Julie's Butterfly (25 page)

C
HAPTER
34

It was a small miracle that Bastian did not cause an accident as he raced across town. Even so, it seemed like ages before he reached the medical building. He stormed into the downstairs lobby, causing the young woman behind the counter to look up in surprise.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked.

Bastian gasped for breath. “I’m looking for the gynecology practice,” he managed to say.

The woman pointed to her left. “Take the elevator to the third floor.”

“Thanks,” he called out as he ran toward the elevator. He pressed the call button and hopped restlessly from foot to foot while a steady digital display took its time counting down the location of the elevator. Just as it arrived, the door to the stairwell opened and he turned his head. Julie emerged from it, lost in thought, and walked past him toward the exit.

“Julie!” he called, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and fear.

She looked up in surprise. As their eyes met, he gasped. She looked terrible. Her face was pale and haggard; her big eyes looked dull and empty, drained of emotion; and even her dark hair had lost its shine and fell limply over her shoulders. She had draped her favorite green cardigan over her slim body; it usually looked so cozy when she wore it, but now she looked lost in it. She had a brown purse clasped under her arm and was clutching the strap so tightly that her knuckles were white.

As Bastian approached her, she suddenly turned and fled toward the door. The realization that she was running away from him hit him like a blow to the solar plexus.

“Julie, wait!” he cried out in panic as he ran after her. He overtook her in the doorway and blocked her way. She didn’t try to move, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m so sorry.” The desperation in his voice sounded strange to his own ears.

“I know,” she said quietly. Her understanding cut even deeper into his heart.

“Forgive me. I’ve been so stupid. I panicked. I was beside myself with fear. Simply the thought that our child could have this disease made me see red. I wanted to spare it this suffering. I wanted to spare myself the guilt.”

A small line formed between her eyes, but she still refused to look at him. “You can’t feel guilty for something you can’t do anything about. Just like you can’t determine the color of their hair or whether it’s a boy or a girl,” she said distantly.

“I know now how wrong I’ve been and how egotistical it was. I was paralyzed by fear. But now I can see it all clearly. I want this baby. I wish I could find the words to tell you how much. How much I want everything. You, our child, the future.”

“If there’s any guilt, it’s mine,” said Julie without the slightest reaction to his words. It was as if they simply ricocheted off her. “I didn’t take proper precautions, and it’s up to me to bear the consequences.”

“But not like this,” replied Bastian, gripped by fear. “I’d give anything to change the way I reacted.”

Her lips quivered. “But you can’t.”

“Julie, please don’t do this.”

She looked up suddenly. Beneath all the sadness and the emptiness, he detected a determined gleam in her eyes. It flickered only briefly, but it was long enough. He let out a stunned sigh as he recognized that his solution had never been an option for her. Isabelle had lied. Julie would never do anything so terrible as what he’d asked her to do. She would protect this child and fight for it, no matter how difficult things got.

He felt so ashamed he wished the ground would open up and swallow him. It was only his enormous relief that kept him on his feet. “Let me take care of you. You and our child. If you want, I’ll clear out my studio and we can turn it into a nursery. Or I’ll sell my apartment, and we can look for another place. When our baby arrives you can continue your studies or take an extended break, whatever’s right for you. I’ll support you in any way I can. I’ll do everything in my power to prove to you how much I mean it.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I love you.”

Julie’s lips parted in amazement. “You’ve never said that to me before.”

“Because I’m a complete idiot. I should have told you long ago. Every day, again and again.”

“You don’t love me,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes filled with bottomless sadness. “How could you? You don’t even love yourself.” Her voice contained not the slightest reproach, only resignation.

Of all the things she could have said to him, that was the only argument he couldn’t deny. He didn’t try again.

“Julie,” he pleaded.

She folded her arms, almost as though she wanted to protect their unborn child from him. She had every right to, though he could hardly stand to see it. “I don’t have any strength left,” she said wearily. “I’m sorry.”

He had no words to convince her to stay with him. She had fought on his side for so long, from the very first day. He had rejected her again and again, only slowly lowering his defenses. Not too far, but far enough for him to feel something cracking inside.

