Coming into Focus, page 14
A lump rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. The sun hit me in the eyes when I stepped off the bus, and it took me a minute to adjust.
“Hey, you.” His voice startled me as it rolled through me like the first time I heard it, setting fire to my insides and overcoming my common sense and good intentions. “Where are you headed?” He raised the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face, waiting for me to answer.
Don’t touch him, I said to myself, even as I closed the space between us.
I put my hands in his hair and got on my tiptoes to kiss him. He made a surprised sound, but his arms wound around me, and he kissed me back.
I told myself to move away, but when he captured my bottom lip with his teeth and gave a gentle tug, I couldn’t.
He slipped a warm hand under my sweater and pressed it against my bare back, pulling me more tightly against him. He was hard against me, and I’d never wanted anyone more in my life.
He bent his knees, hooked his hands behind the backs of my thighs, and lifted me off my feet. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on.
I was doomed to mimic my mom one way or another. I was about to become either a leaver, or a woman who gave in to lust or romance or whatever it was, and let a man take things off her shoulders.
The giving in to lust option was getting more likely—and more appealing—by the moment.
I couldn’t give in to it. I made myself let him go. When he set me back on my feet, I put distance between us, and cold surrounded me.
“Willa?”
I gathered my bags, which I’d carelessly dropped. He said my name one more time, but I turned away.
The only sound was the quiet crunch of gravel under my feet as I walked away.
Chapter Sixteen
I joined Hope and Uncle Ken in the Summer Fest media tent. We gathered around a round high-top table to plan our day. A dozen tables like ours were under the white canvas tent, all filled with other reporters and photographers. He kept his voice low because he was paranoid about someone spying on his “media strategy.” Given that his strategy was mostly “get good pictures,” I wasn’t sure it was groundbreaking enough to warrant spying, but maybe it was the rookie in me.
“I can’t even hear you,” I said. “Hang on.”
I climbed down awkwardly from my tall chair. The big plastic media pass hanging from the lanyard around my neck was caught by a gust of wind and hit me in the face. I pushed it away and struggled to pull my chair closer to the table, but it kept getting caught on the uneven grass, and my new camera bag hanging over the back made it even more unwieldy. I finally got the chair where I wanted it and scrambled back into it. I’d somehow managed to get my lanyard hooked around my knee in the process and nearly hung myself on the stupid thing before I got untangled again.
“You doing all right?” Uncle Ken asked me.
“I’m great.”
Hope smiled. “Nervous, Willa?”
“Not at all.” She was the picture of rock-and-roll confidence. “I just don’t know why they make these damn cords so long,” I said. Although both Hope and Uncle Ken were doing fine in theirs. Theirs must be custom-made, I thought.
He leaned forward again and lowered his voice. “Okay. Listen. Hope, you and I will switch off between the main stage and the second stage. Willa, you can be wherever you want until Apostolic’s set, then I need you in front. Make sure Benny sees you and get as many photos of him as you can. Other than that, get a few candids of the bands backstage, or watching other bands. Charlie will be at the second stage, and Margo will be back and forth.” He checked his notes. “No pressure, Willa, but I’d like to put Apostolic on the cover, so get me a strong vertical. If you get a strong horizontal, we could do a three-quarters spread on the inside.”
I wasn’t worried. Onstage photographs weren’t my sweet spot, but it was difficult to get a bad photo of Benny, with or without Jimm—other people—as window dressing.
“I got it.” I slid back out of my chair, put my camera bag on the table, and unzipped it, checking for the twentieth time that everything was where I’d put it.
When an arm went around my shoulders, I recognized the scent of cloves. My involuntary response was to blush. Benny pulled me into his arms for a close hug. I glanced over his shoulder for his girlfriend.
“She’s not here,” he whispered in my ear, sending tingles down my spine. In a normal tone, he said, “I didn’t get to say goodbye to you last time we were together.” He gave me an inside-joke-between-the-two-or-three-of-us sort of grin.
