Chapter 8: What Julian Asked For
Julian called on Saturday morning.
I was in the small hotel kitchen making porridge for the girls when my phone lit up with his name.
I let it ring twice while I stirred, then handed the spoon to Rose — "Don't let it stick" — and stepped into the hallway.
"Julian."
"I heard Marcus came to see you last night." His voice was careful.
Not accusatory.
Just careful.
"He did."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"I'm sorry.
I should have — someone should have been watching the hotel.
I didn't think he would—"
"Julian." I leaned against the wall.
"I let him up.
I wanted to hear what he had to say."
Silence.
"He's giving a voluntary statement Sunday," I said.
"Before the deposition."
"I know.
His attorney called mine at seven this morning." Another pause.
"Clara, I need to ask you something.
And I need you to know that whatever your answer is, it won't change anything about the settlement or the filing.
I'm not asking to negotiate."
"Ask."
"The girls." His voice changed on the word — went careful in a different way, like a man reaching for something he was afraid to drop.
"I know I have no right to anything.
I know what the last four years have been, and I know whose fault that is.
But I would like — if it's possible — if you would consider—"
"Julian."
"I'd like to meet them," he said.
"Properly.
Not at an airport.
Not with attorneys present.
Just — meet them."
I looked through the open doorway at the kitchen.
Rose was stirring with great concentration.
Lily was telling June a story about a horse who lived on a cloud.
June was eating her porridge and listening with complete seriousness.
"They know about you," I said.
He went very quiet.
"I never told them you didn't want them," I said.
"I told them their father didn't know about them yet.
That we were working on fixing a mistake." I paused.
"I didn't want them to carry that."
A long silence.
When he spoke, his voice was unsteady in a way I had never heard from Julian Sterling in ten years of knowing him.
"Thank you," he said.
"Don't thank me.
It was for them, not for you."
"I know." A breath.
"I know that."
I watched Lily reach across and steal June's spoon.
June looked at the empty space where her spoon had been, then looked at Lily, then picked up her fork and continued eating without comment.
"Sunday afternoon," I said.
"After the depositions are done.
There's a park near the hotel.
Bring nothing — no security, no assistant, no gifts.
Just come."
"Okay."
"And Julian — if they don't want to talk to you, we leave.
No pressure.
No scene."
"Of course."
"And if June decides she doesn't like you on sight, which is entirely possible because she's very particular about people, you accept that gracefully."
Something shifted in his voice.
Almost — almost — a sound that wasn't quite a laugh but lived near one.
"Understood."
I went back into the kitchen.
Rose handed me the spoon without being asked.
The porridge had not stuck.
"Who was that?" Lily asked.
"Someone we're going to meet tomorrow," I said.
Rose looked up at me with her careful eyes.
"The someone from the airport?"
"Yes."
She considered this.
"He looked scared," she said.
"He was," I said.
"Of us?"
I thought about Julian's face on that pavement.
The shaking hands.
The hollow rasp of *whose children are these.*
"A little bit," I said.
"Yes."
Rose nodded as if this was reasonable.
Then she went back to her porridge.
June pointed at me with her fork.
May you like
"I want more."
I gave her more.
