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

wouldn’t be big enough for her furniture in addition to mine. “You can’t.”

An image of Jasper: golden-brown skin in red swim trunks, running on the beach. He was wading in the ocean, the waves splashing up on his thighs, laughter deep in his throat, spilling out into the California air. “I have to find Jasper,” I said.

“The three of us could be together.” Her voice sounded faint, as if she were out of breath.

I conjured an image of Jasper and Natalie playing together. I could see them laughing and running and swimming. I could see them Rollerblading on the boardwalk. I could hear the waves lapping against the shore. I could smell the salt water and feel the breeze against the back of my neck.

A minute later I was in the room again with Natalie, looking at her slim form in front of me. She didn’t draw comfort from images.

“Jasper doesn’t exist.” As I spoke those words, I felt a blow to my solar plexus, as if someone had punched me with full force. I recovered my breath. “Not actually.”

“Then where are you going?” she asked.

“To find him.”

Her eyes drifted to my abdomen. I looked down and saw that my hand was clasping my middle in a protective gesture. Natalie was watching me closely. She looked from my hand to my eyes and back again to my hand. “My mom said you lost the baby.”

I nodded.

“She says it’s her fault.”

She approached closer and placed her hand on my stomach, next to mine. “Did you lose the baby?” She locked eyes with me.

I gently removed her hand from my stomach.

Her eyes welled up with tears. I put my arms around her and kissed the crown of her head.

She looked up at me. “I’ll miss you, Delta.”

Saying goodbye to Natalie was the worst thing I ever had to do.

 FIVE YEARS LATER

I hang up his backpack in his cubby. We put his lunch below. Then I hug him and kiss him goodbye. “I love you, boo-boo.” After I leave Jasper’s classroom, I peer through the small high window in the hallway. He can’t see me but I can see him. He’s standing by himself. I watch him until he sits on the rug next to a little girl. They start talking. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can see him laugh like he’s enjoying her company. Then she pulls out a box of Magna-Tiles. They start by building a tower together.

I didn’t miscarry the baby.

When I was lying in the hospital with needles in my arms, I talked to the baby. I could feel his fear. I told him he was going to be OK. I promised him that I’d never leave him, no matter what. I promised him.

Over the last few years I’ve kept track of the Straubs. They didn’t have another child. They didn’t hire a surrogate or adopt. I also know that Itzhak died, at the age of fourteen. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Natalie lost Itzhak. I wish I could tell her that.

It seems the Straubs never heard from Ian again once he resigned from their firm. I had told them before that he loved Italy. They probably envision him living in Rome. It’s an uplifting image and not an unreasonable assumption. I can picture opportunities opening up for him there.

I have the same dream almost every night. Natalie is running toward me, smiling, and I hold out my arms to embrace her. But as she approaches closer, her face changes and I grow frightened of her. Then yesterday I saw her on the street in Venice Beach, but this time it wasn’t a dream. She was taller and her face was thinner, but I’m certain it was her. She might be looking for me.

I invite Jasper’s friend Izzy and Izzy’s mom, Maya, to our apartment in Venice for a playdate. They live in a Spanish hacienda–style house on the edge of Santa Monica Canyon, with transporting views of the whitewater ocean, mountains, and canyon, each layer informing the others. I know their house because Jasper and I drive past it on our way to go hiking.

Izzy’s dad drops Maya and Izzy off. He smiles and waves from the car, then leaves to pick up groceries. Maya hangs her jean jacket, along with Izzy’s, on the hooks in the entryway. She and I chat while the children play Uno. Maya asks about all the framed photos hanging on the wall, opposite the suspended glass cabinet in the kitchen. “They’re works of art,” she says.

“That’s Jasper with his grandparents. They both passed away last year,” I explain. “And that’s Jasper with his cousins on his fifth birthday.” Jasper’s green eyes are beaming straight at the camera.

“Oh my God,” she says, “you have to take pictures of Izzy’s birthday party.”

I smile at her. “I would love to.”

After Izzy and Maya leave, Jasper and I watch Mary Poppins together for the third time. The movie always makes me think of Natalie’s carousel. We get to the part where Mary Poppins’s friend Bert does a sidewalk chalk drawing of an English countryside. Mary Poppins, Bert, and the children jump into the picture. They land inside the drawing, and the scene comes to life. The picture is real because they want it to be.

 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Heaven was shining down on me the day I met my literary agent, Stephanie Kip Rostan. Stephanie brought this book to life. Brilliant, kind, with a formidable sense of humor, she is a true partner and friend. Thank you to Stephanie’s colleagues at Levine Greenberg Rostan, especially Jim Levine and Daniel Greenberg. And huge thanks to Courtney Paganelli as well.

I am grateful to my dazzling editor, Catherine Richards, for choosing to work with me. With clear eyes and terrific skill, she made this novel infinitely better. Our collaboration continues to be a blessing and a joy. And thank you also to Nettie Finn, for all of her support.

Thank you to Andrew Martin and Kelley Ragland,