I fought the urge to fan my face. “Hi, Benny. It’s good to see you again.”
“Where’s Jimmy? I wasn’t sure he’d let you come at all, but I was sure he’d have you on a short leash if he did.”
I glared at him. “He didn’t ‘let’ me come.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you go rogue?”
“I didn’t have to go rogue since I don’t have to ask his permission for anything.” I didn’t have to ask Oliver’s permission either, so it was annoying as hell to have images of him on a permanent loop of guilt and restlessness.
“Oh, right.” Benny snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. You’re your own Willa. You mentioned that.” I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. He probably was, but either way—he was right. I was my own Willa, now more than ever.
He reached behind me and tugged on a plastic adjuster, shortening my lanyard to a more comfortable length, and adjusted the clip on the badge so it laid flat.
“I don’t work for him anymore.” It sounded like I was stating a simple fact. Nobody would sense my second thoughts about what I’d given up and who I’d hurt to do it.
I had taken charge of my own life. I wasn’t going to fall back on old habits of putting everyone else first. I told myself that defaulting to caregiving was self-sabotage. I made enough noise about being my own woman; now it was time to act like it. Did I miss the guys? Yes. Yes, I did. It didn’t change anything. I’d done what I’d had to do. When forced to choose between what they wanted and what I needed, I chose myself.
Jimmy had made it clear: There was no middle ground. Now I was like Josette to him. I was gone, so I was gone. Now it was just Toby and me. Toby didn’t need me like he used to… but surely it was better for him to have me nearby.
I wanted to call Oliver every single day, but I couldn’t let myself give in. There was no gain on that play. I wasn’t going back. There was nothing to say.
Maybe I was also a tiny bit scared of what he’d say to me.
I made a deliberate effort to bring myself back to the moment. To my dream career, which was coming into focus right now.
Benny tilted his head, all fake sympathy. “Aw, Willa. Trouble in paradise? The two of you seemed so close. You and Jimmy were open to sharing everyone—I mean everything.”
I widened my eyes at him, trying to get him to cool it with the threesome jokes in front of my uncle, but he wasn’t sorry. He waggled his eyebrows at me. Then he asked, “Are you looking for a job?”
“Why, are you going to hire me?” I joked.
Before he could respond, Uncle Ken chimed in. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ken Pilkington from Offstage. Willa works for me.”
Benny made small talk with Uncle Ken for a few minutes, then gave me another hug. “Find me later, Willa,” he said into my ear. Then he was gone.
~ * ~
I wished I’d been able to take more joy in the rest of the day because it was something I could only fantasize about a few short months earlier. The Regrets were on the second stage, and I’d gotten some great images of them. I’d been in front of the barrier for Apostolic. Benny played it up for my camera. My memory card was filled with cover-worthy images by the time I was done.
When Apostolic finished their set and took their bows, he made eye contact with me and jerked his head toward the side of the stage, gesturing toward the VIP tent. I debated with myself. Spending time with Benny Walker wasn’t just cool—it was a professional opportunity I couldn’t allow myself to miss.
I allowed myself to miss it anyway. I didn’t have the heart for it. I texted Uncle Ken and Hope: Got great stuff! Will show you tomorrow. Gonna call it a night.
I drove home with the stereo off, soaking in the quiet after a day of being under sonic bombardment. I let myself in the dark house, closed the door with my foot, and dropped my keys in the dish. I made my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge—nothing more than Chinese take-out I was pretty sure was from before I left and a single, lonely Coke can.
I snagged the Coke.
I sat at the kitchen table, seeing the room with fresh eyes.
The kitchen cupboards used to be a cheerful yellow but were dingy now. The counters were dusty, and the faucet was dripping. I stared at the harvest gold fridge, not sure if I should laugh or cry. I hadn’t really seen it in years. There was a painting held by magnets. It was a picture of me that Toby drew in second or third grade. I had disproportionate arms and legs, with a serious face and braids on either side of my head. Apart from the fact that I’d only ever dreamed of having long legs, it was a decent likeness of who I’d been then. Now the edges of the paper were yellowed and curling, but my face was just as unsmiling at the moment.