“Let me go,” she said in a husky voice. Her eyes were glassy. She seemed to be struggling to hold back tears.

He nodded numbly and stepped aside. She walked past him with determined steps. He could hardly resist the impulse to reach out, pull her to him, and hold her tight. His hands were clenched into fists. He did not look up until she was far away and did not let her out of his sight until she stepped into the street to hail a passing taxi. Two seconds later, she disappeared into the car. Bastian watched until the taxi turned at the end of the street.

He stared in the direction she had gone for a long moment, waiting for the pain, something to prove that he was still alive. He thought about the film Julie had told him about at the warehouse, about those fools who fought in order to feel alive. What irony, thought Bastian, that he of all people now felt the same desire to strike out at something. Of course, not a person—he had not sunk that low yet.

But then he realized that the despair had not hit him with full force because it wasn’t the end. Julie was expecting his baby. They were bound to one another irrevocably. He knew she would never keep his child from him, which meant that sooner or later, they would have to resume contact. She may have no strength left to fight for him, but he would not give up. He would win her back.

It wasn’t over yet.

C
HAPTER
35

Julie wasn’t living, she was existing. Despite her best efforts, there was no other way to describe it. Sometimes she thought the only reason she stayed standing upright was because of the new heart beating beneath her own broken one.

She stuck to her original plan: attending lectures, working at the café, and spending every spare minute studying. Some of her professors had agreed to allow her to take her exams late, in August, provided she satisfied the requirements. She was unable to attend seminars that involved handling chemicals—she didn’t want to put her baby at risk—so she postponed them until the following year and replaced them with overtime at the café to help build up her savings.

She was disciplined about her work and did everything to keep her feelings in check. It was only when she thought about her baby that she allowed herself to give in to her emotions. As she became increasingly aware of the changes to her body, the idea of a straightforward future receded ever farther into the distance. She could no longer imagine what her life would be like in six months. She missed the feeling of stability and was plagued by fear, but she persuaded herself that things would change as soon as she knew what it was—a boy or a girl. She would soon begin to buy things and clear a space in her room to make sure her new arrival felt welcome and loved. This resolution gave her strength.

She took note of her body’s signals, ate regularly, and made sure she got enough sleep. But it was never enough to keep her exhaustion at bay.

During the first few weeks, Bastian called several times a day, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer his calls. He sent her flowers—white roses, because they reminded him of her, as he wrote in a card. Julie only knew that because Isabelle had read the card out to her. Julie had placed the flowers in a vase without comment; she thought it would be a dreadful waste to throw them away, but she got no pleasure from looking at them. The innocent purity of the white petals reminded her of Bastian’s desperate longing for perfection and only confirmed that he still understood nothing. He also wrote letters, which she never opened; it would have been too painful. Isabelle failed to understand her indifference, but even she couldn’t persuade Julie to open a single one.

In November, Julie received a bouquet of red roses. She smiled for the first time in weeks, then buried herself back in her work. Her body at least seemed to be coming to terms with the changes, and she was no longer plagued with sudden attacks of nausea. It seemed that she was at last on the road to recovery—physically, at least. Emotionally, it was a completely different matter.

As Christmas approached, she became increasingly sentimental again. Every time she went out, she was faced with shining children’s eyes, corny ads, and nostalgic carols.

When Julie had told her parents of her pregnancy, their relationship had suffered irreparably. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to her mother, let alone look her in the eye, ever since she had bombarded her with those dreadful words. She had only taken brief calls from her father at the office, when he asked after her health—which had happened on three lousy occasions. When Jo stopped by one day, she asked her if she would be joining them for their annual Christmas party.

“Why should I?” Julie replied with no trace of emotion in her voice. She was standing by her dining table, leafing through a textbook, surrounded by piles of files and other books.

“It’s Christmas,” said Jo, as if that were reason enough. “It’s a holiday about love and forgiveness.”

Jo frowned as she heard herself, which softened Julie’s attitude a little. She set down the book and went over to the window where Jo was standing. The sisters stood together without speaking for a while, looking out at the snow falling from the sky.

