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

I said. “That’s one of the most challenging things. Animals keep moving. Same with small children. And they can’t help their honesty.”

She knelt on the bluestone patio and photographed my cat. Eliza was champagne colored with very dark gray accents on her paws and streaks everywhere, which made for some interesting abstract photos.

For the next two hours, she photographed the patio, the cat, the apartment, my shoes, my face, my sofa. The sun began to set.

“Your parents are going to want you home soon.”

“Just a minute.”

She was enjoying herself. I went to my camera shelf and looked at my collection. I had two relatively new DSLRs and two mirrorless cameras. I also had an early, but very good, Sony digital, my first camera, that I didn’t use anymore.

I handed her the camera, along with its charger and memory card. “You can keep this one and practice.”

“What?” Her face expanded with surprise.

“I don’t use it.”

She was trying not to smile, but I could tell how pleased she was. “It’s too big a present. My mom will tell me that I can’t have it.”

I put my arms around her frame and kissed her warm cheek. “Tell your mom it’s a loaner.”

Eyes shining, she put the strap around her neck and placed her hands on the Sony in a proprietary manner. I was her mentor now.

On an unseasonably warm afternoon, I was editing on my computer when I heard a dripping sound. I looked in the bedroom and saw a puddle on the floor. Some karmic retribution. I sent Fritz a text and a few minutes later he came down to check it out. It appeared to be a leak from the AC.

While we were waiting for a return call from the HVAC repair company, I offered Fritz a drink. “I was a bartender in a former life.” Actually, I’d never worked as a bartender. Over the years, I’d noticed that experimenting with cocktail recipes made alcoholics feel better about themselves, as if consuming an alcoholic drink had more to do with the taste than anything else.

“OK. Surprise me.”

I mixed a drink and set it down in front of him on the kitchen counter. “It’s called a Silk Panty martini.”

Fritz’s face colored. He took a sip. His eyes widened, and he took another sip. “You can return to your career as a bartender anytime you want.”

I smiled.

He swished his drink in front of him, in a small circle. “Are you having one?” Then he appeared to read my mind. “You’re not pregnant yet.”

I made myself the same drink, then sat next to him at the counter.

“Here’s to Silk Panties.” He clinked my glass. “It’s delicious, by the way.”

I tried to laugh, but the mood had shifted into something harder to manage.

“Natalie’s so happy that you’ve moved in here,” he said. “I hope she’s not crowding you.”

“Never,” I said. “And you? Are you happy I’m here?”

He took another sip. “Of course I am.” I noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead.

I was wearing a cream-colored dress with a low V-neck. I ran my fingers down my neck and along the neckline of the dress, lingering at the bottom of the V.

Fritz took his glasses off and cleaned them with his T-shirt, a familiar behavior that often seemed to accompany some nervousness on his part. He replaced them on his nose.

Various scenarios ran through my head. Rationally, I understood that sex with Fritz could have negative consequences. Even if Amelia didn’t find out, such an action would complicate my position as the Straubs’ surrogate. Still, my desire persisted. If I had sex with Fritz, I would be separating Amelia and Fritz from each other, just slightly, so that I would have a more primary position with each of them.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Fritz?” I said.

His cell phone rang. It was Amelia calling.

May 14: The embryo transfer took place at Krasnov’s office in the early morning. I was scheduled to return in ten days to find out if I was pregnant.

That afternoon, Ian stopped by. He came into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He had an odd expression on his face.

“I met your son.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I laughed.

“Really,” he said. “I met Jasper.” He was smiling with his mouth wide open, like a silent laugh. He had a manic look in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” A feeling of nausea made its way from my stomach to my throat.

Ian stood and paced back and forth across the living room. “My college roommate was in town. He invited me over to his cousin Robert’s place for brunch. Robert’s son is Jasper. Jasper’s mother is Alexis.”

My mind raced for a way out of this situation. I was doing my best to control my breath. “It’s a funny coincidence,” I said, “that the child’s name is Jasper. But my son is in California.” Long, slow inhalations and exhalations. I needed to appear unfazed by his story.

“You’ve shown me more than ten pictures of Jasper. I saw one of those pictures in their apartment.” He looked around my apartment. On an end table, he spotted a framed photo of Jasper at his birthday party, blowing the candles out on his cake. He picked it up. “I saw the exact same photo on their bookshelf. Same kid, same T-shirt, same cake with a picture of a dog on top. They hired you as their family photographer.” He waved the photo in the air. “You know, I memorized Jasper’s face because I cared about you, and I imagined, one day, maybe I’d take the kid to ball games. Maybe I’d help him with his homework.” He smiled again with the same manic look.

“My son is in California.” I kept my voice low and calm.

Ian’s smile disappeared and his face turned dark. “For Christ’s sake, have you ever told me the truth about anything? Who are you?”

“Shhh.” I was worried that the Straubs would overhear him.

He pointed upstairs.