Chapter Twenty-One
Thursday night, finally alone with Iris after an intense day working on music with his bandmates, Julian drove them back to her condo.
It was stormy out, the temperature hovering around freezing. He wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed, and he hoped the weather wouldn’t mess up Luke and Miranda’s Saturday wedding. Inside, Iris stripped off her gloves, knitted hat, and coat. “Sometimes I wish I lived in the Caribbean,” she said.
His own outer clothing off, he hugged her tight, rubbing his hands down her back to warm her. “You’d miss winter. Not to mention Blue Moon Harbor.”
She laughed and acknowledged, “Okay, you’re right. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. And I do enjoy having real seasons. Weather like this makes me appreciate so many things. Electric heat, for one. Hot chocolate. And summer. On stormy nights, I lie in bed and remember sunny days at the old commune, lying on the grass, gazing up at the clouds, and dreaming.”
Her brown eyes glowed as she spoke. He could’ve looked into them forever. It would be nice to imagine a future of lying in bed beside her on stormy nights. Lots of women yearned to be a part of his world. Why couldn’t he have fallen for one of them?
Because none of them was Iris. His arms tightened around her. He had fallen for her, even though he’d always believed he was incapable of trusting and loving. He’d also believed no one who knew his foul secrets could love him. But Iris did care. Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was a deep caring. Was it possible that, unlike most of his songs, theirs might have a happy ending? Perhaps once the Jelinek thing was resolved, when life got back to normal . . . But of course normal for him meant a life away from Destiny Island, whereas for her it meant the opposite.
No wonder he couldn’t find the right ending for the song he was writing about Iris.
“On those nights,” she went on, “I also remember my afternoons on Windspinner, skimming the waves without a care in the world.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” he said wryly. “To not have a care in the world?” The moment he said it, he wished he hadn’t, because her dreamy expression changed to one of concern.
“Oh, Julian. When Henri goes to the police, that’ll make four reports. Surely that will give them enough to charge Jelinek.”
“I hope so. But then there’ll be years of legal crap: motions, delays. You hear the news, you know what it’s like. And if it does eventually make it to trial, we’ll all have to testify. It’ll be . . .” He swallowed. Agonizing.
“I know.” Her expressive eyes said she got it. “It’s unfair that the four of you can’t talk together and support one another. Do you think the other men have gone to support groups or had counseling? They should, if they haven’t.”
“I’ll ask Eden or the RCMP if I can suggest that, without jeopardizing the case.”
“I know the process is painful, but when it’s all over, the four of you will feel better. A weight will be lifted.” She said it with a certainty that reassured him.
“Thanks, Iris.” He released her. “Let’s change the subject to something more pleasant.”
She smiled up at him. “Let’s switch from verbal to nonverbal communication.” She made a zipping-her-lips motion and then used those very same lips to kiss him senseless.
He replied in body language of his own, by hoisting her into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom, where he stripped off her clothes and then his own. Once they were under the covers, he forgot that anything else in the world existed except making love with Iris.
Being with her like this was the perfect tonic: the silkiness of her skin, her sweetly pebbled nipples, the salty moistness between her legs, her short-nailed fingers caressing his back and then digging into his shoulders, her breathy moans and little gasps. The way she whispered, “Oh yes, Julian, so good,” after he brought her to climax with his mouth. And then her sigh of pleasure when he sheathed himself and entered her.
This, right here. This was paradise. The tiny enclosed world of her bed. The woman in his arms, her sleek limbs intertwined with his, the black silk of her hair framing her exquisite face, her hips rising to meet his slow, deep thrusts. The knowledge that the intimacy between them was emotional as much as physical. He prolonged the experience as long as he possibly could, but finally they both surrendered to orgasm.
After, lying on their sides with him spooned around Iris, he felt so boneless and drained he could have fallen asleep. But, not wishing to waste a moment of this precious time, he concentrated on every sensation. A month from now, he’d be alone in his studio apartment in Vancouver with only memories of her to keep him company. To help him through the stress of whatever might be going on with the police and Jelinek by then.
Perhaps he tensed, because she stirred. “Julian? Are you okay?”
“Can’t turn off my freaking mind.”
She stroked his forearm, a sensual whisper of touch. “You and Forbes were talking about forgiveness. You’ve really forgiven him and Sonia and Luke for their role in what happened?”
