On Second Thought(54)

Some distant part of my brain gave a wry smile. I guess the whole not being sad thing was off the table, then.

In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three.

In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three.

“Kate? You okay?”

I pressed my hands against my hot eyes. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice wobbling and strange. “I got my period.”

“You want me to come in?”

“No. No. I’m...”

“I’m right here. I won’t go anywhere.”

Thank God. I wasn’t alone.

The lights went out; I flapped and they came back on. “Thanks, Ains,” I said. I sounded more normal now.

Could I stand? Would my legs work? The answer was yes. I washed up, dug out the box of tampons, did what I had to do and pulled on Nathan’s bathrobe.

It still smelled like him.

Oh, Nathan, please help me. Give me a sign.

There was no answer.

“Hi,” I said, opening the door.

Ainsley had already stripped the bed. She hugged me. “I’m sorry,” she said.

The spike was back in my throat. “I knew I wasn’t. I took fourteen tests.”

She laughed a little. “I was hoping anyway.”

“Me, too.” Never too comfortable with physical contact (except for when I was a wife), I stepped back. “You headed for work?”

“Yep. Guess what? Eric’s blog has more than fifty thousand shares. Nice, huh?” She rolled her eyes. As always, she looked like Betty Boop in that 1950s, adorable style she had. Circle skirt printed with little umbrellas, white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, bright red lipstick. The only thing modern about her was her adorable cropped haircut.

I’d heard her crying last night, but she was smiling now, probably because I needed her to.

Eric was such an ass to leave her.

“What do you have going on today?” she asked.

“I actually have a shoot,” I said. “A teenager who wants to be a model.”

“Oh, fun! And it’s gorgeous out, too. Where are you going?”

“Prospect Park. Brooklyn.”

“That sounds great! More fun than my night. I’m going to Gram-Gram’s for dinner. She needs help with her dating profile.”

I felt a pang that Gram-Gram hadn’t asked me, followed by relief. “You’re a saint.”

“Tell me about it.” She smiled again, her sweet apple cheeks plumping. “You okay now? Sounded like maybe another panic attack in there.”

I nodded. “I’m good.”

“Okay. I have to go. Jonathan pops another hemorrhoid every time someone’s late.”

“Have a good day, Ainsburger.”

She laughed at the nickname Dad always used and left the room, her nice orangey smell going with her.

I was so glad to have her here, and not at all sure I deserved her.

I’d always tried to be nice to my little sister, but it was hard sometimes. For one, Sean and I didn’t remember a time without each other; Ainsley was thrust upon us. There was always the schism: if I loved Ainsley too much, I’d be too sad at the end of our weekends with Dad. If I found myself missing her, it meant I didn’t love Mom enough.

When Ainsley came to live with us, it was even worse, because she was so little, so cute...and yet Dad wouldn’t have left us without Michelle getting knocked up. For three years, I’d watched Mom’s heart petrify, and then he was back, and with a cherubic toddler, too. Any time I spent with Ainsley, I felt like I was betraying my mother.

I should’ve done more. She was just a little girl. I shouldn’t have been torn at all.

Just another item for the guilt pile.

Well. I had a shoot, and I had to get to Brooklyn by ten, and traffic would be hell because it was New York. Max was meeting me there. I threw some tampons in my purse and swallowed some Motrin.

The model in question was Elizabeth Breton, younger sister of Daniel the Hot Firefighter. She’d emailed me last week and said that her brother said he knew a professional photographer, and did I do head shots for modeling? She had a day off from school and she’d saved a hundred dollars of her babysitting money, less than a tenth of my fee.

She sounded so sweet and earnest that I said yes, that would cover it. Fashion shots weren’t my specialty, but I’d done enough to be competent.

And it was awfully nice of Daniel to recommend me.

I still couldn’t get over the fact that he’d come to the wake, all the way from Park Slope.

And that Paige hadn’t. I did get a sympathy card with a white dove on it and the generic card message: Sending you caring thoughts. She’d written only her name.

Whatever. I had bigger sorrows than a shitty friend.

After I’d showered and dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt (no need to look pretty; that was the model’s job), I went downstairs to make sure I had everything.

There was my Nikon on the shelf in the study. Or den. I’d never know for sure which room it was, since Nathan was dead.

Usually, I’d take that camera and my Canon; I liked to use a couple of cameras for their different qualities. But the last photos of Nathan were on my Nikon. Once I saw them...

My hands tingled, and the spike in my throat seemed to materialize like dark magic. I looked at my fish, swimming laconically in his pretty tank.