Chapter Twenty-Seven: Photograph

Alex

I wake to the sound of my doorbell, and loud knocking.

"Crap." I jump from the bed yelling for the movers to hold on while I pull on wrinkled jeans and an old t-shirt. I pull my hair into a messy ponytail and head out to get the door. I forgot to set my alarm last night and I'm lucky the movers didn't leave when I didn't answer right away. I let the men in and ask that they start in the living room. I point out the things that are going, finishing marking a couple of boxes and then head back to the bedroom and lock the door so I can shower and put on clean clothes. By the time I'm put together the movers are almost done with the boxes in the living room and have started on the kitchen. I start some coffee and move into the living room, now empty save for the pillows on the windowseat. I nab the supervisor and walk him through the bedroom, pointing out which furniture goes and what stays. When I'm confident that they know what they're taking I go back to the living room and settle into the windowseat with a book. I'm lost in fictional world of legal-ease when the supervisor clears his throat. The house is almost empty and every box has been shifted into the van outside. I sign the papers he proffers, take my copy and then close the door behind his crew, sliding the lock home and turning to look at the shell of a house.

It's odd, this emptiness. The house is hollow and even my bare feet echo on the floors. I move through the house, running my hand along the empty walls where photographs used to hang. I'm strangely attached to this place, to this house. I've spent more than two years here, reluctantly at first, but now it feels like home to me. When I return from my tour to the kitchen I pour a fresh cup of coffee, gathering the trash from the movers coffee break and taking the bag out to the curb for tomorrow's trash pick up. Looking around I decide to pack up the car and head to the coast for my last night. I call the apartment and leave you a message, not wanting to bother you at work, then finish loading the last of my things into the sedan. I head out of town, pausing to leave the house keys with the realtor in downtown Salem, then turn my car towards the freeway, heading west.

Two hours later I'm leaving the woods on Highway 20, and the waves of salty air refresh my senses. I make my way to a hotel on the beach, thankful for once that I'm a trust fund baby. When I'm settled into a fourth floor room with an ocean view I pull on a coat and sneakers and make my way to the beach, marveling as always at how strikingly different the Pacific is from my native Atlantic Ocean. I perch on a rock and watch the tides changing until the sun begins to set. When I'm back in my hotel room I draw a bath and grab a book, waiting for you phone call.

Olivia

When I get home from work I have an hour to get ready for dinner with your mother. I stop to check messages, making a note to call your cell instead of the house phone when I get back. I'm glad you're not just staying in that empty house tonight. As much as I once worried about it, it's clear to me now how you've gotten so attached to that place. Even I found it hard to go back to the city after a respite in the woods. And after our weekend on the coast it's easy to see why you've chosen to spend your last day there. I know you'll be waiting for my call, and I only hope I have good things to tell you.

I keep the message, mostly because I like being able to hear your voice at the push of a button. I dress more comfortably this time, forgoing dress slacks for jeans and a t-shirt. I have nothing to prove to your mother anymore, and as far as I'm concerned I'm only doing this for you. I tuck my small work notebook in my back pocket, wanting to have the notes I made about your mother's financial affairs handy-- just in case. You sounded so hopeful about this invitation but I'm not convinced.

I take one last look in the mirror and scrub a hand through my hair. I'm pleased to see that Thomas isn't waiting with the car when I hit the street, and I hail a cab and settle into the slightly sticky backseat after instructing the driver of the best route to Cabot Castle. I arrive to find the gate open for a change, and I'm shocked when your mother herself opens the door.

"Olivia, welcome. I'm so glad you came." Her voice is warm, and I'm wary of this sudden turn-around.

"Well, Alex insisted. She said you had something you needed to tell me." I know I'm being harsh, aware that my tone is accusatory. I'm feeling very … cop-like this evening, and your mother has a lot to account for, a lot to explain. Until I hear an apology, I'm not lowering my defenses. She motions for me to come inside and I walk past her as she holds the door, then shrug out of my coat which she hangs in a nearby closet.