“Yeah.” He used his nose to push silky hair from her nape, inhaling that delicate almond scent, and then kissed the sensitive spot. “I admit I was carrying some anger, trying to shove it deep down for all those years. But I’ve let it go. They’re good people. We all focus on our own stuff, right? Luke had his own crap. Sonia’s emotions were a mess. Forbes had so many changes to deal with. I’d been a self-sufficient, flexible kid. It wasn’t on his radar to worry about me. And if I turned into a sullen, rebellious teen . . . well, he’d been a rebel himself at that age.”
“I’m glad you’ve reached a place of understanding.” She took a deep breath; he felt it move through her body. “Can you imagine ever forgiving Jelinek?”
His muscles tightened. “No. I don’t think so.”
She nodded, a slow movement that sent her hair sliding against his cheek. “Do you think he was abused as a child? I’ve read how that’s often the case.”
“He didn’t talk about his parents, just said they were dead.” Julian swallowed. “Even if he was, that’s no excuse. I was abused, and the last thing I’d ever do is hurt or pressure someone else.”
“I know that.”
“Do you think it’s wrong of me not to forgive him? When I went to that support group, some victims said they’d forgiven their abusers. Some said it was part of their religion. Others said they needed to do it in order to heal. But I can’t imagine forgiving him.” Julian was almost scared to admit this to Iris, with her evolving spirituality. But he wouldn’t lie to her. “It’s not like it was an accident,” he said, “or a one-time thing. He’s been a pedophile for a long time. I’d bet you there’s some broken, terrified kid out there that he’s abused in the past year or two. I can’t see ever forgiving him.”
She was quiet, a warm curve of woman nestled against the front of his body. “Maybe he has a brain abnormality,” she said, “or was abused himself, but you’re right, there are no excuses. I can’t find it in my heart to forgive him either. I don’t think that makes me a bad person.”
“You couldn’t be a bad person.”
“You know something? We shouldn’t have to wrestle with whether or not we can bring ourselves to forgive him. This shouldn’t be on us, any more than the fact of the abuse should be on you, Al, Sam, Henri, or any other boy. Or their parents. Bart Jelinek committed crimes. Many crimes. That’s on him. Period.”
He hugged her tighter. “Thank you. I’ve had so much baggage dragging at my ankles all these years, and you just lifted a bit more of it.”
She hugged her arms over his where they crossed her chest. “I’m glad. But here’s another question for you. Have you forgiven yourself?”
He blew out air gustily. “That’s a tough one. I think I’ve forgiven myself for letting myself become a victim, and for not telling anyone back then. I was a boy, up against a powerful, experienced adversary.”
“I’m glad you see that. But how about for not reporting him later on?” she asked quietly. “I know how much it troubles you, that he abused other boys since you.”
“That’s for sure. And now, putting names to some of those boys, it’s awful. And yet there’s Sam, who came before me. If he’d spoken up, maybe he could have saved me. But I don’t blame him. How can I? I understand.”
Iris nodded. “By understanding and forgiving Sam, can you forgive yourself?”
“Maybe,” he said slowly. “It’s not, like, a sudden revelation. It’s a slow sinking in, and a feeling that a darkness that’s shadowed my soul is beginning to lift.” He hadn’t actually realized it until now. “Another few pounds of baggage, gone.”
“I’m so glad.” He couldn’t see her face, but heard the sincerity in her voice. “You’ll write that song one day, Julian. A song with, if not exactly a happy ending, an uplifting one.”
He smiled against the back of her neck. “I think you’re right.”
* * *
Iris had never learned to dance, but when she was in Julian’s arms at Quail Ridge Community Hall, it didn’t matter. He had such a strong sense of rhythm and was so physically confident, she just let him guide her. Besides, the dance floor was so packed at Miranda and Luke’s wedding reception, it was hard to do much more than shuffle around and laugh as people bumped into one another.
Just four days after Christmas, the big wooden hall still sparkled with multicolored lights. Wreaths made of pine boughs, cones, and holly scented the air. Shimmering silver tinsel, colorful ornaments, and bunches of mistletoe hung in every available spot.
Onstage, B-B-Zee was performing for the first time since Forbes’s accident. He sat in a wooden chair with his bandmates, Jonathan and Christian, on either side of him. Jonathan had also served as the officiant, performing the short, very moving marriage ceremony.
When Miranda and Luke, with their children beside them, had gazed into each other’s eyes and spoken the vows they’d each written, simple words revealing the depth of their emotions, Iris had realized something. She really, truly loved Julian.
