Somewhere Only We Know(70)

Something fell into my lap. My eyes snapped open.

“I forgot about this,” Ren said from the front seat, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “That, um”—he cleared his throat—“guy. That guy you were with yesterday. It’s from him.”

I stared at the large white envelope and the scrawled handwriting on it: For Lucky.

Hastily written, slanted script. I felt light-headed and my breathing quickened.

“He found me in the hotel lobby last night somehow. That kid knows his way around.”

He sure did.

I tossed it back to Ren. “I don’t want it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I think you do.”

“Pardon?” I said. “Since when do you even care—”

The envelope was thrown back into my lap. “Trust me. Look at it.”

This was very out of character for Ren. He looked away then, absorbed in his phone. I picked up the envelope nervously and opened the already-torn seal.

A photo slid out. An eight-by-ten glossy of me. I was on the Sky Terrace looking at the view from Victoria Peak. The happiness in my expression as I looked over the city made my throat tighten up. I didn’t want to be reminded of this. My fingers trembled as I held the photo, unable to stop looking.

“You, um, might want to turn it around.”

I glanced up at Ren, confused. “What?”

He cleared his throat again and went back to his phone. For Pete’s sake.

I turned the photo around. Written in the same ballpoint blue ink:

Lucky,

I took this photo because you looked happy. And I want you to be happy. I believe in you so much. There isn’t a story anymore.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Jack

P.S. Thank you. For everything.





MONDAY NIGHT




Los Angeles





TUESDAY MORNING




Hong Kong





CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT


JACK


“You’ve been doing what?”

I gulped at the incredulity on my parents’ faces.

Ava was sitting on the sofa next to them, staring at me with wide eyes. Like, Bro. What. She pulled on her long black braid and shook her head.

I took a deep breath, standing awkwardly in the middle of my parents’ living room. “I’ve been lying to you guys and taking photos for a tabloid. As a side job.”

“A tabloid, Jack?” my dad asked, disgust and disappointment wrapped up in that one word. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, not able to look at me.

Even though I didn’t work there anymore, I needed to defend myself. In the past, I had shrugged everything off, okay with letting them think I was some restless bozo. But it wasn’t accurate anymore. “Yeah, a tabloid. Because I was good at it.”

“Good at chasing famous people around?” my dad asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

My mom threw him a look. “Let him talk.” My dad shook his head but didn’t say anything.

I pushed my hair back from my face and stared down at the coffee table. “It was more than sneaking into places and getting what I needed from people. I was able to tell stories through photographs.”

I looked up at my parents then. “I want to study photography.”

My dad’s eyebrows came together, confused. “Well, yeah, Jack, we know you like photography. We didn’t spend all that money on your camera for nothing. But now you want to study it?”

“Yes,” I said quickly before I lost my nerve. “And I don’t only like photography, I’m good at it, too.” There, I said it. There was something so vulnerable about claiming a passion, a skill. Even though I knew my photos were good, I had never felt comfortable in showing pride in my work. Until Lucky.

I kept talking. “I know it’s not practical, and you guys don’t approve. When I last mentioned it, you pretty much brushed off the idea. But I’m serious. I’ve had time to think about it. And I want to use my skills to do interesting work. Not chase after celebrities.”

There was silence and I glanced over at Ava, hoping for a friendly face. She smiled at me, still tugging on her braid. “You’re the best photographer I know,” she said, trying to be helpful.

I laughed nervously. “Um, thanks?”

“You are very good,” my mom finally said.

My eyes flew to her. “I am?”

Her expression softened. “Yes! Remember that year Ava’s school photos were so bad she cried for three whole days?”

Ava made a face. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Well, Jack did a make-up session. Remember those photos?” my mom asked, her eyebrows raised. “He captured your essence.”

I did remember. I had spent an hour with Ava in the yard right before dusk, having her run around, hair flying. Then, in a moment of calm, when she finally caught her breath, I snapped a bunch of photos of her with a blissful and flushed expression on her face. The sunlight soft and warm on her skin as it sank behind the hills.

Relief spread through my body, my shoulders less tense. “Thanks, Mom.”

My dad’s silence was deafening. We all turned to him. My mom finally poked him in the ribs.