On Second Thought(107)

And I’d met the man who’d ruined Jonathan’s life.





Chapter Twenty-Six

Kate

“Booty tooch!” the mother yelled. “Come on, Brittannee! Make it high fashion!”

“High fashion?” Max muttered. “Or porn?”

It was Thursday afternoon, a beautiful July afternoon, and we were doing a high school senior shoot for a very nice girl whose mother clearly wanted her to model, rather than go to Vanderbilt on a basketball scholarship, as she was planning.

“She’s wasting her looks!” the mother said, throwing up her hands.

“Ma,” Brittannee said. “I want to be a doctor. I don’t need looks.”

“Well, you have them. You should take advantage. Can’t you just work with me? I know I could get you in at Elle.”

We were at Bixby Park, and while the eighteen-year-old seemed content with the look at the camera and smile approach that usually worked best, the mother had a different concept. She stomped over in front of the cinder block wall of the public restrooms, which she had deemed “editorial.”

“Like this,” she said, thrusting out her rump so hard I heard a joint pop. “Booty tooch. Bing, bang, boom. Tick, tick, tick. And now, swivel your arms forward. Gucci tooch!”

“Are you speaking in tongues?” Brit asked. She rolled her eyes at me, and I gave her a sympathetic smile.

“This picture is for me,” the mom said. “It’s how I want to remember you when you’re gone.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not dying. I’m going to college. And second, you want to remember me with my ass out? Can’t I just smile like a normal person?”

Speaking of modeling, Daniel’s youngest sister, Lizzie, had texted me. She’d signed with Ford Models, and I was thrilled for her. I told her to let me know if she needed anything, since I knew a few people in the fashion world. Lizzie had talent. I thought so, anyway. And she wanted to be a model.

Brittannee of the difficult spelling did not.

I focused on the mother, who had that gaunt, stringy look of a body-obsessed middle-aged woman.

“Lori,” I said to her. “You have fabulous cheekbones. Do you mind if I take a few shots of just you?”

“Me? Well, if you want to,” she said, immediately pursing her lips at me. She tootched and gooched and did whatever else it was Tyra Banks said on TV. Thank you, mouthed Brittannee, then smiled at her mom.

“Fantastic, Lori. Love that! Hold that pose, long neck!” Hey, I didn’t live in a cave.

A half hour later, when Lori was done dangling from a tree branch and squinting at me, I focused on the child. “Brit, why don’t you take a seat on the grass there and make yourself comfortable?”

And so it was that I got at least ten beautiful shots of Brittannee looking like what she seemed to be—a lovely, athletic girl with a pretty smile. And her mom got to pretend to be a model for a little while. They left holding hands, which made my throat ache.

I would’ve loved a daughter.

Maybe I’d adopt after all, in a year or so. The grief group members all told me not to make big decisions in the first year.

And it had been only three months, one week and six days.

Nathan’s bench had been removed. I’d have to call Eloise and thank her.

For the past four days, I’d been in the city, looking after Esther, Matthias and Sadie while Sean and Kiara went to a surgeons’ conference in Napa, sponsored by a manufacturer of surgical equipment, where they spent fifteen minutes looking at technology and three days getting mud masks and massages.

It had been fantastic, playing Scrabble with Matthias and Esther at night, binge-watching The Walking Dead with them, taking Sadie to Central Park during the day, pushing her in the baby jogger along the West Side Highway, letting people assume she was mine. I made Sean and Kiara promise to go away more.

But today, I’d have to go back to Cambry-on-Hudson.

“How you doing?” Max asked as we packed up.

“Not bad, I guess.” I looked at him, my old pal. “Sometimes it feels like I was never married. It’s—” I cleared my throat. “It’s tough.”

Max nodded. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, his whispery voice always sounding a little scary. “Don’t overanalyze everything. Let yourself have a little fun.”

“You know me well.”

“I should.”

“Give the family my love.”

He nodded and walked off to his car.

*

I was thawing dinner, the last of the bereavement food, some sort of bisque, when Ainsley came home that night. “Hi!” she said. “I missed you! How were the kids?”

“They’re great,” I said. “Esther’s gonna put them through their paces, though. She’s starting the terrible teens.”

“Good,” Ainsley said. “Sean’s always had it too easy.” She beamed at me, clearly about to explode with news.

“So how was your week?” I asked.

“You’ll never believe it!” she said. “I wanted to tell you immediately, but I knew it would be better in person, and I forgot you were going to Sean’s. You ready?”

I nodded.

“I slept with Jonathan! And I have reason to believe we’re in an actual relationship, because he made me sign papers.”