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She had nothing better to do.
FOUR
JULIA HADN’T BEEN BACK TO RAIN VALLEY IN YEARS, AND NOW SHE was returning on the wave of failure.
Perhaps she should have stayed in L.A. after all. There, she would have disappeared. Here, she would always be the other Cates girl. (You know . . . the weird one . . .) When a girl grew up in the shadow of the Homecoming Queen, there were two possible choices: disappear or make your own reputation. Unfortunately, when you were the tall, scarecrow-thin bookworm in a beloved, gregarious, larger-than-life family, there was no way to do either. From early on, she’d been the square peg, the kid who mediated every playground dispute but never joined in any of the games. The last kid picked for every sport; the girl at home, reading, during the senior prom. She was—or had been—that rarest of birds in a small, blue-collar town: a loner.
Only her mother had believed in a bright future for Julia. In fact, she’d encouraged her daughter to dream big. Unfortunately, her mother hadn’t lived to see Julia’s med school graduation. That loss had always been a sliver under Julia’s skin, a phantom pain that came and went. The closer she got to Rain Va
lley, the more it was likely to hurt.
She stared out the plane’s small window. Everything was gray, as if a cloud artist had painted the merest of washes over the green landscape. It made her feel lonely, all that gray; as if she, too, might disappear again in the Washington mist. The four white-capped volcanoes that stretched from northern Oregon to Bellingham looked like the spine of some mythic, sleeping beast. She heard the passenger behind her draw in a sharp breath and murmur, “Look, Fred, at that . . . is it Rainier?”
Suddenly she was thinking about the Zunigas and those lost children. Dead wrong. It didn’t surprise her. In the past year, everything, every thought and deed, led her back to regret.
Don’t think about that.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing until the emotions subsided. By the time the plane landed she was okay again.
She grabbed her bag from the overhead bin and merged into the line of passengers exiting the plane.
She was almost to the exit door when it happened.
One of the flight attendants recognized her. There was no mistaking the signs—the widening of the eyes, the slowly opening mouth. As Julia passed, she heard the woman whisper, “It’s her. That doctor. The one who—”
She kept moving. By the end of the jetway she was almost running. She caught a glimpse of Ellie standing amid the crowd, dressed in her blue uniform, looking stunningly beautiful.
Julia knew she should stop, say hello and pretend everything was all right. That was the smart thing to do. The fine thing.
She kept moving, running.
She raced across the crowded concourse hallway toward the ladies’ restroom sign. Ducking in, she disappeared into one of the stalls and slammed the door shut, then sat down on the toilet.
Calm down, Jules. Breathe.
“Are you in here, Julia?” Ellie sounded out of breath and irritated.
Julia released a slow, shaking breath. Having a panic attack was bad; having one in front of her sister was almost unbearable. She got slowly to her feet and opened the door. “I’m here.”
Ellie put her hands on her hips and stared at her. It was a cop-assessing-the-situation look. “I haven’t seen an airport sprint like that since the O.J. commercials.”
“I had to go to the bathroom.”
“You should see a urologist.”
“It’s not that. I . . .” Julia felt like an idiot. “The flight attendant recognized me. She looked at me as if I killed those kids.” She felt her cheeks heat up, knowing she should say more. Explain. But her sister couldn’t understand a thing like this. Ellie was like one of those pioneer wives who could give birth in the field and go back to work. Her sister knew little about being fragile.
Ellie’s hard look softened. “Fuck ’em all. You can’t let it get to you.”
Julia wished she could do that, but she’d always needed to be accepted. As a shrink, she knew the hows and whys of her need—how her popular, in-the-spotlight family had somehow made her feel marginalized and unimportant, how her father’s withheld love had made her believe she was unlovable—but knowledge didn’t soften the need. She wasn’t even sure how it had come to matter so much. All she knew was that her profession, her ability to help people, had filled the frightened place inside of her with joy, and now she was scared again. “It’s not that easy for me. You can’t understand.”
Ellie leaned against the pale green tile wall. “Because you think I’m only slightly smarter than an earthworm or because I have nothing in my life worth losing?”
Julia wished suddenly that she had a better memory reservoir. Surely there were times when they’d played together, she and Ellie, when they’d counted secrets instead of slights, when laughter had followed their conversations instead of awkward pauses. But if all that had happened, Julia didn’t recall it. What she remembered was being the “smart” sister, the “weird” one who grew too tall in a petite family and wanted things no one else understood. The mushroom in a family of orchids. She’d always been able to say the right things to strangers, but the wrong thing to her sister. She sighed. “Let’s not do this, El.”
“You’re right. Come on.”
Before Julia could answer, Ellie headed out of the bathroom. Julia had no choice but to follow.
