Page 35 of The Stranger in the Mirror

“No. I wanted to be sure first. I couldn’t take the chance that something might go wrong and hurt her all over again.”

“I understand. That sounds like the right call.” She unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over to the cooler on the back seat, and pulled out a cold LaCroix. “Would you like one?”

He shook his head, and she flipped open the tab on hers and drank. “I need you to know how afraid I am. I’m not sure anyone can truly understand how it feels to know nothing about yourself. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to know that I have a daughter I don’t remember? How does a mother forget her own child?”

This is good, Julian thought. She was opening up to him, telling him what she was feeling. Trusting him. “I don’t know how that feels, you’re right. But I do know that it must be awful for you. I want you to know that you can be honest with me about your feelings, whether you’re scared, or angry, or sad, or whatever. I want us to put our life back together the way it used to be. And for that to happen, we have to be open and honest with each other.”

In a small voice, she said, “Thank you.”

Julian drove on, not speaking and keeping to the promise he’d made to himself to let her be the one to start any conversation.The silence was less awkward now, however, and he felt himself becoming more relaxed. They were just over an hour and a half from the house when she asked if he would mind pulling into the next rest stop.

Julian parked the car, and they headed in together. Once inside, she went to the restroom, and he waited in front of a display of sunglasses, wondering who would be foolish enough to buy these designer knockoffs.

Cassandra walked over to him and picked up a pair of aviator frames from the carousel. He was about to tell her he’d buy her the real thing when her hand began to shake and she dropped the sunglasses like they were a piece of hot coal.

“What is it?” Julian asked, alarmed.

“I... I don’t know. Something. I saw something bad. In my head. But it was so fast. Too fast.” She was backing away from him and turning to the exit. “Please, let’s go. I have to get out of here.”

She was almost running, and Julian caught up with her as they neared the glass doors to the parking lot. When they got into the car, he started the engine but didn’t pull out. He was disturbed by what had happened. She’d had some sort of flashback to a trauma in her past, that much was clear. There was so much he hadn’t told her, so much she didn’t know yet. What if it all came crashing back at once? The confidence he’d begun to feel slowly evaporated. He knew now what might lie ahead, and it wasn’t good.

Part II

− 33 −

Addison

I’m awakened by Julian’s voice, telling me we’ve arrived. I must have fallen asleep after we left the rest stop. Yawning, I rub my eyes and try to bring the world into focus. I look over at Julian, who still looks fresh and rested, his blue eyes clear, his hair perfect. It’s a quiet road we’re on, where high walls and hedges block any views of the houses behind them. This is definitely not your average middle-class neighborhood. Julian turns left into the next driveway, which winds quite a way up a hill to reveal a massive dwelling of red brick three stories high. My mouth drops open. It’s wide enough to fit four houses the size of Ed and Gigi’s inside it. There must be over fifteen windows in the front, the ones across the first floor tall and gracefully arched at the top. When Julian stops the car in front, I sit there and try to take it all in. If the late-model Jaguar with its plush interior was a clue that Julian was comfortable, this house says he is much more than comfortable. It says he is rich.

He turns off the engine, and we’re encased in tomblike silence inside this luxury vehicle. “You got some rest. How are you feeling?” His face shows concern, and I’m touched by his kindness.

“Better,” I say. “The house. It’s so... it’s so big.”

He laughs. It’s a nice laugh, I think, and I smile in spite of the apprehension I’m feeling right now. He tells me that our house is in Brookline, which I’ve never heard of. He explains that it’snext to Boston, but the quiet streets feel far removed from the city noise.

“I’ll get your things from the trunk, and we’ll go inside. Okay?” He opens the car door.

I follow him up the three wide steps that lead to elaborate double doors. A woman who looks to be in her forties opens the door as we reach the top step. She’s petite, with dark hair, clad in black pants and a plain smock. “Welcome home, Dr. Hunter,” she says, and then turns to me. “Hello, Mrs. Hunter. I’m so happy you’re home.” She smiles like she’s thrilled to see me, and I feel horrible that I have no idea who she is. I look to Julian and raise my eyebrows.

