The Baby Album

by Roz Denny Fox

  Jana Mitchell, who sat next to Gracie on the sofa, could easily have passed for a model. Her cocoa-brown skin was a shade lighter than her sleek hair. “What really upsets Gracie,” Jana said, walking over to greet Casey with a warm handshake. “Is that some of us can eat our way to Houston and back without gaining weight.”

  “I look at lettuce and gain ten pounds,” Gracie complained.

  Brenda hauled two big boxes of clothes into the room. She straightened and ran an eye over Casey’s still-slender frame. “Putting on weight is a necessary part of pregnancy. But it’s something to keep in mind. Wyatt would never say anything, but it might make him wonder.”

  Jana took the first dress from the box and shook it out. “I doubt Wyatt will notice that about Casey. Yes, our husbands probably do, but luckily, she’s only Wyatt’s employee, nothing more.”

  Casey let the chatter flow around her as the three friends began to fit the clothes to her body. She didn’t feel very lucky, no matter what Jana thought. All she’d ever wanted was a happy marriage. And here she carried a baby who wouldn’t even have a father. They didn’t understand what it was like to grow up fatherless.

  How she envied these women.

  “Ouch,” she said, reining in her wayward thoughts when Gracie accidentally poked her with a pin. Casey gave herself a mental shake. She was Wyatt’s employee. That was all. She wished she could ask Brenda if lustful thoughts were a side effect of pregnancy—like weight gain and tears. But she didn’t dare give Wyatt’s friends any ideas. Besides, it was clear from the discussion that the women had joined this conspiracy for Wyatt’s sake. The consensus seemed to be that the later Wyatt found out about her pregnancy, the less hurt he’d be by the reminder of his own lost baby.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY for Mike Granville’s in-laws was being held in a huge covered plaza the family had rented through the city’s Parks and Recreation department. Casey squeezed through clutches of people, hunting for the coach. Unfortunately, she was much later than she’d intended. It had taken a while to find parking in the busy Central district. There. She spotted the coach in a huddle of men. They were near one of several cash bars set up around the plaza’s perimeter. “Mr. Granville. Coach. Hi,” she said, sounding a bit breathless as she dashed up to him. “Casey Sinclair, from Keene Studio.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I remember you.”

  Casey smiled. “I’m ready to get started. Do you have a shot list for me?”

  “My wife will have something. She stopped by a minute ago looking for you. Pat,” he called to an attractive brunette in her mid-forties. She was busy directing a line of waiters and didn’t immediately respond to his summons.

  Once the last waiter left to serve guests, Mrs. Granville hurried over, offering up a tired smile.

  “Honey,” Mike said, “this is Wyatt Keene’s assistant, Casey Sinclair. Casey, my wife, Pat. I know she and her sister, Anna, have specific photos they want taken. I’ll leave you to discuss particulars,” he said, obviously glad to go back to his friends.

  “Anna and I planned for a smaller gathering,” Pat said wryly. “We made the mistake of telling our mother to invite whomever she liked. So now we have bridge partners, golf buddies, a travel club, a senior’s group. You name it, they’re here. And Mom wants pictures of virtually everyone. She gave me a list, but I don’t know who half these people are. I’ll take you over to my parents and they can direct you. My sister and I would like a picture of them cutting the cake. And Mike and Anna’s husband will each be giving a toast, so I’d like one of that. Mother asked if we could get candid shots of people seated at tables, too. At last count we had thirty set up.”

  “Thirty? I’d better get started. How long does the party last?” Casey hitched her camera bag higher on her shoulder and began to scan the guests.

  “The informal cocktail part goes until six. They’ll cut and serve cake after that, because some older friends may choose to leave before dark. Then there’s a buffet dinner while the band sets up for dancing until ten. If you can stay, we’d love some photos of Mom and Dad’s anniversary waltz.”