I snatched the painting off the fridge, throwing it and the magnets in the trash.
I reconsidered and took the painting back out. I put it under the old phone book on top of the fridge. There. Progress! I did a thing.
Maybe tomorrow I’d do another thing.
This was going to be my home again. I supposed it was time to make it more mine. Mine and Toby’s. I could work on a couple projects. Do a search for how to fix the faucet. Paint the cupboards, maybe.
I looked at the refrigerator door again, and a scrap of paper held by a magnet from the local pizza place caught my eye. “Mom” was written in vaguely familiar handwriting above a phone number.
“Mom.” Psh. Hell with her. I didn’t intend to talk to her any time soon, but if I ever did, I would call her by her damn name. I wasn’t ever going to call that woman “mom” again. She’d be Susan, or even better, she’d be nothing because I wouldn’t have to talk to her.
~ * ~
It was good to have a project in the weeks after Summer Fest. Toby was gone most of the time. He’d embraced his new life, and I felt guilty for having doubted him. He’d thrown himself into it. A lot of nights, he didn’t come home at all, deciding to stay and crash at a friend’s house after a late night of homework.
I worked in the lab, stretching it to ten hours or even more if I could. I met my uncle for dinner a few times. I went to the bar for drinks with Hope. I still had too much empty time.
This was good, I reminded myself. I’d continue to put in my lab time while the assignments gradually increased in frequency and status. There was no glass ceiling for me at the magazine because Hope Harper already shattered it. If I was willing to put in the work and the time—and I was—there was no limit to how high I could go. Head photographer, photo editor, anything was possible.
All my dreams were coming true, so why did I feel hollow? I must be hungry, I decided. Not unhappy. Not unfulfilled.
I was thinking about what to make for dinner when Toby came in. I was surprised and relieved he was there. Now I could concentrate on something else. “Toby! Hi! Hey! I’m glad you’re home! Have you eaten? Can I make you something?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need you to make me any food.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m not busy!”
“I’m sure. We need to talk.”
My head dropped forward. Conversations that opened with “we need to talk” were never good.
Toby laughed. “Everything is fine. Don’t be such a doomsday diva.”
“A ‘doomsday diva’? That’s a new one, college boy.” I followed him into the living room and sat on the couch. He sat in Dad’s chair.
I got back up and got him a glass of water. Toby was never drinking enough water. He was chronically dehydrated.
“Thanks.” He set it on the side table next to him. “Listen, what are your long-term goals with the house?”
Perched on the arm of the couch, I glanced around, liking what I saw. It was more modern, looked more lived-in. I’d found a cool throw rug at an estate sale last weekend, and the black and gray tones brought a hint of chic to the room. I’d covered the brown plaid couch in a crisp white slipcover and added some playful black and white polka-dotted throw pillows.
Maybe Toby was sentimental. This was our childhood home, after all. “Does it bother you? I was trying to freshen things a bit. Make it more modern.”
“We should sell it.”
So much for sentimental.
“Sell it? Are you crazy? No. It just occurred to me we haven’t done anything with it since Dad died, and it was time. I’m not going to sell it.”
“Why are we keeping it, Willa?”
I blinked at him for a few moments and then launched myself off the couch. “I have to go to work. I forgot a thing I need to do with a thing.”
Toby stood and caught my arm before I could get away. “This conversation isn’t going to be any easier for you tomorrow than it is right now. Sit down, and let’s do it.”
