She's Up to No Good(39)

“Nah. This was your find.”

“But I still have my grandmother. You should have this.”

“My grandfather’s camera is more meaningful.” He ran a thumb over the glass, then picked up the frame and handed it to me. “That camera was why I wanted to take pictures. I always wanted to play with it, and my mom wouldn’t let me. She gave it to me when I graduated from college.”

“Does it still work?”

“It does actually. But the film is expensive, and the quality isn’t great.” He pushed his chair back and stood, and I followed, holding the frame. I thanked Lina as we left, she patted my arm, and then we were back outside in the blinding sunlight.

We had walked about a block when Joe pulled his phone out, an incoming call on the screen. “Sorry, it’s a work thing. Is it okay if I take this?”

“Of course,” I said, studying a shop window to avoid eavesdropping as he walked a few feet away and began discussing the price of something. But I wasn’t really looking at the dress in the window. Instead I was looking at my own reflection.

I glanced back down at the picture in my hand. That self-assuredness that made her so special wasn’t something that came with age. I had assumed that she just lost her filter as she got older, like so many people do when they grow out of caring about what others think. But one look at this picture told me that my grandmother had burst out of the womb much as she was now.

Looking up at the window again, I put my shoulders back and fought the urge to emulate her posture in the picture. I smiled, and my reflection did look like the photograph in my hand, giving me a little boost of confidence.

Joe’s reflection appeared next to mine, and, for a split second, it wasn’t the two of us, but my grandmother and Tony in the shop window.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, shattering the illusion. “I need to stop by the gallery to deal with a customer. You could come with me if you wanted?” He checked his watch. “But it’s almost time to pick up your grandmother. If I walk you back to your car, are you okay to pick her up on your own?”

“Definitely. You don’t have to walk me though. I can find it.”

“I don’t mind. I need to go that direction anyway.”

I agreed and followed him up a side street.

“So today was fried clams, Main Street, and the harbor. What’s the plan when you babysit me tomorrow?”

He turned his head, his eyes traveling over my legs, and I felt a flutter in my stomach. “Wear sneakers. And probably long pants.”

Ugh. He was looking at my shoes, not my legs. “Why?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Was I imagining the flirtatious tone? Maybe. But it was the first time I had really looked forward to something in months. Not that I was interested. But I had maybe, kind of, a very little bit, almost thought about it. And that excitement felt like a tiny piece of myself clicking back into place.

“Do I get fried clams again?”

He grinned. “You don’t have to convince me.”

“Then it’s a date.” I looked at him defiantly to see if he challenged that, not regretting it until he didn’t.

Not a date, I reminded myself as I approached my grandmother’s car, willing myself not to turn around as he walked away. Just a vacation adventure.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


October 1950


Boston, Massachusetts


Evelyn sat on the grass by the water just off the Emerald Necklace path, scribbling furiously. It was unseasonably warm, but she barely noticed the sunshine as she leaned on a textbook, trying to cram in as much reassurance to Tony as possible. In her last letter, she recounted the double date she went on at her roommate’s insistence, thinking her complete lack of interest would amuse Tony. It did not. Their phone call after that ended badly, and Evelyn was determined to fix things—she would take the train home that weekend if she had to, but the letter would have to suffice until then.

“Darling,” she wrote, “I would no more be upset were you to—” But how to finish that sentence? Because now that she thought about it, she probably would be upset if he had gone on a date. Not that she would admit that. But she also wasn’t going to write that she wouldn’t be upset because that gave him a free pass to see other girls. She crumpled the paper and sighed. She pulled another sheet from her bag and scrawled her salutation across the top, then stared down at the blank page, willing the letter to write itself.

“Homework or a letter?”

Evelyn started and looked up at the young man standing before her. “I beg your pardon?”

He grinned. She was unimpressed, but he sat down next to her. “Looks like you’re struggling with it,” he said mildly, nodding to the three balled-up pages around her. “I’m Fred.”

Under other circumstances, Evelyn wouldn’t have seen the harm in playing along. But she had to finish this letter, and he was breaking her concentration. “Look, Fred, I’m quite busy right now, so if you don’t mind—?”

“Not at all,” he said, making no effort to leave. Instead, he lay on the grass, pillowing his head on his arms, and stretched out, closing his eyes to the sun.

She glared down at him. “Do I need to move?”

“Why? You’re not bothering me. And I’m perfectly content to stay quiet until you’re done.”