  Casey belatedly realized she’d forgotten to bring the larger memory chip she’d set out at the studio. She checked the one in her camera. As she feared, it was definitely too small to hold all the photos Pat Granville had mentioned. “I need to call Wyatt to see if he can bring me another digital chip. If you’ll introduce me to your folks, I’ll start on the candid shots while I wait for him.” Casey could only hope that he hadn’t already left the studio. They had passed each other as he arrived and Casey drove away.

  Pat had difficulty locating her parents, but eventually found them surrounded by well-wishers. She snagged her mother’s attention and introduced Casey to the vibrant couple.

  Casey jotted notes on a small pad she always kept in her camera bag. “I’ll check with you from time to time,” she finally told Letty Hart. “We’ll assemble family groups shortly before the caterer brings out the cake. Am I right to assume you’ll want pictures with your daughters individually? And perhaps another with their spouses?”

  Letty turned to her husband. “Does that sound good to you, Joe? The kids and grandkids will all want pictures with us.”

  The white-haired, nattily dressed man grabbed another glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. “Get ’em now,” Joe Hart instructed. “Next time the clan gathers will probably be at my funeral. Who’ll want pictures of a dead guy?”

  His wife smacked his arm. “Pay him no mind,” she said to Casey.

  As Letty pointed out certain friends they’d like pictures of, Casey made note of their identifying features. As quickly as possible, she excused herself to find a quiet corner and phone Wyatt.

  “Oh, good, you’re there,” she said when he answered the studio phone. “This little soiree of the Granvilles is more like an epic event. They want oodles of pictures and I left my four-gigabyte chip by the computer after I cleaned off the Moore photos. I hate to impose, but could you bring it to me?” She hurriedly gave him the address in case he’d forgotten it.

  “Slow down, Casey. I caught about every third word. Repeat, please.”

  She cupped a hand around her cell, restating her request while trying to block out the chatter and raucous laughter that was growing louder by the minute. Her quiet corner wasn’t so quiet, after all. She gave Wyatt a rundown on the list of pictures the family wanted.

  “That’s a much bigger job than I thought. Pat said it’d be pictures of her parents and a few family members and close friends. I haven’t booked an event in a long time. I should’ve gotten more specifics. Would you like me to bring my camera and help out when I drop off the chip?”

  Casey would love his help. But she wasn’t sure if accepting the offer would make Wyatt think she couldn’t handle her responsibilities. Most weddings demanded more time and patience than this party. However, she hadn’t eaten much today, and already the noise and the worry over forgetting the chip were making her lightheaded.

  As she vacillated, she found herself wondering what Angela Keene would have done.

  “Are you still there?” Wyatt shouted in Casey’s ear.

  “I’m here. But you’ve put me on the spot, Wyatt. Will you think I’m less capable if I say I’d like your help?” she asked frankly.

  “Isn’t that a bit paranoid?”

  “Probably. Look, suit yourself. Either way, I need the bigger chip.”

  “I’ll be fifteen minutes max. Keep an eye out for me.” The phone went dead.

  Casey clapped her free hand to her jumpy stomach. Wyatt had that effect on her; she couldn’t bring herself to think about why. Normally she loved working with all kinds of people. But with him she was as nervous as a flea on a hot skillet. She needed to get over that pronto if she wanted to keep her job.

  She dropped the phone back in her bag and smoothed a hand over the black jersey tunic she wore with dress pants. It was one of many stretchy outfits Brenda and her
friends had altered for her. Casey’s waistline had expanded again, or so the physician’s assistant had said at this morning’s appointment. Only a few centimeters, but Casey was still worried. How long could she keep up this charade before Wyatt noticed?

  Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, she got so busy trying to take advantage of the dwindling light that she forgot to watch for Wyatt—until he appeared less than a foot away and broke her concentration. She’d been down on one knee shooting a panoramic view of the anniversary couple and their grandchildren. As she finished then tried to stand, her heel caught on a cobblestone.

  “Whoops. Careful.” He let his camera bag slip off his shoulder as he steadied her. “I’ve been searching for you for the past five minutes,” he said. “You’re too short.”

  “One more picture and I’d have been hunting for you. Hand over the chip.” Casey ignored his petty complaint and simply held out her palm.