When had it happened? Was it when he’d summoned the courage to expose Jelinek and they’d made love fully for the first time? When he’d written the song about Grandmother Rose and Grandfather Harry? Or was it that first day at the commune, when she woke from one dream and found herself in the middle of another?
It still seemed amazing that she, an introverted bookseller, had even met Julian Blake. Yet her love for him felt inevitable and right. Even though he’d leave Destiny tomorrow.
Tomorrow. December thirtieth. The day before her twenty-fifth birthday. Some birthday it would be, with her life, her heart, feeling so empty without Julian.
They would remain friends, stay in touch, but that was just so inadequate.
She took a deep breath. Center, stay even, practice mindfulness. Right now, she would throw herself into every remaining moment together. Later, when he was gone, she would cherish the memories and their friendship.
She’d been given an amazing gift. A gift, she thought as she smiled against his shoulder, that was still giving. Who’d have ever thought she’d be swaying in the arms of a handsome, sexy guy, a man thousands of fans lusted after? But Julian was so much more than that.
He rested his cheek against the top of her head, seeming as content as she. He didn’t pull her too tight, didn’t grind against her. She’d have been uncomfortable if he had, in this public forum. Even so, a sense of sexual awareness hovered in the air. A promise of later.
“You’re doing okay with this?” Julian murmured in the lull after one song ended.
She raised her head from his shoulder to look at him. “With what?” With the knowledge that he’d be leaving?
“Being in a crowd.”
Oh, that. It seemed kind of minor, in comparison. “As long as I’m in your arms.” There were maybe a hundred people in the hall, but she felt surprisingly relaxed.
When the next song started up, he said, “That’s my signal.” He released her from his arms and took her hand. “This is the last song in the set and we’re up next.”
With Roy, Camille, and Andi here on the island, Miranda had talked the Julian Blake Band into performing.
Fingers entwined, Iris and Julian threaded their way among people, tables, and chairs. Their seats were at a large table with Eden and Aaron, Eden’s parents and sister, her aunt Di and uncle Seal, and Iris’s own parents and aunt. Iris had seen her parents dancing earlier, which was pretty cool. Almost as cute as the bride and groom’s three little kids, happy-dancing in a circle together.
Now Iris took her seat beside Eden and across from Aunt Lily, who was talking to Di.
Julian gave Iris a quick kiss. “See you after our set. Don’t dance with anyone too sexy.”
“I’ll be too busy fangirling you,” she said with total honesty.
Her gaze followed him as he made his away across the room. A few people spoke to him, many smiled, some touched his arm. There were no scowls or angry words. And no paparazzi. She turned to Eden, who looked lovely in a dress in shades of cream and amber, her walnut hair glossy on her shoulders. “I was afraid the Jelinek thing might make for some awkwardness.”
Eden smiled. “Most of the islanders who supported the bastard are eating crow.”
Six victims had now come forward, and yesterday afternoon Jelinek had been charged with numerous counts of sexual assault. Island Realty was closed and Bart and Cathy were rumored to have left the island for Victoria. He’d no doubt be consulting a lawyer there.
Aaron turned from the conversation he was having with Iris’s dad and touched Eden’s shoulder. “Hey, haven’t you ladies heard, this is a wedding?”
“You’re right,” Eden said. “We shouldn’t let Jelinek throw a damper on the celebration. Speaking of which, I think Julian’s up now.” She nodded toward the stage.
Forbes, Jonathan, and Christian had stopped playing and were nodding and smiling to acknowledge the applause for their last number.
Then Forbes spoke into the microphone. “It’s time for B-B-Zee to take a break, but—”
The audience groaned and booed, but that was because they didn’t know what was coming. Julian’s band’s participation had been kept a secret, otherwise nothing would have kept the paparazzi from invading the hall.
Raising his voice, Forbes cut through the noise. “But you won’t go unserenaded. We all get a special treat. Please welcome the Julian Blake Band.”
To whistles, cheers, and loud applause, Julian and the three members of his band walked onto the stage carrying their instruments and exchanged greetings with the older musicians. Julian gave a hand to his dad, helping him rise from the chair. Jonathan and Christian put supporting hands under each of Forbes’s elbows.
But Forbes didn’t let go of his son’s hand, nor relinquish the microphone. “It’s been a true pleasure to get to know Camille, Andi, and Roy. They’re not only great musicians, but terrific people. And I’m deeply grateful to my son for moving back home to look after his injured old dad. Despite my failings as a father, Julian’s grown up to be a fine man, a man I’m very proud of.”