“No, I really have to—” I trailed off when he shook his head. He wasn’t going to let me off the hook. I dropped onto the couch. Toby was chock-full of surprises lately, and they weren’t all good. “I don’t want to sell our home. I just want to update it a bit.” I gestured at Dad’s old chair. Even when Toby got up, the seat would show a permanent dent in the shape of Dad’s butt. “We might even want to save for some new furniture, for example. You are sitting in the chair dad literally died in. Doesn’t it bother you?”
He looked at the chair with horror. “Ugh. Well, yeah. Now it does. Thanks a lot.” He dragged a chair in from the kitchen and sat in that, facing me. “Nice attempt to distract me, but it won’t work. Let’s go. Why shouldn’t we sell the house?”
“Um, because we live here?” I suggested with overblown sarcasm.
He was unfazed. “Sort of. I’m at school most of the time, and when I’m not, I crash with Chelsea. I’ve been coming home every few days because you’re here, but it’d be a lot easier for me to get an apartment near school.”
“Who is Chelsea?”
“She’s my girlfriend.” He grinned. “You probably could have puzzled it through when I said I’m sleeping at her place.”
“But—but—you said you were studying.”
“Sometimes we study.” He grinned. “Sometimes we do other things.”
I frowned at him. “I mean, like at the library. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
“I do. Her name is Chelsea.”
“Congratulations. I’m happy for you. I would love to meet her,” I said, lowering myself into the pit of lies I was digging. In reality, there was only one woman in the entire world I was less interested in hanging out with, and that was our mom. Well, and Benny Walker’s girlfriend. “So you only live here part-time. Okay. I live here.”
He smiled at me again. “I’m glad you brought this up,” he said. “Since you’ve been back, it’s seemed like you don’t want to talk about what happened or what your plans are. I’m glad you’re ready to share. I’m ready to listen, sis.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. He got comfortable in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and watched me with a smile. “Go on,” he said when I stopped laughing. “I’m all ears. Why did you leave your dream job? Are you just working for Uncle Ken now? What happened with your rock and roll bros? Why did you leave them? Are you going back?”
“I’m not going back, it wasn’t my dream job, and they’re not bros. Ridiculous on every level.”
“I’m listening.”
I explained it to him. Jimmy wouldn’t let me come home to do this, my contract didn’t allow me to work on my portfolio, and I never planned on it being forever anyway. “It was an intermission,” I said. “It wasn’t ever going to be a career. Now I’m getting the cover from Summer Fest, and Hope has given me some small assignments. I got some good ones of another band the other night. I’m easing my way into working for the magazine more.” I attempted a cheerful smile. “Yay!”
He studied me with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on? It’s what you used to want, but you obviously aren’t happy now you’re getting it. Why?”
I hadn’t spent so much time with Jimmy without learning a few tricks. I didn’t want to think about what Toby was asking me, so I didn’t. I kept talking instead. “Anyway, I’m already making enough money selling photos here that I only have to work one other job. Soon photography will be all I do. It’ll be great. We can go back to the way things were.”
Even as I said the words, I knew they weren’t true.
We weren’t going to go back to the way things were.
Goddamn Chelsea, for one thing. She was a complication I hadn’t foreseen. Toby didn’t date much in high school and never seriously. This hadn’t even been on my radar.
Toby ran a hand through his hair, a sign he was stalling. I waited.
“Willa, here’s what I need you to understand,” he said. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“Toby—”
“No, please listen to me. I used to need you to, and you did. I’m grateful for it.” He sniffed and cleared his throat. “When I decided to go to school, I didn’t handle it gracefully, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.” He paused, then said, “Don’t talk yet. I’m not finished.”
I mimed zipping my lips.
He sipped the water I’d brought him, then put the glass back on the table. “When Mom left, and I had my surgery, when I lost my leg… you’re what got me through those things. It should have been Mom, but she was gone. Or it should have been Dad, but he didn’t have the strength to do it. You’re the one who raised me, and you shouldn’t have had to. I never realized how much I depended on you until you went to college, and Dad and I couldn’t hack it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we needed you to come back home. You put everything on hold for me, and I never said thank you.” He took a breath. “So, you know. Thank you.”