I head towards the living room but realize she's turned and is walking towards the opposite side of the house. I follow her down a long hallway and into what appears to be an office. I look around and realize that this must be your mother's office. There are photos of your parents with various financial moguls that I don't recognize, a picture of your mother with Donald Trump at some fancy dinner, and your father's Harvard diploma hangs on wall surrounded by photographs of him and you together. When I look above the computer it takes me a minute to recognize the photo that's hung there. I move closer and realize it's the picture of us in Greece, but it's in a new frame. Where did she get that?

I feel Juliana move to stand beside me, feel her hand rest gingerly on my shoulder as though she fears I'll push her away. I don't turn to face her, instead finding myself captivated by this frozen moment of our lives.

"Alexandra gave me that photo for Christmas. I don't know when it was taken, or where. She left before I had a chance to ask. Actually she left before I even opened it. As usual we had some ridiculous argument and she ran out. It was, of course my fault really. Most of our arguments are. I've a lot to atone for to my daughter." She pauses, then squeezes my shoulder gently, "and to you."

"Greece. We went to Greece for a week, about a year before she… died. I think we took that in Mykonos. I didn't see most of the photos she developed; she was always so shy about her talent as a photographer. She had that one hanging in the living room in Oregon. It was the first time I'd seen it. I've spent probably an hour staring at this photograph when I was at Alex's. She set that one up on the timer, and I never noticed that she was staring at me when the flash went off."

"She looks happy. You make her happy." Your mother's voice is soft, almost reluctant and I turn to look at her for the first time really since I've arrived. She wipes at some unshed tear, and I feel myself softening despite my resolve. Despite your encouragement, I didn't expect this. I assumed she wanted to talk more about what I knew, about what information I had. I'm not sure what to think.

Juliana reaches out a hand, fingering the textured silver frame. "I've spent a lot of time fighting my daughter. I convinced myself it was for her own good, but even when she was a little girl I devoted a good portion of my energy to steering her in the 'right' direction. Her father was always more concerned with keeping her happy, he spoiled her mercilessly, and I suppose I overcompensated, trying to keep her in line. I wanted her to become like me, like my mother… proper, well-mannered, a society wife. When Jacob died I learned quickly the shortcomings of being a token. I had no real degree to speak of, no training… but because of Jacob's will I was suddenly the de facto CEO of two financial institutions, and a majority stockholder in three others. I'd never paid much attention to Jacob's work, outside of how it affected my fundraising efforts over the years. Trevor Langan's father Joshua spent many hours retraining me, giving me all the ins and outs of Jacob's business. The only other option was to allow my shares to be bought out.

"Those holdings have been in the Cabot line almost since the companies had been opened. No one wanted the family to lose those investments."

She moved to a pair of leather armchairs across the room, an overstuffed bookcase on the wall between them. Motioning for me to sit she continued,

"Joshua waited almost a year before telling me exactly what was involved in some of those holdings. I suppose he wanted to be sure I was really 'in it' before he admitted to any of the rather… borderline activities. By the time he told me the full implications of what was involved in one of the companies, my signature was already on half of the paperwork. It was too late for me to back out, so I accepted it as part of the bargain. It seemed like a small price to pay at first, for the opportunity to continue my husband's work. It also seemed fair considering how much of the investment dividends I'd begun using solely for various fundraising efforts."

"Why not just sell the company? Or clean it up, get out of the 'borderline'?"

"It's not that simple anymore Olivia. Selling the company, even just selling my shares of it would call quite a bit of attention to the company's activities. Those papers you found? The reports? It's nothing compared to what's actually involved. Joshua doesn't know it but I am looking into things independently. I've been consulting another lawyer, trying to determine what my rights would be should I decide to turn over my own information."

"Have you told Alex about all of this? She might be able to help you."

"Have you told her? Have you shown her your information, told her what you know?"

"In all honesty Juliana I don't understand most of that paperwork. I was never much for numbers, and financial speak ranks just below legal-speak on my language scale. I can balance my checkbook, but that's about the extent of my skills. How bad is it exactly?"

"You don't want to know. Just… trust me. You never answered my question-- does Alexandra know what you know?"

I shake my head, "No. She knows that I have information, and that it isn't good, but I refused to tell her what I'd found. She had enough hostility towards you without my help."

Juliana nods, still silent.

