“Absorbed?”
“Eaten up,” she says. “We’re closing. I didn’t want you to hear about it with the masses. We’ve known each other a long time, and I owe you the value of the upper hand going in there.”
The staff has been called together, and the watercooler buzz has gone from bad to worse.
“So that’s it?” I say. “What about thirty-two stupid ways to make lemonade?”
“We’ll wrap up these last few projects, then all the titles will be taken on by another house.”
“What about me?” I ask. “Are they taking me on, too?”
“They have their own photographers,” she says, her face a squinched-up apology. “Although I’m sure you could give them your resume. I’m sure they freelance. Maybe.”
I sigh.
“I really am sorry,” she says. “It’s still a month off, though.”
“Only a month?” I ask incredulously.
“You’ll have time to finish the lemonade book. You’ll get the photo credits and a nice check. Plus a little bit of a severance and some time to figure out what comes next.”
“There’s a severance?”
“Not much,” she admits. “A couple of months’ pay. One of the perks of being a staff photographer, if you want to look at it that way. You can apply for unemployment. Look for work.”
“Have a nervous breakdown.” I continue the obvious line of thinking.
“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I am. I really am, Nina. You came onboard at my insistence instead of freelancing and consulting, and I had hoped to give you a more steady and secure job. And it didn’t pan out.”
I’m grateful she doesn’t give me the “You’ll be ok” pep talk. She looks at her watch and excuses herself. Kids and a husband. Dinner, baths and bedtimes to adhere to.
I go home to my empty condo.
I want Dad. I want to talk to him. Hold-It-In Nina could let it out with him. I want to tell him about Oliver, about running into Jack, losing my job, about giving up. Dad was my flashlight in the dark, my spotlight in success, the sun, the moon, the fluorescents in my office—everything was lit by him. Now the power is out, and I’m stumbling around, banging my knee on the coffee table that I know is there but can’t see now that it’s dark.
I turn to the only thing of Dad’s that I took from Mom’s house. His old record player.
I put on his favorite song and pretend I’m not lost at sea.
In the still of the night . . .
I smile and begin to cry. I love this combination of emotion—the way one small thing can make you grieve and recover at the same time, sadness and hope in the same tears.
I held you, held you so tight . . .
. . . in the still of the night.
I sit on the couch and hug a throw pillow.
This is your lemonade year, I can almost hear Dad say to me. You’ll be all right, Sweet Pea. Come on, Big Guy. Give her just one good thing to turn it all around.
18
“I took him,” Ray says when I answer the phone. His voice sounds like he’s a recording on an old record.
I’m shooting one of the last lemonade photos over at Mom’s house. It’s a tea-infused concoction, which means I can use all of the unwanted tea Lola has given to Mom.
“Who’s that?” Lola asks, perched on the countertop across the kitchen from me.
“Is that Lola?” Ray asks, having heard her voice. “Pretend I’m not me.”
“Easier said than done,” I reply, stepping away from her as if a few feet will mute the sound of my voice.
“Do not tell her who is on the phone,” he says in a hushed, staccato voice. “Where are you?”
“Mom’s.”
“Nina,” Ray says, “do not tell anyone who you’re talking to.”
This is scaring me to death.
“It’s Oliver,” I lie to Lola in case she can discern a male voice. “Mom’s not home,” I say to Ray.
“Oh,” Lola says. “Tell the little hottie I said hello.”
“Who the heck is Oliver?” Ray asks. “What is Lola talking about?”
“Never mind,” I say and excuse myself from the kitchen so that Lola can’t hear me.
“Are you dating someone from TV too?” Ray says, distracted.
“He’s not on TV,” I say, hiding behind the dining room table like an idiot. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Wait a minute,” Ray says. “You’re dating someone?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“You’re not sure?” Ray says, and I can almost see his perplexed expression through the phone line. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s not important right now. What is going on?”
“I took him,” he says again. “Michael. I took him from the park.”
My brother is an idiot.
We knew that, girl.
Whose isn’t?
I always had a crush on Ray.
You guys are no help.
“Don’t say anything,” Ray says after I’ve said nothing. “I know it was stupid.”
“Understatement,” I say, my heart pounding. “Where is Nicole? Does she know you have him?”
“Yes,” Ray says, and I sigh loudly. “She’s pretty ticked at me about it though.”
Lola yells from the kitchen. “I’m going to drink this lemonade if you don’t come back in here soon.”
I feel like I’m in some twisted play.
“Start from the beginning,” I tell Ray. “And don’t leave anything out. What did you do?”
I sit down on the floor cross-legged and wait for the story that will likely send my brother back to jail, unless Nicole is more merciful than he deserves.
“I met them at the park,” Ray says. “It was great. Nicole was laughing, and Michael was talking to me about this new toy he just got. I swear, Nina, to anyone who didn’t know, we looked just like a real family.”
“And because things were going well, you decided to sabotage it?”
“No,” he says, and then I hear him speaking to Michael in a soft voice, “Finish that up and you can get another one.”
“Ray?”
“I asked Nicole if I could take him for a walk—just the two of us,” Ray says. “She said yes. He took my hand and went with me. Just like that. He likes me.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t.
“I don’t