“Hey, you.” His voice startled me as it rolled through me like the first time I heard it, setting fire to my insides and overcoming my common sense and good intentions. “Where are you headed?” He raised the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face, waiting for me to answer.
Don’t touch him, I said to myself, even as I closed the space between us.
I put my hands in his hair and got on my tiptoes to kiss him. He made a surprised sound, but his arms wound around me, and he kissed me back.
I told myself to move away, but when he captured my bottom lip with his teeth and gave a gentle tug, I couldn’t.
He slipped a warm hand under my sweater and pressed it against my bare back, pulling me more tightly against him. He was hard against me, and I’d never wanted anyone more in my life.
He bent his knees, hooked his hands behind the backs of my thighs, and lifted me off my feet. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on.
I was doomed to mimic my mom one way or another. I was about to become either a leaver, or a woman who gave in to lust or romance or whatever it was, and let a man take things off her shoulders.
The giving in to lust option was getting more likely—and more appealing—by the moment.
I couldn’t give in to it. I made myself let him go. When he set me back on my feet, I put distance between us, and cold surrounded me.
“Willa?”
I gathered my bags, which I’d carelessly dropped. He said my name one more time, but I turned away.
The only sound was the quiet crunch of gravel under my feet as I walked away.
Chapter Sixteen
I joined Hope and Uncle Ken in the Summer Fest media tent. We gathered around a round high-top table to plan our day. A dozen tables like ours were under the white canvas tent, all filled with other reporters and photographers. He kept his voice low because he was paranoid about someone spying on his “media strategy.” Given that his strategy was mostly “get good pictures,” I wasn’t sure it was groundbreaking enough to warrant spying, but maybe it was the rookie in me.
“I can’t even hear you,” I said. “Hang on.”
I climbed down awkwardly from my tall chair. The big plastic media pass hanging from the lanyard around my neck was caught by a gust of wind and hit me in the face. I pushed it away and struggled to pull my chair closer to the table, but it kept getting caught on the uneven grass, and my new camera bag hanging over the back made it even more unwieldy. I finally got the chair where I wanted it and scrambled back into it. I’d somehow managed to get my lanyard hooked around my knee in the process and nearly hung myself on the stupid thing before I got untangled again.
“You doing all right?” Uncle Ken asked me.
“I’m great.”
Hope smiled. “Nervous, Willa?”
“Not at all.” She was the picture of rock-and-roll confidence. “I just don’t know why they make these damn cords so long,” I said. Although both Hope and Uncle Ken were doing fine in theirs. Theirs must be custom-made, I thought.
He leaned forward again and lowered his voice. “Okay. Listen. Hope, you and I will switch off between the main stage and the second stage. Willa, you can be wherever you want until Apostolic’s set, then I need you in front. Make sure Benny sees you and get as many photos of him as you can. Other than that, get a few candids of the bands backstage, or watching other bands. Charlie will be at the second stage, and Margo will be back and forth.” He checked his notes. “No pressure, Willa, but I’d like to put Apostolic on the cover, so get me a strong vertical. If you get a strong horizontal, we could do a three-quarters spread on the inside.”
I wasn’t worried. Onstage photographs weren’t my sweet spot, but it was difficult to get a bad photo of Benny, with or without Jimm—other people—as window dressing.
“I got it.” I slid back out of my chair, put my camera bag on the table, and unzipped it, checking for the twentieth time that everything was where I’d put it.
When an arm went around my shoulders, I recognized the scent of cloves. My involuntary response was to blush. Benny pulled me into his arms for a close hug. I glanced over his shoulder for his girlfriend.
“She’s not here,” he whispered in my ear, sending tingles down my spine. In a normal tone, he said, “I didn’t get to say goodbye to you last time we were together.” He gave me an inside-joke-between-the-two-or-three-of-us sort of grin.