“How can I forgive someone who hasn’t even asked me to?” asked Julie into the silence.

“Mom might apologize if you let her.”

Julie shrugged, but Jo was not ready to accept defeat. She took Julie’s arm gently. “Julie, please, we’re a family. We miss you. Luke always asks why you’re not there when we go to their house on Sundays.”

“He can come visit me anytime.”

“I know, but I’m worried because he seems even more glum afterward,” said Jo sadly. “You’ve changed so much with all this business.”

By “this business,” she didn’t mean their parents, but Bastian. Julie stared out the window, determined not to allow any feelings through. She did not want her child to sense her bitterness.

He continued to send her flowers every Wednesday, the day on which they had first met. By now, his letters filled a shoe box, but Julie had not weakened once. A pile of packages was also accumulating; she supposed they contained gifts for the baby, but she couldn’t be certain. Sometimes she felt conflicted over whether it was fair to cloak herself in silence, but she would console herself with the thought that no reaction was in itself a reaction. She should know; she had experienced it from him innumerable times. He would understand her message.

“Do you miss him?” Jo finally asked.

“A lot,” she said softly. Her throat immediately tightened. She shivered and wrapped her skinny arms around herself for warmth. She hadn’t seen him since that visit to the gynecologist. Julie sometimes wondered why he didn’t simply storm into the café during her shift or lie in wait for her by her door as he used to. She couldn’t understand why he wrote all these letters, but avoided meeting her face-to-face. The answer was probably there in the letters, but she suppressed all thoughts of them. She had no intention of reading them, if only out of fear for the second heart that beat inside her. She had to protect the baby.

“He made a mistake. Will you never be able to forgive him?”

“Forgiving is one thing, forgetting another,” Julie replied miserably. “But that’s not what it’s about.”

“Do you still doubt that he loves you?” asked Jo incredulously. “After all those flowers and letters and gifts?”

“He’s convinced that he’s not good enough for me. That’s why he never really trusted me, never believed in a future together and only wanted to live in the moment. Because he always believed I might give him his marching orders at any moment. I tried to be patient and understanding. I did my very best to show him how much I wanted him. At first, I thought he’d learn to see himself with different eyes if I only showed him how.” She broke off and roughly brushed away a tear. “It seemed to be working. He was more relaxed, less tense. But there came a point when I just stopped making any headway with him. I have no idea what could have made him so insecure—he never told me. And I thought we had more time,” she admitted in a cracked voice. “No matter how frustrated I was, I would have given it to him. But then this happened, and I realized he’d never change. I’ve got to think of my baby now, Jo. I’d rather bring the child up without a father than with one who doesn’t know how to love.”

“You can’t keep his child away from him if he wants to see it,” said Jo, clearly shocked.

“I’d never do that, but I know him. If our child is completely healthy, he’d be ashamed because of his disease.” She laughed cynically. “If the baby’s also affected, he’ll just have one more reason to despise himself. Either way, he’ll keep his distance and eventually want nothing more to do with it.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and stepped back from the window. “Do you want a Christmas cookie?”

“No, thanks.”

Julie felt Jo’s worried eyes on her as she rummaged in her kitchen drawers for a pack of chocolate-covered cookies. She wasn’t hungry, but she ate one anyway.

Jo let the subject of Christmas drop for the time being. Julie knew it just wouldn’t work. Even the thought of spending Christmas Eve at her parents’ house in a state of make-believe harmony made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

She didn’t intend to decorate a tree or bake a single cookie. She would get a few presents for Luke and give them to her sister to deliver to him.

She just wanted to be alone.

Winter break had just begun, and her boss decided to close the café for the holidays. So Julie stayed in and watched action flicks on TV while she and Spot stuffed themselves with junk food. Julie always used to wonder what on earth compelled TV broadcasters to run those programs on Christmas Eve, but now she understood. It was for all the broken hearts who could no longer bear the kitsch and candles; without this safety valve, they would probably have thrown themselves into the nearest frozen lake.