“Cassandra, this is Nancy, our housekeeper.”

I put my hand out to shake hers. “Thank you for your warm welcome, Nancy.”

She beckons me in, opening the door to its full width. “So nice to see you, Mrs. Hunter.”

With some hesitation I enter the hallway, with its dark wood floors and wood-paneled walls. The domed ceiling is two stories high, and the walls are dotted with oil paintings. Despite the lofty space, the room is dark, and it feels confining and stiffly formal.

“I’ll take these upstairs to the bedroom.” Julian carries my bags to the staircase. “Would you like to change and have a little rest before dinner?”

I don’t move, unsure of what to do. The wordbedroomhas made me anxious and nervous. As if reading my mind, Julian says, “I’ve moved a few of your old things to the guest room, and that’s where I’ll take your suitcases. There’s a nice balcony that overlooks the pool and gardens.” He gives me a look of assurance and understanding. Relieved, I follow him up the long flight of stairs to my room. He puts the cases down, gives me a little nod, and walks to the door. “There’s a pull rope next to the headboard. Just tug on it if you need anything.” He turns to leave, then stopsand takes something from his pocket. It’s an iPhone. “I got you a new phone and had all your data uploaded from your old one. I charged it for you too. Maybe looking through it will jog something for you. Your password is our anniversary, eleven eighteen.”

I click the side button, and when the screen lights up, I enter the password. The wallpaper is a picture of Julian, Valentina, and me at the beach. We’re at the water’s edge; I’m in a cover-up, Julian has board shorts on, and Valentina is wearing a polka-dotted pink bikini. I’m curious to see what apps I have, but the first page consists mostly of the preloaded kind. I touch the Photos icon and begin to scroll through. There are loads of landscapes and water scenes. There are no pictures of any of us, but then I think maybe it’s because I’ve shot most of them with other cameras. Next I go to my calendar. I’m surprised to find nothing there—for the past two years I’ve put everything in my phone. Maybe the old me preferred a paper calendar. There’s a Kindle app, and I open it, curious to see what I used to read. There are lots of books here, most of them with dark covers and titles that indicate they are horror. Some of the authors I recognize right away—Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King, Dean Koontz—while others are new to me. Scrolling down, I see some nonfiction: books about dealing with anxiety and depression, ways to improve self-esteem, and what to do when you’re suicidal. My heart sinks, and I close the app. I continue looking through everything, but there’s nothing else of interest. Suddenly I feel overwhelmed. I’m grateful that Julian arranged for Valentina to be away for a few days; I’m not ready to see her yet. I stand up, needing to busy myself with something, and begin to unpack, putting underwear and sweaters in the armoire drawers. When I open the closet to finish putting away the rest, I see the things Julian mentioned hanging there: a floor-length cotton nightgown, white with embroidery on the edge ofthe long sleeves and a cozy-looking fleece robe. Two pairs of pants, one linen and one corduroy, hang next to a white cotton shirt, a navy pullover, and a green-and-blue flannel shirt. I imagine Julian trying to decide what to choose. He’s picked wisely; there is nothing suggestive or sexy about the clothing he’s left. Nothing with an underlying meaning. To me the clothes say,I am not rushing you. My only concern is that you be comfortable and feel safe.

After I’ve unpacked everything, I take a moment to absorb my surroundings. The room is large and uncluttered, with dark green walls and heavy curtains. The only furniture is a four-poster bed, its thick posts ornately carved, a low mahogany bureau, and a matching bedside table. A weighty black-and-gray quilt with a geometric design covers the bed. Darkness seems to pervade this house. I wonder what drew Julian to it. Next to the bed, on the nightstand, is a book,Rebeccaby Daphne du Maurier. When I open it, I see my name in black ink on the inside cover, written in my hand. Maybe it is not Julian who is drawn to darkness. Maybe it’s me.

− 34 −

Addison

---