I fought the urge to fan my face. “Hi, Benny. It’s good to see you again.”
“Where’s Jimmy? I wasn’t sure he’d let you come at all, but I was sure he’d have you on a short leash if he did.”
I glared at him. “He didn’t ‘let’ me come.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you go rogue?”
“I didn’t have to go rogue since I don’t have to ask his permission for anything.” I didn’t have to ask Oliver’s permission either, so it was annoying as hell to have images of him on a permanent loop of guilt and restlessness.
“Oh, right.” Benny snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. You’re your own Willa. You mentioned that.” I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. He probably was, but either way—he was right. I was my own Willa, now more than ever.
He reached behind me and tugged on a plastic adjuster, shortening my lanyard to a more comfortable length, and adjusted the clip on the badge so it laid flat.
“I don’t work for him anymore.” It sounded like I was stating a simple fact. Nobody would sense my second thoughts about what I’d given up and who I’d hurt to do it.
I had taken charge of my own life. I wasn’t going to fall back on old habits of putting everyone else first. I told myself that defaulting to caregiving was self-sabotage. I made enough noise about being my own woman; now it was time to act like it. Did I miss the guys? Yes. Yes, I did. It didn’t change anything. I’d done what I’d had to do. When forced to choose between what they wanted and what I needed, I chose myself.
Jimmy had made it clear: There was no middle ground. Now I was like Josette to him. I was gone, so I was gone. Now it was just Toby and me. Toby didn’t need me like he used to… but surely it was better for him to have me nearby.
I wanted to call Oliver every single day, but I couldn’t let myself give in. There was no gain on that play. I wasn’t going back. There was nothing to say.
Maybe I was also a tiny bit scared of what he’d say to me.
I made a deliberate effort to bring myself back to the moment. To my dream career, which was coming into focus right now.
Benny tilted his head, all fake sympathy. “Aw, Willa. Trouble in paradise? The two of you seemed so close. You and Jimmy were open to sharing everyone—I mean everything.”
I widened my eyes at him, trying to get him to cool it with the threesome jokes in front of my uncle, but he wasn’t sorry. He waggled his eyebrows at me. Then he asked, “Are you looking for a job?”
“Why, are you going to hire me?” I joked.
Before he could respond, Uncle Ken chimed in. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ken Pilkington from Offstage. Willa works for me.”
Benny made small talk with Uncle Ken for a few minutes, then gave me another hug. “Find me later, Willa,” he said into my ear. Then he was gone.
~ * ~
I wished I’d been able to take more joy in the rest of the day because it was something I could only fantasize about a few short months earlier. The Regrets were on the second stage, and I’d gotten some great images of them. I’d been in front of the barrier for Apostolic. Benny played it up for my camera. My memory card was filled with cover-worthy images by the time I was done.
When Apostolic finished their set and took their bows, he made eye contact with me and jerked his head toward the side of the stage, gesturing toward the VIP tent. I debated with myself. Spending time with Benny Walker wasn’t just cool—it was a professional opportunity I couldn’t allow myself to miss.
I allowed myself to miss it anyway. I didn’t have the heart for it. I texted Uncle Ken and Hope: Got great stuff! Will show you tomorrow. Gonna call it a night.
I drove home with the stereo off, soaking in the quiet after a day of being under sonic bombardment. I let myself in the dark house, closed the door with my foot, and dropped my keys in the dish. I made my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge—nothing more than Chinese take-out I was pretty sure was from before I left and a single, lonely Coke can.
I snagged the Coke.
I sat at the kitchen table, seeing the room with fresh eyes.
The kitchen cupboards used to be a cheerful yellow but were dingy now. The counters were dusty, and the faucet was dripping. I stared at the harvest gold fridge, not sure if I should laugh or cry. I hadn’t really seen it in years. There was a painting held by magnets. It was a picture of me that Toby drew in second or third grade. I had disproportionate arms and legs, with a serious face and braids on either side of my head. Apart from the fact that I’d only ever dreamed of having long legs, it was a decent likeness of who I’d been then. Now the edges of the paper were yellowed and curling, but my face was just as unsmiling at the moment.
