you can't do that to me. What sort of things? Go on."

"I can't say, Mom doesn't want me to."

He rolls his eyes, getting frustrated. "Right. Where is this box then? Can you tell me that?"

"Is there a reason we're whispering?" Mom's voice cuts in, but I still manage to whisper real fast in his ear: "Her closet." I don't know if Freddie heard me, he gets up too fast and his face goes too blank.

"Not at all," Freddie smiles at her, walking closer. "Sorry for rushing in like that, I just- wanted a little peace and quiet."

"Did something happen on the way back?" she asks. 'What happened to Charles?"

"I don't know. He was supposed to be circling round, waiting for me, but when everything sort of ended, I couldn't find him, so I- rode home with your cousin." He shudders, looking into his empty glass. "And now, I think I need another."

"He hated her music," I giggle.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't hate it, I just- I can only take so much country and western at one time. It's just- it's been a funny sort of day, all around."

This makes Mom smile, as she crooks her finger at me and points at the ceiling. I guess she wants me to help in the kitchen, so I stand up and follow her toward the stairs.

Freddie looks injured. "Where are you two going now?"

"To give you peace and quiet," she replies. "We're going to get back to working on dinner-"

"Not without me, you won't," he announces, following us.

"But what about-"

"Peace and quiet? Pfft. I'm already bored with them. I'd rather help you make a mess in the kitchen. What are we having anyway?"

Mom's voice gets soft here. "Veal and pasta."

I move all the way to the top of the stairs, but she and Freddie just stand there halfway up for a little while, staring at each other. I turn around, wonder what's taking them so long.

"Veal, you say?" Freddie asks, folding his arms.

"And a salad," she smiles. "Again, if you change your mind and want some caviar, I can head out right now-"

"Sh," he whispers, actually putting a hand over her mouth. "Will, um- will there be a concert afterwards?"

She peels his hand away. "That," she says, "Is up to you and the boy."

"Mm. And, uh- why veal, exactly, darling?"

Mom shrugs. "Why not?" But I can hear in her tone there's a reason- it's just they're not talking about it.

"What's so great about veal again?" I ask them, trying to snap them out of it. But they don't seem to hear me. Weird, but I never see her and Stuart act like this, I don't think. True, they've been kinda funny like this before, speaking softly, staring at each other- but it seems even more intense now.

Suddenly Mom seems to snap awake. "Oh, sh- shiitake!" she cries- the word she always uses around me instead of the other four-letter word that starts with "sh". Without another word she dashes up the stairs, runs right past me and grabs the phone.

"Sorry, there's just someone on hold, one second," she rattles off, then presses the button and starts apologizing to whoever was waiting there.

Freddie grips my shoulder, and whispers, "Where did you say the box is?"

I don't tell him with words; all I do is point towards Mom's bedroom and hope that's enough. It seems to be, because then he nods, pats me on the shoulder and says, "Thank you, Mr. Phantom."

I want to ask him please not to try and look at the stuff, because I always get in trouble whenever I go around Mom. But maybe he won't get caught. He's much better at secret keeping than I am- except I don't know why he would write all that stuff in a notebook that belongs to us in the first place, and then gets upset if I read some of it. It's not like he'll be taking it home with him. Maybe it's better that he looks at the box, that means I can check off one less secret to worry about- and then I won't feel so bad about reading the notebook.

Sure beats all these questions, all this wondering, I say to myself. Seems that's all I do anymore, is wonder. Wonder what happened this afternoon, wonder why Mom doesn't want Freddie to see the box, wonder who the heck "Angel" is...

"... I know," Mom is saying to the caller, "but it's true. And the truth is stranger than fiction sometimes."

"And it's also not nice," I remind Mom- which makes Freddie laugh. I don't know why he thinks that's so funny.

"Right," she nods. "The truth is strange, and not nice- and pretty darn flexible, depending on who's telling it.

"But the fact of the matter is," she goes on, "I have to be honest about something, anything, sooner rather than later, even at the risk of- certain things. And the truth, you can tell him, is that, it's no hoax. It's the real thing. There is nothing like the real thing in this world. That is my answer.

"Do with it what you will, and have a Merry Christmas. Love you."

And she hangs up, rubbing her eyes. She looks kind of tired, actually. "Ooo, now I've done it."

Freddie's confused. "Who was that?"

Mom waves her hand like he does sometimes. "Telemarketer."

Freddie's lips curl. "I do believe you are the absolute worst liar I have ever met in my entire life."

"I thought that was me!" I protest without thinking.

All they do is look at me, then each other, as if they're trying not to laugh.

"Actually, I think we're all pretty lousy at it," Mom remarks.

Freddie lifts his chin. "Maybe you two are, but I'm not, I lie like a champion."

Mom whirls, mouth wide open like she wants to catch a grape in it. Freddie stands there waiting for her to argue with him- but she doesn't. Instead she says, "That's such a load of crap I'm not even going to engage it. Danny, will you help me make the salad please?"

"Are you saying I'm not a good liar?"

"Not saying that at all. I know it, but I'm not saying it."

"My dear, for all you know, I could have been lying to you this whole time. In fact, I have!"

"Oh, really?"

They keep going on like this while I sigh, smiling, walking toward the fridge for the greens. It's official. Nobody's mad anymore. They're fighting, but they're not mad. This is normal. This is good.

But now, Freddie knows about the box.