The Photographer - Mary Carter (best romance ebooks .txt) 📗

After dinner, Natalie got in bed and read for half an hour. I returned to her room to say good night. She turned back one of the pages of The Giver by Lois Lowry to mark her place and then positioned the book on her nightstand.

I picked it up and looked at the jacket copy. “How’s the book?”

“It’s about a community where everyone’s assigned their life work,” she said. “No one gets to decide anything or choose anything.”

I studied the image of the man’s face on the cover.

“I’d like to have some choices,” she said.

“You’ll create your own choices,” I said, “like I do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

In the Straubs’ home office, I turned on the overhead lights and sat down at Amelia’s walnut desk, where I found two new Post-its. One read travel, and underneath were written several dates. Another read couples counselor and a phone number. Amelia’s inability to carry another child had obviously put a strain on the Straubs’ marriage. Of course, I felt deep concern for both of them, but I also had the exhilarating realization that the Straubs and I had crossed paths now for a reason. Perhaps, I was in a position to help them.

Next to Amelia’s keyboard, I noticed an exquisite pot of lip gloss. I opened the small gold jar to discover that it was fire-engine red. Amelia was a little old for such a bright color; it would make her look harsh. It was actually a better color for me. I applied a dab to my lips and returned the jar to its original spot. Next to her desk on the floor, a Post-it was stuck on top of an Asics shoebox with the word return scribbled on it. I looked inside and saw a pair of expensive running shoes. Before leaving the office, I examined the scene to make certain everything was returned to its original location. Then I turned out the lights.

I’d been dreaming about the Straubs’ master suite for two days, anticipating my opportunity for exploration. The moment I walked in, I felt a thrill. It was the intimacy of being in their bedroom, deep inside their lives. Swimming in the pool of their merged identities—woven into their larger family identity. The bedroom looked out over a patio and the backyard. Underneath grand casement windows trimmed with brass hardware, a built-in window seat extended the width of the room. Crisp white molding set off the ivory walls. The duvet resembled a watercolor, as did the silk rug. In Amelia’s closet and dressing room, the quality of the custom millwork equaled that of their kitchen cabinetry. Many thousands of dollars in clothing resided there.

It was the master bath that captivated me above all else. The photos I’d seen did not allow the eye to appreciate how each layer informed the other layers. It was a stunning vision of glazed silver floors, a polished stone vanity, large dramatic sconces, a spacious marble-lined shower with a rain showerhead, mosaic tile flooring, and an overscaled egg-shaped resin tub.

I approached the vanity and the built-in magnifying mirror attached to the wall in order to study my reflection: golden hair framing a youthful complexion and shiny red lips. It was not until last year, when I turned thirty-five, that I noticed a few fine lines in my forehead and, even then, only if I looked closely. In one of the top drawers of the vanity, I found several beautifully packaged skin creams, along with a thirty-dollar mascara, a seventy-dollar concealer, and a pair of tweezers that I used to remove several stray eyebrow hairs.

When finished at the mirror, I turned to take in the magnificence of the bathtub. I’d never bathed in such a tub. I considered how much time I had. It was 10 P.M. The Straubs definitely wouldn’t return home before eleven, and Amelia had indicated it would be later. If I were to take a bath, I’d have at least an hour before I’d have to worry about their arrival.

I pulled my shirt over my head, removed my bra, and examined my torso in the full-length mirror. I still had a flat stomach and a slender waist. I thought about conceiving and bearing a child. Childbirth can alter a woman’s body, sometimes permanently. I sat down on an Indonesian stool and pulled off my socks, my jeans, and my underwear, then stood naked in the lavish bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, savoring a sense of connection and intimacy with the Straubs. And also the power associated with claiming what I needed.

I considered the logistics of my bath. I ought not to use a towel for my bath, because I might not have time to wash and dry it. They would likely notice a damp towel or a damp tub. Maybe I needed to wait for my next visit and bring my own towel. The thought of postponing the bath brought my spirits down. I spied a damp towel draped over the towel bar and contemplated using that one. I leaned over to smell it and detected Amelia’s musky scent.

Still undecided, I returned to the bedroom to study the Straubs’ bed. A dozen pillows of various sizes and fabrics, and in various shades of blue, covered the upholstered headboard. I wanted to lie naked under their organic cotton sheets. Thoughts of Amelia and Fritz having sex entered my mind. Maybe they’d stopped having sex after all the miscarriages. Maybe it was too traumatic for them now.

Natalie’s face appeared in the doorway. Her body lurched back at the sight of me.

“Hi, Natalie.” I spoke in a calm tone, though a wave of panic ran through me. I spotted a throw draped over a nearby chair. “The craziest thing…” I wrapped the blanket tightly around my body. “Just a few minutes ago … Itzhak vomited. I was downstairs and lifting him off the porch. Awful for him. Really.” I avoided her eye contact. “So