I snatched the painting off the fridge, throwing it and the magnets in the trash.
I reconsidered and took the painting back out. I put it under the old phone book on top of the fridge. There. Progress! I did a thing.
Maybe tomorrow I’d do another thing.
This was going to be my home again. I supposed it was time to make it more mine. Mine and Toby’s. I could work on a couple projects. Do a search for how to fix the faucet. Paint the cupboards, maybe.
I looked at the refrigerator door again, and a scrap of paper held by a magnet from the local pizza place caught my eye. “Mom” was written in vaguely familiar handwriting above a phone number.
“Mom.” Psh. Hell with her. I didn’t intend to talk to her any time soon, but if I ever did, I would call her by her damn name. I wasn’t ever going to call that woman “mom” again. She’d be Susan, or even better, she’d be nothing because I wouldn’t have to talk to her.
~ * ~
It was good to have a project in the weeks after Summer Fest. Toby was gone most of the time. He’d embraced his new life, and I felt guilty for having doubted him. He’d thrown himself into it. A lot of nights, he didn’t come home at all, deciding to stay and crash at a friend’s house after a late night of homework.
I worked in the lab, stretching it to ten hours or even more if I could. I met my uncle for dinner a few times. I went to the bar for drinks with Hope. I still had too much empty time.
This was good, I reminded myself. I’d continue to put in my lab time while the assignments gradually increased in frequency and status. There was no glass ceiling for me at the magazine because Hope Harper already shattered it. If I was willing to put in the work and the time—and I was—there was no limit to how high I could go. Head photographer, photo editor, anything was possible.
All my dreams were coming true, so why did I feel hollow? I must be hungry, I decided. Not unhappy. Not unfulfilled.
I was thinking about what to make for dinner when Toby came in. I was surprised and relieved he was there. Now I could concentrate on something else. “Toby! Hi! Hey! I’m glad you’re home! Have you eaten? Can I make you something?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need you to make me any food.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m not busy!”
“I’m sure. We need to talk.”
My head dropped forward. Conversations that opened with “we need to talk” were never good.
Toby laughed. “Everything is fine. Don’t be such a doomsday diva.”
“A ‘doomsday diva’? That’s a new one, college boy.” I followed him into the living room and sat on the couch. He sat in Dad’s chair.
I got back up and got him a glass of water. Toby was never drinking enough water. He was chronically dehydrated.
“Thanks.” He set it on the side table next to him. “Listen, what are your long-term goals with the house?”
Perched on the arm of the couch, I glanced around, liking what I saw. It was more modern, looked more lived-in. I’d found a cool throw rug at an estate sale last weekend, and the black and gray tones brought a hint of chic to the room. I’d covered the brown plaid couch in a crisp white slipcover and added some playful black and white polka-dotted throw pillows.
Maybe Toby was sentimental. This was our childhood home, after all. “Does it bother you? I was trying to freshen things a bit. Make it more modern.”
“We should sell it.”
So much for sentimental.
“Sell it? Are you crazy? No. It just occurred to me we haven’t done anything with it since Dad died, and it was time. I’m not going to sell it.”
“Why are we keeping it, Willa?”
I blinked at him for a few moments and then launched myself off the couch. “I have to go to work. I forgot a thing I need to do with a thing.”
Toby stood and caught my arm before I could get away. “This conversation isn’t going to be any easier for you tomorrow than it is right now. Sit down, and let’s do it.”
“No, I really have to—” I trailed off when he shook his head. He wasn’t going to let me off the hook. I dropped onto the couch. Toby was chock-full of surprises lately, and they weren’t all good. “I don’t want to sell our home. I just want to update it a bit.” I gestured at Dad’s old chair. Even when Toby got up, the seat would show a permanent dent in the shape of Dad’s butt. “We might even want to save for some new furniture, for example. You are sitting in the chair dad literally died in. Doesn’t it bother you?”
