Page 7 of The Stranger in the Mirror

They all laugh, and I stand there with a frozen smile, trying to hide how left out I feel. Does Darcy realize how lucky she is that she’s known from the time she was a little girl what she wanted to do with her life? She is such a talented, accomplished musician that even though the violin is her instrument, she’s great on the piano too. In fact, it seems to me that there is nothing that Darcy isn’t good at. Tennis, sailing, horseback riding—you name it.

What I’m good at is taking photos, observing others. Is it because I’d rather watch than participate? Once again, I’m plagued with doubts and have the urge to run. But I can’t run again. As Gigi keeps reminding me, in time I’ll make more memories. Ten years, twenty years, I’ll have a past again, and that’s something worth fighting for. I have to get over the fact that Darcy has a lifetime of memories, and that her memories all include Gabriel. No matter what I tell myself, a part of me is waiting for him to come to his senses and tell me that he’s going back to her—that I was just an interesting diversion, or a charity project that he’s tired of. I swallow hard and add my congratulations to Darcy, forcing away the intruding thoughts.

“Thanks,” she says politely before excusing herself.

Blythe gives me a reassuring look, seeming to read my unease, but Gabriel is oblivious.

“Come on, let’s go get a drink.” He holds out a hand, and I take it as we walk deeper into the room, nodding hello at the sea of friends gathered in small circles. I make small talk with a couple who approach, old school friends of Gabriel’s. I’m only half listening, though, as I scan the room, looking for Darcy. My stomach lurches when I see her approach Ted, and he wraps her in a bear hug. She hands him a small wrapped box, and I’m reminded ofthe long history between her and Gabriel’s family. Gabriel follows my gaze and puts a hand on my arm.

“You okay?”

I nod, biting my lip.

“I love you,” he whispers in my ear.

Why?I want to say, but instead I smile and tell him I love him too.

− 8 −

Julian

Julian ended the call and heaved a deep sigh. Another false lead, according to the detective. He just couldn’t understand it. How could she have disappeared without any trace? Of course, after she disappeared, he’d checked all the local hospitals, as well as those in the surrounding areas, but there was nothing. He’d set Google alerts for a series of keywords pertaining to missing women or unidentified persons, but the hits he got were all dead ends. How was it possible to disappear in this age, when surveillance cameras made anonymity impossible and a bank machine could mark your location instantly? But of course, that had been one of the problems. Cassandra’s bank card, along with her driver’s license and credit cards, was in her Hermès wallet, which was in her Chanel purse, which was still in her bedroom closet upstairs. Her passport still rested in its leather holder in her top dresser drawer. No cash had been withdrawn from any of their accounts, and the thousand dollars’ worth of cash that Julian kept in the house for emergencies had not been touched.

He picked up his wineglass and swirled the crimson liquid before taking a long swallow and picturing Cassandra sitting in the chair opposite him, the way she used to after they’d put Valentina to bed. They would talk about their day, catching each other up in the quiet of the evening hours. Ever since she’d left, he drank a glass of wine alone every night before he went to bed. And every night he fantasized that she was again sitting across from him, her eyes shining with happiness and her smile reserved for him.

After finishing tonight’s wine and checking on Valentina, Julian retired to his room. He felt the pull of Cassandra’s diary as soon as he walked in, and he picked it up, carrying it with him to the wing chair.

We’re having a small wedding. Just a few close friends of Julian’s, and his father, of course. I’ve lost contact with most of my friends from work, but Marion and I are still in touch, and she’ll be my maid of honor. I’m nervous about meeting Julian’s dad. He’s some sort of famous doctor who’s written a lot of books. Apparently, the name Grant Hunter is very well known in medical circles. He used to teach at Harvard, but now he lives in Arizona because the climate is good for his arthritis. I’m afraid that he’ll think me too uneducated for his son. I went to work right out of high school. I always thought that one day I’d go back to school, work toward a degree in fashion, maybe. But it never happened. And now I’m twenty-seven, divorced, and about to marry the one person in the world who seems to really get me. I just hope I make a good impression on his father. Julian tells me I don’t need to worry, that he loves me and nothing will change that. But I’ve heard the way his voice changes when he’s on the phone with his father. He gets a strained, polite tone, and he clutches the phone tightly in his hand. He’s uptight for hours after those phone calls, and it’s only after a few glasses of wine and soothing on my part that his good humor is restored.

Julian shut the journal and leaned back, closing his eyes. He’d read these words before, but they still gave him a shock. He understood now that Cassandra had seen so much more than she let on. He hadn’t realized that she could tell how much his fatherupset him. His father was a hard man, remote and unemotional, and Julian never felt that he could live up to his exacting standards. Even Julian’s acceptance to Stanford had been met with “I suppose if you’re more interested in a laid-back environment, then choose Palo Alto over Cambridge.” Whether his father had minded that Julian hadn’t chosen his own alma mater or truly felt that Harvard was superior, Julian had no idea. He just wanted to get as far away from Boston as he could. The only reason he’d come back and done his residency at Mass General was because by then his father had moved to Arizona.

Cassandra had been right to worry about how Julian’s father would receive her. He hadn’t even tried to hide his disapproval of his son’s bride, and it had greatly upset her. It had taken everything in Julian’s power to calm her down and convince her that Grant’s opinion didn’t matter to him. In the end, ironically enough, Granthadcome to love her, especially after she’d given him a granddaughter.

− 9 −

Addison

The sound of water running in the shower wakes me, and I turn over groggily to look at the clock on the night table in Gabriel’s bedroom. Six a.m. Why is he up so early on a Saturday morning? The gallery doesn’t open until eleven, and he normally sleeps in on the weekend. I hear the water stop, and a minute later Gabriel walks out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. A few beads of water still glisten on his chest as he moves toward the bed and leans over to kiss me. I reach up and run my hands along his torso and around his neck, pulling him onto the bed with a laugh.

“What are you doing out of bed so early?” I say, nuzzling his ear.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, and gives me a long kiss on the lips. He slides an arm around my waist and presses his body to mine. “On second thought, I think I’ll come back to bed.”

As we make love, I relish the feel of his body—tall, strong, and athletic—against mine, feeling safe and protected in his arms. When we finish, we stay in bed, tangled up together, and he drifts off to sleep. In this moment I feel peaceful and connected, something I couldn’t have conceived of six months ago. Gabriel changed everything the day he walked into Exposed, the photography store where I work. There was something appealing about the way he casually strolled around, looking at camera equipment, or maybe it was his warm and generous smile when he came up to the counter.

“Hi there,” he said.

“Hi. Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah. I’m looking for a new camera. A mirrorless DSLR.”

“Follow me,” I said.

He examined several models in the case and chose a Sony A-7. As we headed back to the register, I asked him what he was going to use the camera for. I didn’t usually attempt small talk with customers, but something about him was so approachable.

“I’m photographing some artwork, actually. I manage my family’s gallery, and I have to shoot a painting for a prospective buyer in California, and my old camera wasn’t cutting it.”

“I understand,” I said. “Would I know the gallery?”

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