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

Amelia and Natalie standing in the far corner, near the fireplace and bookshelves. Amelia was speaking to Natalie in a hushed voice: “You should be able to figure that out on your own.”

“Don’t you want her to know who we are?” Natalie chewed on her nails.

“Your father and I will take the lead. It is not your place.” Amelia rounded her shoulders and back, exactly as my cat, Eliza, sometimes did. Her feline bearing came into sharp relief when she’d been crossed. I imagined using Photoshop to create an amalgam of Amelia’s image and my cat’s. A cat woman.

Fritz interjected from across the room. “I disagree—”

“Fritz,” Amelia cut him off.

I wondered if Fritz and Natalie heard the steeliness in Amelia’s voice.

Lucia appeared seconds later. Amelia led her back to the sofa, then picked up a photo album from the coffee table and sat next to Lucia in my seat. “These are photos of Natalie as a baby.” Together, they flipped through the pages.

“I don’t think I’ve seen that album.” I walked behind the sofa so that I had a view over Lucia’s shoulder. Long, slow, deep breaths.

The majority of the pictures were poorly shot photos of Amelia and Natalie on the beach. I surmised that Fritz had taken them, because he wasn’t in any of them. Natalie looked to be a year old, like she had only just learned to walk. She was wearing a bikini that was covered with watermelon slices and a matching watermelon sun hat. In one photo, her feet were buried in the sand with only the tips of her toes peeking out. She was laughing. In the next photo, Natalie held a handful of sand and appeared to be dropping her sand into a bucket of water. Next, she was back at the waves, adding water to her bucket. In another photo, she was splashing in the waves. Wet sand covered her legs and arms completely and was also caked into her hair. Amelia, who was visible in the background, was sitting on a beach chair reading a magazine. She looked well groomed, as though she had just had her hair blown out. No sand on her face or body.

For some reason, Amelia (I assumed it was Amelia) had also chosen to include a photo of Natalie crying. I never include photos of children crying. It’s a rookie mistake. The kid looks bad and the parents look worse. In this case, the child was crying and Amelia appeared to be at a loss, lacking any maternal instinct. From the photo, I was able to see Amelia’s limitations. As soon as her child started to cry, as soon as she had something unpleasant to contend with, she was inclined to hand the child off.

“Natalie, you were a beautiful baby,” Amelia said to her daughter, who’d taken her place back on the arm of the sofa.

“She’s a beautiful girl,” I said. Amelia missed so many opportunities to boost Natalie’s self-confidence.

“That was the year we went to Florida for my father’s seventieth birthday celebration,” Amelia said. “We spent every day at the ocean. When we got back to Brooklyn, Natalie kept asking for the water. She was always a water baby.”

“I like the water too,” Lucia said.

“Me too,” I said.

“Lucia, want me to show you around the house?” Fritz asked.

I was surprised by Fritz’s question. Surprised that he was engaging with Lucia to such a degree. Maybe he saw this as his only opportunity to question her without Amelia hovering over his shoulder. Maybe he wanted her. I had a much better body than Lucia, but I wasn’t nineteen. An image of Fritz and Lucia in the master bedroom flashed through my mind.

Lucia followed him up the stairs.

Amelia appeared irritated. She was unwise not to follow them. She turned to Natalie, picking up on their earlier conversation: “It’s really important to me,” she whispered. “I need your help.”

Natalie didn’t answer, which probably infuriated her mother.

Standing behind Amelia, I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Lucia is very pretty.”

She turned around to look at me and smiled gratefully. “Yes. I know.”

“And bright.”

“Yes.” Amelia stood and circled the sofa to approach me. “But she does seem concerned about something.”

“Uneasy,” I said. “Under the circumstances.”

“Do you think—”

“It could be—” I stopped mid-sentence.

“Yes?” Amelia asked.

I put my arms around Amelia’s shoulders and could feel her body trembling. “I’m so happy that you found her.”

“It could be what?”

“She’s obviously a caring person.”

“Yes?”

“And I would guess that she’ll care for the baby.”

A dark cloud came over Amelia’s brow. She leaned toward me so she could whisper and still be heard. “You think she’ll change her mind?”

“I think she’ll care for the baby,” I said quietly, “meaning she’ll want what’s best for the baby.”

“I don’t think that’s what you were going to say.” Amelia pushed her hair behind her ears again, a nervous gesture to which I was growing accustomed.

“No. I really don’t think she’ll change her mind,” I said.

Her hands were so tense, it looked like electric currents were shooting through them.

“If she makes a commitment,” I said, “I think she’ll stick to that commitment. She strikes me as that kind of person.”

“Right.”

Natalie was silent. I felt almost certain she wanted the same thing I did.

Amelia paced the room, from one end to the other and then back again.

“Is the father Latinx too?” I asked.

“What?” Amelia stopped her pacing and stood still.

“Just wondering if the baby’s father is Latinx?” I had a feeling that the question of the child’s race and ethnicity was floating around in the back of Amelia’s mind, and I thought it was to my advantage to flush it out. Nevertheless, I knew I was treading on dangerous ground.

“The father’s race is not important.” Amelia’s mouth pinched into a hard, straight line.

“I didn’t know … if you and Fritz care whether the baby looks like you,” I said, “or like Natalie’s sibling.”

“The father is white,” she said. “However, it’s irrelevant. Lucia’s family is from the Dominican Republic, but she’s perfectly lovely, and