She only weakened once. On the first day of the holidays, she started watching one of her favorite fairy stories, one she had watched every year with her sister since they were little. For an hour and a half, she muttered along with every daft line of dialogue while crying her eyes out. She felt a little better afterward.

That evening, Isabelle arrived at her door unannounced. She usually spent the Christmas holidays with her great-aunt, who had a swanky vacation home in the Alps. But she too seemed to be breaking with tradition this year.

“What are you doing here?” asked Julie as Isabelle walked in and wrinkled her nose at her friend’s appearance. Isabelle’s hair, now a rich red, fell to her shoulders, beautifully matching her cheeks, which were flushed with the cold.

“You didn’t think I’d ever leave you alone in such a state, did you?” she said as she swept past Julie into the living room with what looked like enough stuff for several days. Julie was moved, grateful, and unreasonably irritated.

Two more letters and a package arrived from Bastian. Julie placed them unopened on the pile in her bedroom under Isabelle’s critical gaze.

When Julie was studying, Isabelle crouched on the floor, working on a provocative collage for her upcoming art seminar at the university. Julie soon got used to the chaos Isabelle left in her wake. Who needed a clean floor when it could be decorated with scraps, glue, and paint?

“Do you have any intention of ever reading those letters?” asked Isabelle casually from where she sat cross-legged, cutting out an image from a photo. It was the morning of New Year’s Eve.

Julie looked down at her from her dining table-cum-desk, where she was brooding over an assignment on functional anatomy. “We’ve already discussed this,” she said irritably.

“I thought you might have had a change of heart. Seeing as it’s the last day of the year and all?”

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” her friend insisted sweetly. “Not even the tiniest bit?”

“No,” Julie growled and stuck her nose back in her books as Isabelle’s quiet laughter rose from the floor.

“You’re such a pathetic liar. You always were.”

“And you’re not,” muttered Julie without looking up.

Later that morning, another delivery of flowers arrived. Isabelle received it for her. Julie noticed that this time they were not long-stemmed roses, but a variety of cut flowers.

“Beautiful,” remarked Isabelle as she gazed in delight at the arrangement.

Julie deliberately refused to look at them.

Around noon, Isabelle decided she needed some new inspiration and took Julie out to a small park, which, Julie had to admit, was an oasis of perfect calm. Isabelle had been dragging her out at least once a day in an effort to bring a bit of color to her cheeks. The snow-covered grass on both sides of the path was completely untouched. It was freezing cold, but the sky was cloudless. Although the midday sun gave little warmth, it bathed the landscape in radiant, sparkling light. It was exquisitely beautiful. Bastian would have loved it, thought Julie with a pang of bitterness.

“I think I’ll give the New Year’s party at the gallery a miss,” said Isabelle, thinking out loud.

“You can’t do that! You’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.” The gallery was going to exhibit some of Isabelle’s new work and had invited several prospective buyers, most of whom had accepted.

“Oh, it’s only a party,” Isabelle replied with a shrug. She shuddered as they were hit by an icy gust of wind.

Julie could see perfectly well how much she wanted to go. If nothing else, she had to attend for professional reasons. Besides, Isabelle was an innately social creature who thrived on all the noise and glitz—which had been sorely lacking over the past few days with Julie.

Julie sighed. “Listen, I know you’re worried about me, and I’m truly grateful you’ve been there to get me through all the sentimental holiday crap, but I’m fine now. Honestly. You should go to the party.” She forced a smile. “I’ll just stay home, do some work, and have an early night.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Isabelle bit her full lips and regarded Julie skeptically.

“I’m fine,” repeated Julie obstinately. “It’s fine. Really. It’s what I want.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Isabelle asked in a voice that didn’t hold out much hope.

“What will I do there? You’ll be busy all evening keeping your fans under control and snapping up new investors. Thanks, but no. It’s not my scene.”

“Just as I thought.” She sighed unhappily, forming a white cloud in front of her face. “OK, fine,” she conceded and dug her phone out of her purse. “I’ll just call Elena at home and tell her.”