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

Amelia folded her hands in front of her face in a prayerlike pose. “Oh, Delta, you would?”

I saw Fritz’s frozen face, his jaw slack, and gathered that he didn’t like the idea.

“If it’s an emergency,” I said. “I mean … I don’t usually babysit.”

Fritz appeared to recover from his shock. He raised his eyebrows and smiled broadly, as if he now thought this was a perfect solution. “It would be really great for us. We’re in a bind.”

“We can’t cancel the dinner,” Amelia said.

Every muscle in my feet, calves, thighs, shoulders, jaw, scalp, and brow all contracted and then simultaneously released. “Yes, then. Yes.”

CHAPTER TWO

I’m usually a voyeur, not a participant. Amelia and Fritz were embracing me and including me—turning to me in a time of need, as a trusted friend.

Amelia and Fritz went upstairs to freshen up. Natalie said a perfunctory goodbye to her friend Piper at the door. Alone, without her friends around her, I found it easier to study Natalie’s character and appearance. Her features were lacking in definition, except for her silver eyes, surrounded by black eyelashes.

She pointed to something resembling a braid in her relatively short hair. “Piper started it, but I really wanted a Dutch braid. Do you know how to do one?”

I examined the mass of Natalie’s tangled hair. “Let’s try.”

Natalie led me up to the small, but impeccable, second-floor bathroom. A subtle striped wallpaper surrounded us. She picked up a thin purple hair ribbon, one of many ribbons and clips that were resting on the marble vanity. “I’d like for you to weave this in.”

Dutch braids were in my repertoire, but Natalie’s fine, layered hair posed a challenge. She watched me in the oversize mirror as I untangled Piper’s braid, if you could call it that. Once Natalie’s hair was tangle free, I started by braiding the shortest hair near the crown of her head and then I pulled a little more hair into each section each time. Most of the shorter hair tucked into the Dutch braid neatly. Where it didn’t, I used a bobby pin. Apparently, it was good enough for her.

“Mom!” She ran out of the bathroom and down the hall into what I guessed was the master suite and then disappeared inside. “Look!”

“Lovely, sweetheart.” I heard Amelia’s voice from behind a closed door. I imagined Amelia seated at her dressing table in front of a Hollywood-style vanity mirror. Next to her on the chaise longue lay the outfit she’d chosen for the evening. “Make yourself at home, Delta,” she called out. “Help yourself to anything you see.”

Another tide of warmth flooded my body, similar to earlier when Amelia had asked me to babysit. What exactly was she referring to when she said “anything”? Food, wine, clothing, cosmetics, linens?

Natalie came running back out of the master bedroom toward the bathroom again. “I’ve got an idea! I can do your hair!”

I didn’t love the idea of anyone braiding my hair, not even a child. “But you also … you might want to learn to do the hairstyle on yourself,” I said. “It’s different from doing it on someone else.” I realized too late that this could not be achieved. She was young and impatient. And she didn’t have the advantage of being able to see her work while she was braiding. With each new attempt, she was growing more frustrated.

Ten minutes into the lesson, Amelia and Fritz appeared in the bathroom doorway. Amelia had changed out of her jeans and into a silky purple wrap dress and low pumps. She wore red lipstick and gold hoop earrings.

“Looks like you guys are having fun.” Fritz, who had also changed, adjusted his tie and the collar of his sports jacket.

“We have leftover lasagna in the fridge,” Amelia said to me, then turned to Natalie. “Lights out at nine thirty, sweetheart.”

Amelia and Fritz both kissed Natalie on the forehead.

Natalie stopped mid-braid, and her small amount of progress was lost. “I don’t want you to go,” she said to them. “It’s my birthday!”

“Tomorrow’s your birthday.” Amelia’s voice was like music, the words rising and falling in pitch. “Today was your birthday party.” She clicked her tongue to indicate excitement, perhaps.

Fritz high-fived Natalie. “Awesome party, dude.” Seeing the disappointment in Natalie’s face, he hesitated. “So … are we on for chocolate chip pancakes in the morning? Or should we have spinach pancakes for the birthday breakfast?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He and Amelia disappeared down the stairs and out the front door.

“You have my cell if you need anything!” Amelia called out. I heard the heavy front door close behind them.

Natalie’s frustration with her braids escalated after her parents’ departure. “I suck at this!”

I needed a new activity to distract her. “You know what I realized? I haven’t seen your room.”

She sighed loudly, like she wasn’t interested in showing it to me.

“I’d love to see it,” I said.

“Fine.” Natalie led me to the third floor and stopped outside a closed door. “The theme of my room is unicorns. Did you know I collect unicorns?”

“No, I didn’t.” I wondered if the concept of a themed bedroom was prevalent and I’d somehow missed it.

I stepped inside. Numerous objects in the room reflected light, so it was hard to identify any primary light source. Indeed, I saw unicorns everywhere I looked. Little statues of unicorns lined three shelves. Several pictures of unicorns were hung on the walls, with one mural painted directly on the wall, apparently by a child.

She showed me around, explaining the provenance of each unicorn. As she did so, her mood improved. I paused in front of a rainbow unicorn on a bookshelf, because I recognized it as a Disney souvenir. My parents had worked as janitors at Disney in Orlando, and I’d lived there for most of my childhood.

I envied her bedroom. Or maybe I envied the life that seemed to go with the bedroom. I’d seen my share of wealthy children’s bedrooms—rooms that were decorated so as to appear “magical,” with