  “Got it right here.” Wyatt pulled the chip out of his bag, then started to rezip the pocket.

  “Wait. Let me give you the full one. Since you’re going to print the pictures, you can be responsible for the chips.”

  “Why aren’t you printing them?”

  Casey looked at him in surprise after installing the larger chip. “Wasn’t that our deal? I take pictures, you do the rest until orders pick up.”

  “They’re picking up. This morning I booked a wedding shower, a wedding and one home sitting for a generational photograph. Baby, mom, grandmother, great-grandmother. All as a result of the cards you sent out.”

  Casey clutched Wyatt’s arm and did a little dance of joy.

  Reacting to her unbridled enthusiasm, he broke into a grin.

  Suddenly they both realized the guests’ conversations were lagging as they stopped to stare at the two photographers.

  “Oops.” Casey sobered and tried to focus on business. “I forgot where we were for a minute. We still have a job to do.” She turned away to get a shot of the four-tiered cake being wheeled onto the patio.

  Wyatt wasn’t as willing to douse his high spirits. He left his bag on the floor, and kept his eyes on Casey. “You look different today,” he said, following a very thorough study. “Nice.”

  Casey stopped shooting, not sure what to make of this observation.

  Wyatt stuttered over his next words, likely unnerved by her frown. “Not that you haven’t I-looked nice before. You have. Today you look better, uh, dressier.” He threw up his hands. “I’ve dug myself into a deeper hole, haven’t I?”

  Casey didn’t want to say a thing that might cause him further reflection. He might suddenly remember seeing Brenda Moore in this outfit during her pregnancy.

  “Get your camera,” she said. “We need pictures of the couple cutting the cake, and Pat Granville and her sister requested we get shots of their husbands giving the champagne toast.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wyatt responded. Taking out his camera, he trailed after Casey as she squeezed through the crowed of guests, securing a prime location with a view of the cake-cutting ceremony.

  For the next several minutes they stood shoulder to shoulder, cameras whirring and clicking. They worked as a team until Mike Granville spotted them. Leaving his family, he clapped Wyatt on the back, and the two began talking sports.

  Casey heard Mike say he was glad to hear Wyatt would be back playing ball. She missed Wyatt’s response because waiters began moving among the guests, handing out champagne flutes.

  “We’ll talk more later,” Mike said, and left to take his place beside his wife at the cake table.

  A waiter offered Wyatt and Casey flutes of bubbly, which Wyatt accepted and Casey declined.

  “No champagne?” he asked, loudly enough that the waiter heard him and paused.

  “I don’t drink when I’m working.”

  “It’s okay. You’re with the boss,” Wyatt said jovially.

  The waiter turned back to Casey, apparently expecting her to change her mind.

  With a smile and shake of her head, she sent him on his way. “The highway from Austin to Round Rock is straight, long and boring. Add alcohol, and that’s a recipe for an accident,” she said at Wyatt’s questioning look.

  “I doubt a few sips of champagne will do any harm. Not if you’re staying until the dance is over at ten.”

  “Will we have to stay till the end? I thought once we had pictures of the band, and a few good shots of Letty and Joe during the anniversary waltz, that would be it.”

  “You don’t have to stay longer if you’d rather not, but Mike said we’re welcome to share the buffet at seven-thirty.”

  “That makes sense for you. You and the Granvilles are old friends. I’m just hired help.”

  “Where did you get that idea?” Wyatt asked, eyeing her quizzically. “I’ve probably only spoken to Pat Granville about three times. And once was when she booked this appointment. Besides, this party is for her parents—and you’ve probably spoken to them more than I have.”

  Casey elbowed Wyatt in the ribcage and motioned toward Mike, who’d held up his glass and was about to speak. She sidled closer and snapped a series of pictures. She assumed the man who gave the second toast must be Pat’s brother-in-law. He was more eloquent than Mike, and his words moved Letty Hart to tears.

  Casey captured the emotional moment, along with the honored couple’s sizzling kiss. As guests clapped and hooted, Joe Hart bowed. Pat rolled her eyes and passed her mother the knife to cut the cake. With that, the party started up again.