"I decided she didn't need to know you were a criminal." I'm pushing it, testing her to see how serious she is about this seeming reconciliation. She blushes, looking contrite.

"Olivia, I'm trying. Really. After you left, I went back over the files, reexamined all the financials. I think I can extricate myself from it if I can find someone to hand it over to for review."

"You want to turn it over to the authorities?"

She nods, "This isn't what I wanted to discuss. I'm sorry. I didn't intend to pull you into this mess. And I never wanted it to get this close to Alexandra."

"Actually I might be able to help you. Elliot mentioned an acquaintance in the financial world, someone who might be able to decipher those papers, and who might also be able to put you in touch with an affiliated lawyer, someone who could help you get out of this mess."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that. And now, let's eat shall we? We can talk about more pleasant things. Like this wedding you're planning."

Once again I'm caught off guard, unsure of what's happening. I've been thrown for a loop tonight, from the moment I walked in the door. I feel out of my element, and I've thrown all of my expectations out the window. I can't wait to get home to tell you about this new woman who's replaced the frosty bitch who once claimed she'd die before accepting the person you'd become. The honest truth is I'm not sure if I should be encouraged… or frightened.

Dinner is in the kitchen this time, a cozier and less elegant an affair. We've left talk of business behind, and I agree to call Elliot after dinner and get the number of his friend in Finance. For now though, Juliana seems content to try and get to know me for a change. She still appears to be uncomfortable, and I'm not sure if it's because of the vulnerability she's shared, or if she's still uneasy with the idea of our relationship. Either way I can see she's making an effort, and I try to put my own judgments and anger behind me, keeping my defenses down, but close in case I'm still in for a trick.

Juliana waves her hand towards the small kitchen table, inviting me to sit and she turns to the wall-oven that blends almost seamlessly with the cabinets. I can't help but raise my eyebrows, I was unaware Cabot women could cook. Juliana turns back with two plates of food and catches my look, answering with a laugh,

"No, I can't cook either. I asked Tam to leave something heating in the oven. I've never set the stove on fire, but I'm not exactly anyone's first choice for chef of the year."

"Alex has. Set the stove on fire I mean. It was the first time she ever tried to cook dinner for me. We hadn't been dating for very long… actually we'd hardly dated at all. We were still calling them 'dinners' and not dates." Why am I telling your mother this story? "She invited me over to talk about a case, and she offered to make dinner. Of course if I'd known then what I know now I would have insisted on cooking. We ended up spending half the night talking to the firefighters who put out the fire. She was mortified. I've never let her live it down."

Juliana smiles and settles at the table across from me, pouring seltzer water into two wineglasses. "No wine test this time?" I regret it as soon as the words leave my lips, but your mother is the one who looks apologetic.

She looks down at her plate, and brings the glass to her lips, sipping slowly .

"I'm sorry Juliana, that wasn't fair. You've been nothing but gracious tonight and I'm afraid I'm abusing your hospitality, although even you must admit this is rather… odd."

"No Olivia, you're right. The truth is I have a lot to apologize for. I'll have to find a way to make up for things with Alexandra later, but for now all I can do is start trying to know you better, finding out what she sees in you."

"Thanks a lot."

"No… no that didn't come out right. I just meant that for all of our differences, my daughter has almost impeccable judgment. If she loves you, she has good reason, and it's time I came to terms with that. I've spent too long trying to convince Alex that she isn't… well you know. It's time for me to learn to accept her instead of fighting with her. And accepting her means accepting you."

I nod, not sure what to say.

"So, tell me about yourself, about the woman who's going to marry my daughter. If you're going to be in the family, I ought to know more than just what you do for a living. Tell me about you, about my daughter. I'm sure you can tell me more than I can tell you. I'd… I'd like to get to know the person she's become."

At 1am I happily accept a ride from Thomas, not wanting to hail a cab. This time Thomas leaves the divider up, and I take the time to review the evening, still surprised at the sudden change in your mother's attitude. She is still visibly uncomfortable talking about our relationship, but her effort is obvious and refreshing after what I can only imagine has been years of solitude and misunderstanding. I smile, thinking of our visit to your childhood bedroom. Though the room itself didn't reflect much of the woman I know, there were traces of you everywhere; from the overflowing bookcases to the stacks of spiral notebooks that sat on the desk, chairs and floor. The elastic cord photo display next to your desk was clearly handmade, and your mother was kind enough to let me take a few of the pictures with me.

