Chapter 3 - The Sister Who Said No
On Christmas morning Julian found Vivien in the apartment above the garage, wearing an oversized sweater and drinking coffee she had not touched. Marcus waited downstairs. Two guards were parked outside. One stood near the stairs, within hearing distance of every word.
“Everybody out,” Julian said automatically.
Vivien flinched. He saw it and corrected himself. “Would you like us to talk privately?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “And I want the guards moved. I feel like a prisoner.”
Julian sent the men to the main gate. He stayed by the door rather than taking the chair opposite her. “I’m sorry I didn't ask last night.”
“That's a first,” she said. It wasn't cruel. She looked almost surprised.
Vivien told him the whole story, not the abbreviated account that had sent his security team into motion. Her husband, Graham Bell, had demanded access to the savings account she had opened before they married. When she refused, he had taken her phone, broken the heel of her shoe during an argument at the front door, and told her not to come back unless she apologized. He had never hit her, she said. He had made her afraid to disagree with him. There was a difference, and she wanted Julian to listen to it instead of deciding what label fit.
“Do you want me to call him?” Julian asked.
“No.”
“Have him served with—”
“No. Julian, listen to the word.”
He sat down. “I'm listening.”
“I want my own lawyer. I want my bank accounts protected. And I want to stay somewhere that doesn't belong to Graham or you.” Her chin lifted. “Can you help me find an apartment without owning it?”
The request was so practical that it exposed how grandly he had approached the problem. “Yes,” he said. “You choose the place. I can pay the deposit if you want, but it will be a loan only if you want it to be.”
“I have money for the deposit,” she said. “What I need is someone to drive me to the bank because I'm scared I'll turn around.”
“I'll drive you. Or Marcus can. Your choice.”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “Marcus. He's less likely to interrogate the teller.”
At breakfast, Julian's mother entered the dining room in a cream suit and surveyed the two unused place settings. Eleanor Cross had the composed expression of a woman who considered disappointment a social error. “Kate is still upstairs?”
“She's sleeping.”
“After the scene last night, I should think she'd be ashamed. Poor Vivien needed her brother.”
Julian put down his coffee. “Kate told me to take her home.”
“Then why are you sitting here like someone died?”
“Because she also told me she's lonely. And instead of hearing it, I argued about Vivien.”
Eleanor's spoon touched the saucer. “You have always been the person we depend on.”
“That's the part I'm trying to change.”
“Families don't change because one woman gets emotional at Christmas.”
“Don't call my wife emotional as a way to end the conversation.”
For a moment Eleanor looked like someone who had forgotten her son could refuse her. She recovered quickly. “Your cousin has a situation with the Southampton property. He needs you to call—”
“Send the details to the office on Monday.”
“It's urgent.”
“Then he can call his attorney today.”
Julian had expected a feeling of strength. What came was guilt, enormous and immediate. His father had left when Vivien was six, and twelve-year-old Julian had stood in the kitchen while Eleanor told him he was the man of the house now. She had spoken with pride. He had worn the title like armor for twenty-five years, never questioning what happened to the boy inside it.
Kate appeared in the doorway with her hair loose and a cardigan over her pajamas. Eleanor rose, all concern. “Darling, we were worried.”
“I'm all right,” Kate said.
“I told Julian it's only natural to feel a little possessive during pregnancy.”
Kate glanced at him, waiting. He wanted to talk for her. Instead, he said, “Kate can tell you what she feels, if she wants to.”
“I don't want to discuss my marriage over breakfast,” Kate said. “Good morning, Eleanor.”
Eleanor left soon afterward, taking her untouched tea with her. Julian knew she would call again. He would have to practice answering differently more than once.
He and Kate ate toast at opposite ends of the kitchen island. He did not ask for forgiveness. She did not offer it. The quiet felt unfamiliar, but it did not feel false.
“The community center called,” Kate said. “The Christmas meal delivery is short a driver. Lena and I are going.”
“I can send six cars.”
“There's one route. We need a driver who will carry casseroles up stairs, not six cars.”
Julian almost offered Marcus. Then he pictured his wife hauling hot dishes at seven months pregnant and asked, “Would you like me to do the driving?”
She looked genuinely caught off guard. “Vivien needs you.”
“Vivien asked Marcus to take her to the bank. She chose him.”
Kate studied his face. “If you come, come to help. Don't turn it into a Cross Foundation event.”
“I won't.”
At the center, a volunteer handed Julian a stack of foil-covered trays and pointed him toward a delivery van that smelled of cinnamon and wet cardboard. No one recognized him beneath a borrowed red knit cap. He carried dinners to an elderly couple on the third floor, took directions from Kate, and waited while she checked whether a woman with three small children had enough milk for the morning. Kate had been organizing the route for two weeks. He hadn't known.
On the drive home, she held an empty insulated bag in her lap. “You didn't try to fix the entire center,” she said.
“I wanted to.”
“I noticed.”
He smiled briefly. Her mouth almost answered with one of its old smiles, then didn't. Repair, he was learning, could not be ordered before dessert.
When they reached the estate, his phone rang. Eleanor's name appeared. Julian silenced it without turning the screen toward Kate as proof. He would speak to his mother later, privately. Kate deserved a marriage, not a performance of one.
At the kitchen door, she handed him a folded sheet. “It's the plan for Thursday's prenatal class. I haven't decided whether I want you there.”
“Okay,” he said.
She paused. “You can ask me tomorrow.”
May you like
He watched her go inside, understanding that an invitation offered later might mean more than one demanded now. Then his phone vibrated again. This time the caller was Vivien. Her voice shook.
“Julian? Graham emptied our joint account. And he says he's coming here for me.”
