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

“It’d be nice for Natalie to have a pal,” Amelia said cheerfully.

I did my best to maintain a neutral expression. I practiced inhaling and exhaling through my nose, taking slow, deep breaths. Amelia was underestimating the importance of the birth mother role—focused only on the girl’s gait, carriage, and temperament. It was my moral obligation to alter Amelia’s course.

Lucia was scheduled to arrive in one hour. Natalie and I continued our game. Meanwhile, Fritz took a pizza out of the freezer and put it in the microwave.

“We don’t want Lucia to see that.” Amelia pointed to the pizza box like it was a dead mouse. “Don’t forget to throw it away.”

Fritz barely acknowledged her.

Natalie and I ate pizza and drank seltzer while continuing on with Scrabble, and Amelia prepared a beautiful platter of raw vegetables and homemade cucumber dill dip, along with a platter of fresh fruit.

“Where’s that homemade pumpkin bread?” Amelia called out from the kitchen.

“What?” Fritz asked.

“Got it.”

Their house was so over-the-top clean that Amelia and Fritz had nothing to tidy. In fact, they had the opposite problem. Their house did not reveal the presence of a child, almost as if there was some shame attached to the fact that a child lived there and it might have been preferable if she didn’t. Her belongings were all confined to her bedroom. There was very little evidence of Natalie in the downstairs living areas. Interestingly, Amelia must have recognized this, because she disappeared and, a few minutes later, appeared with a number of Natalie’s toys, books, dolls, and art supplies.

Natalie spotted her mother with an armful of her belongings. “What are you doing?”

Amelia didn’t register embarrassment. “I want Lucia to know that you have great toys and that your little sister would too.”

“Oh.” Natalie looked relatively satisfied with the answer.

Amelia placed a stack of Natalie’s dog-eared books on the glass coffee table next to her large, glossy art books. Then, in an apparently haphazard manner, she placed some slutty-looking Barbie dolls gone wrong, a Spirograph set, and jewelry-making paraphernalia in various strategic locations throughout the downstairs living area. One would have assumed that Natalie had been playing and neglected to put the items away. I was impressed with the execution.

Amelia built a fire in the library, and then she and Fritz went upstairs to change while Natalie and I concluded our game of Scrabble.

I thought that Natalie had mixed feelings when she witnessed her mother’s level of desperation for a baby. And I couldn’t blame her. I felt a kinship with Natalie. It was clear she craved her parents’ attention and rarely got enough of their time or energy. Another child would presumably mean even less time for Natalie.

“It’s a special day,” I said. Even though I had good letters, I traded them in, because I wanted Natalie to win the game.

“It’s not definite, though. The baby sister.” She frowned and rearranged her letters on her Scrabble rack.

“Of course it’s not.” Long, slow, deep breaths.

Itzhak rested his head on Natalie’s lap. She studied her letters.

“Your parents want you to be involved in the decision too,” I said. Natalie was an extremely perceptive child and able to identify deceit. But I was telling her the version of circumstances that ought to be true. So it was true, in a sense.

Natalie cocked her head. “I don’t know.”

“I believe they do. And they want you to feel ownership over the whole process.” I brushed some stray hairs away from her face. “You want Lucia to know everything about your family. Because the worst of all possible outcomes would be that your mom gets her hopes up and then Lucia backs out at the last minute.”

She rearranged her letters again.

I inhaled, breathing low into my core. “Like she finds out something she didn’t know and then she decides, oh, she really wants to choose a different family. I know a few families who went through that. At the last minute, the birth mother—that’s what Lucia is—she can change her mind whenever she wants to. Even after the baby is born.”

She looked up from her letters. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Natalie finally placed her letters: C-O-N-T-R-O-L next to the word L-E-D that was already on the board, to spell CONTROLLED. She smiled ever so slightly.

“Control is seven letters,” I said. “Controlled is fifty extra points, beyond the points on the tiles.”

She was clearly pleased with herself.

She twisted one small section of her hair tightly around her finger. “Why would Lucia change her mind?”

“All kinds of reasons. These decisions—sometimes they’re not purely rational. Religion sometimes. Culture, sensibility. Sometimes people want a similar value system.”

“We’re Jewish.”

“Right.” I held my breath.

“We’re not religious.” She twisted the same section of hair again.

“Right.” I paused and counted to five in my head. “I’m sure she’ll be fine with that. The important thing about tonight is that everything’s on the table. No secrets, no surprises.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The doorbell rang at 8 P.M. on the dot.

Amelia rushed to the door, and Fritz followed. In anticipation of Lucia’s arrival, Amelia had changed into a navy turtleneck dress that fell below her knees. The layers of her dark glossy shoulder-length hair framed her cheekbones perfectly. I could recognize the skill of a high-priced hairstylist. Amelia was wearing a pearl necklace and matching earrings. Perhaps she thought a prim and proper look would appeal to Lucia.

Fritz, on the other hand, even after having showered, still looked disheveled. His button-down shirt was wrinkled and his hair appeared to be uncombed. He had a patchy five o’clock shadow. He had the capacity to look stylish, but the events of the day had broken him down.

Natalie and I walked into the front hallway so that we both had a view of the door. I picked up my digital Canon EOS and put the strap around my neck.

Amelia opened the front door to reveal Lucia, a girl with a jet-black ponytail and olive skin. She looked to be sixteen, as opposed to nineteen, partly because she was so