I arrive back at the penthouse tired, but content. I finally believe that your mother wants to try, that she's given up fighting you about your life, about us. I pick up the phone, hoping you're still awake for some good news.

Alex

I wake up shivering and wet, realizing I've fallen asleep in the bath before I've even finished the first page of my book. I stand in the draining water and curse as I see my now saturated book floating at my feet. Checking my watch I see that it's almost nine o'clock, which means I've been sleeping for more than two hours. I towel dry, rubbing my arms and legs with the soft terry trying to tease back some of my warmth and I wonder why you haven't called yet to tell me about dinner. Moving into the bedroom I pull on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, deciding to add a light hooded sweatshirt to the outfit until I can get myself warmed up again. I call room service to get the dinner I've missed for my nap and I pull another book from my suitcase to occupy me until you call. Mother would have my head for reading while I eat, but thankfully it was never an issue for you.

I'm just getting warmed up again, and halfway through the third chapter when room service arrives with a bread bowl of clam chowder and a sandwich that I'll probably save for breakfast on the road tomorrow. The soup finishes warming my bones and I leave the tray outside the door, crawling into the large bed with my book, waiting for your call. Less than an hour after waking in the expired bubble bath I hear my cell phone chirping.

"Hey… you've been gone awhile, did everything go ok?"

"Your mother is… unbelievable. I mean, the difference is astounding Alex, you wouldn't have recognized her." You sound incredulous and I'm glad it seems to have gone well. It's time my mother stopped antagonizing you.

"So it went well?"

"I don't even know where to start Lexi, she was a completely different woman. I mean she's clearly still uncomfortable with our relationship but she was nothing if not gracious, and she managed to welcome me without any of our previous dinner's pretense or testing."

"What did she have to say? Did she apologize?"

"Profusely. And she seemed genuine about it. I think you're right, I think maybe she's finally realized that all she's doing is pushing you away, and that you're all she has left."

"Yeah, but what spawned the big change? I'm glad it came, but it just seemed so odd, out of the blue."

"The picture."

"What? What picture?"

"The one you gave her for Christmas Alex. The picture is what did it. She finally figured out that you were happy-- really, genuinely happy. Turns out that's all that matters to her now."

You tell me about the rest of the evening, about eating in the kitchen (something mother never does), about the tour of my bedroom, about giving you pictures from my younger days, about the stories you told each other about me. You know about Leslie Jestin, and mother knows about my habit of setting stoves on fire. I'm still a little wary of mother's sudden desire to be involved, but I'm grateful that she's decided to treat you like a human being, that she's decided to treat you like my fiancée, like the woman I love. I sigh contently as you finish recounting the evening, and while I'm not expecting her to bless our wedding, I feel as though we've at least made some headway. Someday maybe she'll lose the unease you speak of; maybe someday she'll be happy and comfortable with us and our relationship, our future. I certainly hope so.

We talk idly about other things, work, Elliot and the kids, the fact that Munch appears to be dating some unknown woman, and Casey's continued incompetence. By the time we fall momentarily silent an hour later the sound of your voice has lulled me, warmed me in a way that no sweatsuit can, in a way no soup can match. I'm missing your touch, anxious to be back in your arms, in your bed.

"Livvie…" My voice is playful… just because you aren't here doesn't mean I can't have you.

"Yes?"

"What are you wearing?"

"What?" Your voice is full of surprise, even disbelief…

"I asked what you were wearing, and the correct answer doesn't involve clothing."

Olivia

"Livvie?"

"Yes?"

"What are you wearing?" At first I don't think I've heard you correctly.

"What?"

"I asked what you were wearing, and the correct answer doesn't involve clothing."

I did hear you correctly. A grin steals across my face as I think of you lying in a large fluffy hotel bed, teasing me from across the country.

"What are you wearing?"

I hear a rustling, a small grunt and a giggle. "A cell phone and a smile."

My grin widens and I move to drop my own clothes on the floor beside my bed. "What a coincidence."