“He really likes you, Jules,” Chloe declared, her voice softer. “I mean, he really, really likes you.”
“I know,” Julianne admitted.
“Then why are you sitting around the house moping with me all the time?” Chloe asked, a smile crossing her face. “Go out there and get that boy back. Before he actually starts believing that you want nothing to do with him.”
“But—” Julianne began to protest.
“But nothing. You deserve to be happy. So go. Go and be happy with your boyfriend.” Chloe smiled and swatted Julianne’s arm. “I mean it—leave. I have a lot of celebrity gossip to catch up on.” Chloe slipped a copy of People out of her Guide to Cardiothoracic Surgery and opened it with a satisfied sigh. All Julianne could do was walk out of Chloe’s room, camera firmly in hand.
Moments later, Julianne found herself stalking around the side of the house like an incredibly obvious cat burglar. Just two months earlier, this kind of “casing the perimeter” would have meant that Jules was on the prowl with her super-spy hat on. Today it meant something entirely different to Julianne, though. Her digital camera was hanging from the ’60s-inspired strap around her neck, dangling at the ready. She was determined to photograph every angle, crevice, and shadow of the Kahn house before the Moores forced them out.
Even if she, Dad, and Chloe couldn’t hold on to their physical house, she was determined to create a photographic history of of it. She hadn’t decided whether she would frame each shot individually or piece them together in a mural. Dad had promised her free rein over the family room in their next house and, even though Chloe pointed out that it was slightly morbid, Julianne planned to erect a fitting tribute to their life-long home.
The new school year was rapidly approaching, and Julianne was still trying to wrap her brain around all that had transpired this summer. So much had happened over the last three months that it seemed crazy to Julianne that she was about to just slide back into another September at Palisades High School—the September of her senior year. She was trying to re-acclimate her brain to academic life by reciting the names and capitals of all fifty states, while she snapped her pictures of the house. Then, when she stopped to adjust the light meter on her camera to catch some shadows poking up from the sea grass that surrounded the house, something occurred to her. Despite all the end-of-summer stress, at this exact moment, she was at peace.
The sun was at her back. Her nose was filled with the salty air of an August afternoon in Southern California, and she was looking at her crazy life through the lens of a camera.
Even with the crushing loss of her home looming before her, Julianne was still able to create art. It was as easy as looking at life through her own eyes and being completely honest with her vision. Last week she’d taken three rolls of film—one black and white, one sepia toned, and one in eye-popping color—of the ocean view from the beach behind her house. It was the same landscape she had struggled to capture all summer. But viewed through the lens of her camera, the scene came together effortlessly.
Julianne worked her way methodically around the house, snapping pictures for the next three hours. She wanted to remember what the house looked like at every moment of every day—with every change of light. She was also determined not to let her last weeks in the house be a blur of crying and exhaustion. She planned to celebrate life in their little beach home until the Moores and their lawyers dragged her out the front door kicking, screaming, and snapping pictures of the whole mess.
Julianne was relieved to have wrapped everything up with her job at the site. Her courtyard mural had turned out fabulously, and she was thrilled to have such a great new piece to add to her portfolio. It was also a relief not to have to deal with questions from the guys on the crew about her and Remi.
As the sun slipped down behind the ocean, the sky did its slow-motion fade from brilliant navy blue to the cobalt-gray hybrid of a late summer night. Julianne walked down to the beachfront, her camera tapping against her sternum in time with her heartbeat.
Floating in the haze of her thoughts about her photography, the house, and the arrival of fall, Julianne was only half-aware that she was heading onto the Moores’
property. Beyond the jurisdiction of the orange trespass-ing signs, Julianne’s immediate instinct was to plop down on the sand at the bottom of the construction dunes. She snuggled down at the base of the dune and pulled her legs up in front of her.
You can miss him—it’s okay to miss him, Julianne told herself. She pulled her legs in close to her chest—careful not to disturb her camera—and looked out onto the empty ocean. After a few minutes of listening to the echo of the crashing waves, Julianne realized she was shivering slightly. She stood up, dusted the sand off the bottom of her jeans, and readied herself to head home.
She had only gone two steps toward her house when she saw light coming from one of the stark, minimalist rooms of the Moores’ glass house. Julianne peered up the hill and saw Remi backlit against the August night.
Even from her perch frozen at the bottom of the dune, Julianne could tell that Remi was arguing with someone. A moment more of peering into the massive glass mansion revealed the designer-suit-clad silhouette of Remi’s father. Remi’s face was twisted into a determined grimace, and he was gesticulating wildly with what appeared to be a roll of paper. His father’s arms were crossed tightly over his double-breasted suit and tie. Julianne instantly remembered that Remi had told her his father only wore imported silk ties, and she rolled her eyes in spite of
