How (Not) to Fall in Love(20)

Mom texted back a row of smiley faces. Lately we did better communicating via texts and notepads than in person, because when we were together in the evenings, she turned into someone else when she drank.

After school I waited until the parking lot was almost empty before I revved up the beast. It was my latest strategy to avoid stares and mocking laughter, especially since Sal had slapped on a “Save a horse, ride a cowboy” bumper sticker.

“It’s true,” she’d said when I busted her. “You need a cowboy, or any boy toy. Something to take your mind off all the stress.”

“Not exactly my first priority,” I’d replied, trying to block out the image of Lucas’s face that popped to mind.

I found the house and parked my rusty truck behind a row of shiny, perfect cars: Mom’s Volvo, Fake-Bake Pam’s Mercedes, and a couple of BMWs. The place was immense, even bigger than our house, and that was saying something. Mom must have been watching for me or maybe the belching Reaper announced my arrival. She flung open the massive front door before I could ring the doorbell.

“Darcy, come in. You have your camera, right?”

I nodded and stepped into the enormous entrance hall. Suits of armor? Flags with coats of arms? Seriously? How pretentious could you get?

Laughter bounced off the stone floor, as did the clicking of high heels. Fake-Bake Pam and some other lady walked toward us with bright red lipstick smiles stretching their face-lifted cheeks.

Mom put an arm around me. “Darcy, this is Pam Hendricks. You know her daughter Chloe.”

Fake-Bake Pam narrowed her eyes and gave me one of those wimpy girl handshakes that felt like a dead fish. I hated that. My dad always taught me that a woman’s handshake should be as firm as a man’s. Liz had a strong handshake, warm but firm. I gave Pam’s hand an extra squeeze as I thought of the hell Chloe had put me through at school.

“Darcy,” she said, wincing at my grip. “It’s so cute of your mom to give you this little job.”

Job? What job? I glanced at Mom, whose expression silently begged me to act like I knew what was going on.

Pam turned to the woman next to her, who apparently went to the same tanning salon she did. “Darcy, this is Dee Armstrong,” said Pam. “She’s an interior designer helping me get the house ready to be listed. You probably know her son Ryan from school.”

My heart thudded straight down to my feet. I nodded and stuck my hand out to shake hers. Manners could override shock, evidently. Good to know.

“Lovely, darling, lovely to meet you.”

At least her hand didn’t feel like a dead fish.

“So,” Mom said, “Darcy and I will get started on the photos and get out of your way.”

I frowned at her. Get out of their way? We weren’t taking up any more space than the freaking suits of armor.

Mom tightened her arm around my shoulder and steered me out of King Arthur’s court.

“What the—” I began, but she put a finger to her lips. We walked silently down a hallway and emerged into an enormous kitchen. I looked around, my mouth open in shock.

“Three stoves? Two refrigerators? Two dishwashers? For real?”

Mom crinkled her nose and shrugged. “They like to entertain.”

“For the army?”

Mom laughed. “Maybe for a few generals. Not the whole army.”

I crossed my arms. “So tell me about this job I’m supposed to know about.”

Mom took a breath. “Well, I was thinking… Remember when we talked at the cabin? You taking photos for the real estate website?”

I’d hoped she’d forgotten.

“It’s a perfect match. You can earn some extra cash. Spend a little time with me. Pam will pay you five dollars per photo.”

I stared. Five bucks a photo? I could do better than that setting up my own photo booth at a preschool. But it wasn’t the money so much as the neon “charity case” sign that seemed to be blinking over our heads.

“She doesn’t need me to take photos, Mom. I’m sure she already has someone to do that, someone who specializes in that type of photography. I’m not some junior realtor wannabe.”

Mom bit her lip and turned to look out the fifteen-foot windows. She was quiet for a long time. I stared at the black and white tiled floor. God, I could be such a bitch.

Her eyes were glassy when she looked at me again. “Damn it, Darcy. I’m doing the best I can. You can’t blame me for Dad leaving.” Her words stung like a spray of shattered glass.

I yanked my camera from the bag slung across my shoulder. “Where should I start?”

“Start here. I’m going to find Pam and Dee. After you finish the kitchen, we need photos of the entry hall, the great room, and wine cellar. Just poke around. You’ll find them.”

She was gone before I could form an apology. I supposed if I couldn’t say I was sorry, at least I could take the photos. I looked around the room and started snapping. Zoomed in on one of the stoves. Panned out wide to show all three. Knelt down to shoot the window from my knees. The sun shone in like a sign from God.

After the kitchen was photographed more times than a movie star, I went in search of the great room. I tiptoed through the butler’s pantry, stopping when I heard voices.

“Isn’t she pathetic?” I recognized Pam’s voice.