  Wyatt nudged Casey’s arm. “Do you cry when you photograph weddings, too?” he teased.

  Turning aside, she wiped her eyes, first on one shoulder, then the other. She started to say she never cried at weddings, but then remembered what Brenda Moore had said about pregnancy, causing a woman’s hormones to go wild. Casey didn’t know how she might react at future shoots. “Call me sentimental,” she eventually said. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

  Wyatt realized that most of the guests who’d been standing around them had now joined a line waiting for cake. Late afternoon sun streaked beneath the canopy and glinted off Casey’s short golden curls and damp cheeks.

  He took a clean tissue from his pocket and brushed away the last traces of her tears.

  Casey sprang back, her fingers flying to the cheek his fingers had touched.

  Wyatt couldn’t believe what he’d done, and had no defense against the thought rocketing through his mind. Wiping away tears was something he would’ve done for Angela. Except Angela would never have let him.

  Ignoring the incident was the best way to handle it. “So, who’s next on that list you have?” he asked briskly. He stuffed his tissue back in his pocket and snatched up his and Casey’s camera bags.

  She wiped her face one last time, just to be sure no wetness remained. “A great-grandchild. Letty and Joe asked for pictures with each of their extended family. I think it’s just wonderful that they have such a big family and they all seem so close. I saw their grandson across the plaza a minute ago. Shall we walk around to get there rather than cut through the crowd?” Wyatt gave his consent and followed even as Casey asked a new question.

  “You have a sister, don’t you? Do you see her much?”

  “No, Linda’s in California. Besides, she’s twelve years older than me so we’ve never been all that close,” he admitted.

  “That’s a big age difference. Are you from a second marriage?”

  “No. I was a late surprise. Mom used to embarrass the hell out of me. Still does when anyone’s around and she calls me her gift baby.”

  “Oh, but that’s nice. Better than calling you a mistake. I remember you saying she moved after your dad died.”

  “The farm was too much for her, so she sold it and went to Santa Clara, where Linda and her husband are college professors. Mom wanted to spend more time with her grandchildren. She said she’d be too old to play with any kids I might ever have. Seems she got that right,” he mumbled. “L
isten to me, rattling on again about personal stuff. This is supposed to be off limits.”

  Casey shrugged. “My fault for being nosy. Talking seemed a way of passing time while we wait for Lefty to finish cutting the cake.”

  “There’s a lot of waiting in event photography. That’s probably why I like taking livestock photos. It’s usually a pleasant drive out to a ranch. The owner leads his animal out. I snap three or four pictures from a couple of different angles. We shake hands and I’m back on the road. No stress, no fuss.”

  “Sounds boring to me. I like to coax just the right smile out of a subject. I also like experimenting with backgrounds. Speaking of which…I looked over your storage room. I can’t wait to use some of your fabulous holiday props.”

  “I don’t know what’s there. That was always Angela’s domain.”

  Casey didn’t want to see Wyatt frown again, so she quickly changed the subject. “I know you take pictures of sports teams for schools. Do you go to games and take the action shots, too?”

  “I did during college. Then I freelanced from home for a few years after I graduated. I sold sports pictures to newspapers. Angela didn’t like the uncertainty attached to freelancing. She wasn’t happy about me being gone four or more nights a week, either. Angela wanted a studio for security and a steadier income, but studio equipment’s expensive. We had some lean years…” he murmured.

  They’d stepped to the outskirts of the throng of invited guests. Wyatt leaned on one of the poles that supported the canopy. A remote expression sent waves of black shadows to already bleak eyes.

  Casey stifled a sigh. It seemed no subject having to do with family or work was safe where he was concerned. She was willing, at this point, to lapse into silence. But Wyatt spoke up again. “It was hard for me to give up those sporting events. In a way, she was right, though. The money from portraits and weddings was steadier. After I cut back, I kept busy with all the details of setting up the studio. Once Angela’s wedding business took off, I mostly did billing and matting and framing. That does get boring.”