Chapter 8 - THE TURNING POINT
I drove back from Edisto Island the following afternoon, arriving in the leafy Charleston suburb just as the late afternoon sun was turning the live oaks into silhouettes of dark lace.
My house was quiet. The hydrangeas along the walk were thirsty, so I took my time watering them, letting the cool well water soak deep into the dark soil around their roots.
As I finished winding up the garden hose, a familiar silver sedan pulled up to the curb.
It wasn't Julian’s SUV. It was a modest, rental-agency sedan.
Julian stepped out alone. No Brooke. No children—she had apparently taken them to her parents in Atlanta to lick her wounds and reconsider her options.
Julian walked up the brick path slowly. He had shaved, but the dark circles under his eyes were deep and permanent. He wasn't wearing his expensive suit jacket anymore; just a plain blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He stopped at the foot of the porch steps and looked up at me.
I didn't invite him up immediately. I stood by the front door, my hands resting on my cardigan pockets, waiting to see what version of my son had walked back through my gate.
“Marcus told you about the Kiawah deal, didn't he?” Julian asked quietly, his voice lacking all of its previous arrogance.
“He did,” I said.
Julian let out a long, shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair. He looked down at the brick walkway for a long moment before looking back up.
“If you hadn't stopped us... if we had closed last week like I wanted to... I would have lost everything,” Julian said, his voice trembling slightly. “Every dollar I had invested, plus the loans I took out against the business. I was so angry at you for not letting us stay. I thought you were being cruel.”
“Anger is often just fear that doesn't know how to speak yet, Julian,” I replied softly.
May you like
He walked up the steps slowly, stopping two feet away from me. He didn't try to hug me. He didn't make excuses. He just stood there with his hands at his sides, looking like a man who was finally learning how to stand on his own two feet.
“Brooke and I... we’re taking some time apart,” Julian said, the words coming out hard and painful. “She wants the high life, the constant moving, the status symbols. And I realize... I was chasing those things just to prove I was worthy of the name your husband and you built. But I forgot how to build anything real.”