He looked at the chair with horror. “Ugh. Well, yeah. Now it does. Thanks a lot.” He dragged a chair in from the kitchen and sat in that, facing me. “Nice attempt to distract me, but it won’t work. Let’s go. Why shouldn’t we sell the house?”
“Um, because we live here?” I suggested with overblown sarcasm.
He was unfazed. “Sort of. I’m at school most of the time, and when I’m not, I crash with Chelsea. I’ve been coming home every few days because you’re here, but it’d be a lot easier for me to get an apartment near school.”
“Who is Chelsea?”
“She’s my girlfriend.” He grinned. “You probably could have puzzled it through when I said I’m sleeping at her place.”
“But—but—you said you were studying.”
“Sometimes we study.” He grinned. “Sometimes we do other things.”
I frowned at him. “I mean, like at the library. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
“I do. Her name is Chelsea.”
“Congratulations. I’m happy for you. I would love to meet her,” I said, lowering myself into the pit of lies I was digging. In reality, there was only one woman in the entire world I was less interested in hanging out with, and that was our mom. Well, and Benny Walker’s girlfriend. “So you only live here part-time. Okay. I live here.”
He smiled at me again. “I’m glad you brought this up,” he said. “Since you’ve been back, it’s seemed like you don’t want to talk about what happened or what your plans are. I’m glad you’re ready to share. I’m ready to listen, sis.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. He got comfortable in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and watched me with a smile. “Go on,” he said when I stopped laughing. “I’m all ears. Why did you leave your dream job? Are you just working for Uncle Ken now? What happened with your rock and roll bros? Why did you leave them? Are you going back?”
“I’m not going back, it wasn’t my dream job, and they’re not bros. Ridiculous on every level.”
“I’m listening.”
I explained it to him. Jimmy wouldn’t let me come home to do this, my contract didn’t allow me to work on my portfolio, and I never planned on it being forever anyway. “It was an intermission,” I said. “It wasn’t ever going to be a career. Now I’m getting the cover from Summer Fest, and Hope has given me some small assignments. I got some good ones of another band the other night. I’m easing my way into working for the magazine more.” I attempted a cheerful smile. “Yay!”
He studied me with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on? It’s what you used to want, but you obviously aren’t happy now you’re getting it. Why?”
I hadn’t spent so much time with Jimmy without learning a few tricks. I didn’t want to think about what Toby was asking me, so I didn’t. I kept talking instead. “Anyway, I’m already making enough money selling photos here that I only have to work one other job. Soon photography will be all I do. It’ll be great. We can go back to the way things were.”
Even as I said the words, I knew they weren’t true.
We weren’t going to go back to the way things were.
Goddamn Chelsea, for one thing. She was a complication I hadn’t foreseen. Toby didn’t date much in high school and never seriously. This hadn’t even been on my radar.
Toby ran a hand through his hair, a sign he was stalling. I waited.
“Willa, here’s what I need you to understand,” he said. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“Toby—”
“No, please listen to me. I used to need you to, and you did. I’m grateful for it.” He sniffed and cleared his throat. “When I decided to go to school, I didn’t handle it gracefully, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.” He paused, then said, “Don’t talk yet. I’m not finished.”
I mimed zipping my lips.
He sipped the water I’d brought him, then put the glass back on the table. “When Mom left, and I had my surgery, when I lost my leg… you’re what got me through those things. It should have been Mom, but she was gone. Or it should have been Dad, but he didn’t have the strength to do it. You’re the one who raised me, and you shouldn’t have had to. I never realized how much I depended on you until you went to college, and Dad and I couldn’t hack it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we needed you to come back home. You put everything on hold for me, and I never said thank you.” He took a breath. “So, you know. Thank you.”
