The Photographer, Mary Carter [the best novels to read .TXT] 📗

vacation. I don’t usually frame photos for my clients, but I couldn’t resist in this case. I wanted to see my work in their home right away, and I didn’t want to leave it to Amelia and Fritz, who might or might not get it done.

I framed five pictures and placed the best one—Natalie with her balloon unicorn, chin tilted up, laughing, hands up—in a sterling silver frame. I wrapped all of them in a heavy bronze-colored paper that I thought Amelia would like.

On the second of January, I brought the prints to the Straubs’ house. I was nervous about seeing Amelia, and as I approached the front door, my anxiety escalated. I wondered if she’d missed me as much as I’d missed her.

When she opened the door to greet me, her words and gestures pulled me into the circle of light that surrounded her. “Delta Dawn!” she said. The bells sounded in my head again, but this time they transformed into a full orchestra performing an opera, probably Verdi’s Aida, since that was the only opera I knew.

I handed her the wrapped packages. Would the silver frame strike her as an extravagant gift that wasn’t warranted by our friendship? I feared that her response would be less than I’d imagined it to be. I needed her to recognize my work, the same way I recognized hers.

She unwrapped the one of Natalie with her balloon unicorn. Tears filled her eyes. “Darling Delta. There are no words.” She embraced me.

My cup runneth over. That wasn’t a phrase I’d ever thought about or used before, but right then it seemed apropos.

She placed three of the framed photos on their console table in the front library. And two in the great room. I couldn’t have asked for more prominent placement.

In the New Year, Friday night babysitting at the Straubs became a pattern, and one or two additional nights often came up at the last minute, so I was averaging two nights a week at their house, one night a week with Ian, and found myself busy a great deal.

I got in the habit of picking up the Straubs’ dry cleaning, and other odd errands, because such gestures gave me a reason to make extra visits to their house and because Amelia appreciated it so much. “Delta, you’re a true miracle,” she would say, interlacing her fingers below her chin in a prayerlike gesture.

One evening, as I approached the Straubs’ brownstone to drop off the dry cleaning, I saw the lights on through their garden-level windows. I casually mentioned my observation to Fritz when he greeted me at the door. “Would you like me to shut those lights off?”

“That’s quiet little Gwen who rents from us.” He smiled. “She barely makes a peep. The best kind of tenant doesn’t socialize.”

I didn’t spend a lot of time with Fritz in those early weeks, but I could tell he was attracted to me. I could sense his eyes locked on me when my back was turned. I, too, longed for a connection with him, perhaps because he was a central figure in Amelia’s world.

On Fridays I would frequently arrive early, before Fritz and Natalie were home, because Amelia enjoyed having her own special time with me. The front door was occasionally unlocked in the daytime, so I’d let myself in. Sometimes Amelia didn’t even hear me when I walked into her office. I would stand in the doorway and observe her working—her brow furrowed with concentration. Her beauty was impossible to separate from her dazzling mind.

I entered one afternoon and saw, on her monitor, the elevations of a town house. “Amelia, that’s gorgeous.” I was completely sincere.

“Oh, Delta, do you think so?” She looked like a child—so hopeful, so eager for praise.

“Yes, it’s brilliant.” Her supremely functional designs were always layered with ideas. She wasn’t capable of drawing something commonplace.

Amelia was buoyed by my encouragement. I could tell by the change in her posture and the shift in the angle of her chin. “I get so lost in my work, and sometimes I don’t know what’s good and what isn’t.” She rested her fingers on my shoulder. “I can’t tell you what your support means to me.”

Fritz had probably stopped telling Amelia what she needed to hear. I could see her wilting when she didn’t have sufficient praise. She needed someone to prop up her sense of herself.

After discussing her drawings, we would sit at the kitchen counter and she’d make us each a cup of herbal tea. These were some of my happiest moments. Without fail, I would try to steer the conversation in the direction of the baby that she yearned for. I was looking for the right time to address the subject directly and hadn’t found it yet.

Sometimes she asked me about myself. “So I get reports from Ian but nothing from you,” she said one day, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.

I sipped a warm mug of raspberry tea. “I feel so fortunate that you introduced us. How did you know?” I was seeing Ian regularly, but going slow on physical intimacy for as long as possible while still maintaining his interest.

Amelia beamed, clearly relishing the role of matchmaker. “It was intuition!”

“He’s an amazing person,” I said. “I feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

“You’re an amazing person.” She squeezed my hand. “By the way, he showed me the photos of his mother’s place. I hear Paula’s planning the wedding already.” She laughed. “And I don’t blame her.” The notes of her laughter rippled through the air.

R u free Thursday for lunch? It was a text from Amelia the following Monday. I felt light-headed. I didn’t expect this. I’d been hoping that our relationship would extend beyond photography and babysitting, but I thought it would take several months. I didn’t expect that we’d already be socializing, without the pretext of my babysitting Natalie.

Amelia suggested I meet her at a job site on the Upper East Side so she