“Aw,” Miranda murmured, slipping into the empty chair—Julian’s chair—on Iris’s left. “How totally sweet.”
“It is.” Iris sniffled back tears as she smiled.
As Forbes hobbled off the stage with his friends’ help, Julian’s band started to tune up.
Iris turned to the bride. “You look utterly stunning.”
“I know,” Miranda said complacently. Raising her voice so Lily could hear, she said, “All thanks to your aunt’s wonderful gift.”
Aunt Lily gave her a smile of acknowledgment. When Miranda had complained to Iris that she couldn’t find a dress that “felt like her,” Iris had talked to her aunt. Lily had consulted with the bride and then created a designer dress as a wedding present. Although her aunt normally used flower motifs—like the boat-necked silk dress Iris wore, with a peony pattern—for Miranda she’d created a dragon. A dragon that managed to be fierce and tender at the same time, and ineffably feminine. The three-quarter-length sleeves displayed the bride’s dragon tattoo, and the knee-length skirt was full and flirty, perfect for dancing. The turquoise cowgirl boots Eden had loaned the bride for her “something blue” were the perfect complement and, as Miranda had noted, much more comfortable than the spike heels she wore back in her city-girl days.
“It’s not just the dress,” Iris said, “it’s you. You’re glowing.”
“I have never in my entire life been happier.”
For some reason Iris was reminded of the moments at the commune just before she met Julian. She had enjoyed being there, yet regretted that winter weather would soon restrict her visits. She had mused about how so many moments in life contained elements of yin and yang, of dark and light. That was how she felt now: totally happy for her dear friend, glad to have been given the gift of Julian’s friendship, and yet sad that, unlike Miranda, she wouldn’t be finding her happily ever after with the man she loved.
And speaking of that man, Julian’s voice now came through the mic, rough-edged, laid-back, confident. “We’d like to start off with a song that’ll be on our new album. It’s dedicated to the amazing bride and it’s called, ‘You’re Better than You Think.’”
Miranda nudged Iris. “Déjà vu all over again, right? Us in the audience, and you drooling over Julian.”
Iris didn’t remind her that, last June, Miranda had been drooling, too.
“Go find your hubby, Miranda,” Julian said from the stage, “because you two are going to want to dance to this one.”
Miranda laughed and hurried over to where Luke was standing with his mom and the three kids.
Then Julian played the first notes, ones Iris was familiar with, and she was barely aware of Eden and Aaron getting up to dance. She feasted her senses on Julian. A man who would always be in her heart.
The only time she’d seen him onstage before, he’d been all in black, a ripped tee and jeans. In every picture she’d seen of him performing, he’d worn similar clothing. Today he stayed with his trademark black, but rather than a T-shirt that hugged his tautly muscled torso, he wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up far enough that the lower part of his tattoo was visible. His burnished golden hair gleamed and he looked like a more sophisticated version of a bad boy.
After Miranda’s song, he announced “Your Reality.” She, Iris Yakimura, was the person whose words had inspired this song, the first day she and Julian met. Each of their realities had changed so much over the past weeks, and the two had braided together. But, as of tomorrow, that braid would have to unweave itself, or at least loosen.
She listened to the rasp of his husky, low voice as he sang about the lark with its broken wing and its struggle to cope and to heal. Somewhere in this room, Iris figured Forbes had his arms around Sonia and tears in his eyes. But she didn’t shift her gaze from Julian.
The lark story had been written about Forbes, but it applied equally to Julian. He’d been broken, too, he’d fought his own battle, and he had triumphed.
He might look like a bad boy, but he wasn’t bad at all. He was one of the most sensitive, gentle people she had ever known, and she had the great good fortune to have known a number of them. And tonight Iris heard a difference in his music. There was still darkness and pain, and there probably always would be in his songs. The stories that resonated with him, the ones he wanted to tell, were about suffering. But now, in the music and the lyrics, there were threads of light, of optimism and joy and love. They were there in part, she knew, because of her.
Something warm and soft touched her hand where it rested beside a half-finished glass of now-flat champagne. She glanced down to see her aunt’s hand, and then looked across the table. The tender sympathy in Aunt Lily’s eyes brought tears to her own eyes. She turned her hand over to clasp her aunt’s, and then refocused on Julian.