“Take your time,” Wyatt said.
“Really?” she asked, not quite believing he meant it.
“Well, take another minute or two,” he corrected himself. “Then take a look at these.” He dropped a contact sheet on her desk.
“What’s this?” Sara asked, glancing down at the rows of miniature black-and-white images.
“The roll of film you just shot,” Wyatt replied. He handed her a magnifying glass. “Take a look and tell me what you think. But finish that copy first.”
Sara rolled her eyes, made some final adjustments to the paragraph about the performers, and printed out her story.
While Wyatt read her copy, Sara picked up the magnifying glass and began to examine the pictures. “This one of Digger painting the toy train is pretty decent,” she said.
“Agreed. We’re definitely going to use that one,” Wyatt said, making her feel good.
“Hmmm . . . none of these shots of Sophie Potter came out. Why did I keep clicking the shutter when she was blinking?”
“Yeah, that’s one of the great challenges of contemporary photography—snapping the picture when your subject’s eyes are open.”
Sara ignored his sarcasm, continuing her examination of the contact sheet. “Oh, I got the one of Reverend Ben balancing that spinning plate on his finger!” she exclaimed, with delight. “He dropped it a second after I took the shot. I was sure it was going to be one big blur.”
“I want to use that in the center of the spread. And I’m going to use that one of Betty Bowen carrying the stack of wreaths.”
Wyatt had pronounced all of his judgments while staring at her article. Now he met her eyes. “You did okay on the photographs, Sara. And you’ve got a couple of typos here, but the article’s pretty good, too. You make it seem like the fair was really fun.”
“Thanks,” Sara said. “It was.” She knew that wasn’t a very articulate response, but she was so unused to Wyatt’s praise that it was all she could come up with.
Flustered, she busied herself with the contact sheet again. “Oh,” she said, as she saw one she hadn’t noticed before. It was the first one she’d taken of Jessica and Emily. The two sisters looked like they were having a great time just being together, and Sara thought they both looked beautiful. “This one of Emily and Jessica—” she started to say.
Wyatt frowned and picked up the contact sheet. “Well, it’s a good portrait of them, but it doesn’t have much editorial content. I want to go with the choices I’ve made.”
“No, I don’t mean for the paper,” Sara said. She felt shy, as she asked him for a favor. “I was actually wondering if I could have the negative for it, so I could take it into a photo shop and have prints made. If I frame them, they’ll make the perfect Christmas presents for Emily and Jessica.”
“That’s my favorite last-minute gift idea, too,” Wyatt said, smiling. “Don’t worry. I can make a few prints for you.”
“You can?” she asked in surprise. “But you barely have time—”
“All these pictures will fill out Monday’s edition. I’ll just finish the layout and send it off to the printer. Then I’ll do your prints, no problem.”
“Okay,” Sara said, wondering why he was being so nice to her. “Thank you.”
“Give me about an hour,” Wyatt said, returning to his desk and leaving her feeling slightly dazed.
Sara used the time to work on a long-term project Lindsay had given her, sending off letters with rate schedules to potential advertisers.
It was nearly an hour and a half later when Wyatt called out to her. “Want to see your photos?”
Sara walked back to his desk, hoping that the image that had looked so good in a thumbnail print would look decent when blown up to a larger size.
Wyatt had the two 8-by-10 prints lying side by side on his desk. For a moment Sara couldn’t speak. Wyatt had taken her black-and-white photo and printed it in a soft silvery finish that made Emily and Jessica look absolutely radiant.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“They’re gorgeous!” Sara answered.
“Well, you happen to have a very photogenic family,” he told her, with a grin. “And you took a good picture.”
“But I never imagined it would come out like this.”
He laughed. “That’s just a darkroom trick. I’ll show you sometime. Now go find some nice frames to do justice to our artwork.”
The word our caught Sara’s attention. He’d said it easily, as if taking for granted that they really had something in common. Did they?
He looked at her, his blue eyes alight. “You’ve inspired me—or at least reminded me of how much I like messing around in the darkroom when I’m not under a deadline. I’m going to develop a couple of my own rolls now, see if I have any Christmas-worthy shots.”
“Okay, see you Monday,” Sara said, taking the prints from his desk. She suddenly looked up at him. “You made three.”
He shrugged. “I thought you might want one for yourself.”
“I do,” she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Wyatt.”
“You’re welcome. See you Monday,” he said, as he turned back toward the darkroom.
THE HOUSE WHERE LUCY’S MOTHER LIVED WASN’T FAR FROM SARA’S. SHE found it easily, and as she walked up the path to the front door, she saw Lucy waiting for her.
“Sara, thanks for coming,” Lucy said, giving her a hug.
“I’m glad you called me. I was worried when I heard what happened, but I didn’t know where to reach you.”
“And you couldn’t ask Charlie, that’s for sure,” Lucy replied. “Come on in. Let’s sit in the living room.”
Sara followed Lucy to the living room, which was comfortably furnished with a big, soft couch and armchairs arranged in front of a small hearth. A Christmas tree, laden with decorations and lights stood in one corner of the room.
Miniature trucks scattered across the hooked rug and the sound of a TV playing cartoons in another room told Sara that Lucy’s kids were in the house. She also noticed an older woman cooking in the kitchen.
“So, you’ve been here since Monday?” Sara said, as Lucy settled herself in an armchair.
“Yes, it will be exactly one week tomorrow.” Lucy nodded, and Sara could tell she’d been counting the days. “I brought a bunch of stuff over that morning, then brought the kids after school.” Lucy sighed. “I guess it seems a little impulsive or something.”
“Not really. I knew you and Charlie were having problems.”
“You and everyone else in town. I guess it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ but more like ‘when.’ ” Lucy shook her head, looking a little lost. “I don’t know. Some couples seem to fight their whole married lives but stick together somehow. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Well, maybe you did the right thing,” Sara offered, not really knowing how to console her friend. She had thought Lucy would feel relieved or maybe even feel a sense of triumph by having the guts to finally leave Charlie. But she was clearly sad and confused.
“That’s just the thing,” Lucy said, “I’m still not sure if it’s the right move. For the boys, I mean.”
“How have they been taking it?”
“At first they just sort of took it in stride, as if they almost expected it. Or were afraid to ask questions. They seemed happy to have some sleepovers at Gram’s house. My mother spoils them something silly,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But now they’re starting to ask, ‘When are we going home, Mommy? When are we going home?’ I still don’t think they really understand what’s happening. Even C.J.,” Lucy added. Sara knew Lucy meant Charlie Junior. He was older, about ten now. “Maybe they just want to pretend it isn’t happening. I don’t know. . . .”
“That must be hard.” Sara didn’t know what to say. When she was working at the diner, she thought she had all the answers about Lucy and Charlie. It seemed crystal clear that Lucy would be much happier if she left her husband and started a new
life for herself. But now Sara could see that it was all very complicated. She honestly wished Lucy wasn’t married to Charlie—but what did she know? She couldn’t give any advice, she realized. And maybe that meant she was becoming a little wiser herself.
“So what are your plans?” she asked her friend. “You said you found a new job in Hamilton?”
“I was lucky. This really nice restaurant had an ad in the paper on Tuesday. Somebody had to leave all of a sudden with back trouble. I went in and got hired on the spot.” Lucy’s face brightened for the first time since Sara had come in. “I started on Wednesday, and the tips have been great. And it’s been easy with my mother here, watching the kids. I don’t have to worry.”
“That sounds good. What about Charlie? Have you heard from him?”
Lucy’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “That goes without saying—though most of it doesn’t bear repeating. Then it finally dawned on me, I don’t have to listen to him anymore. Every time he started yelling or even raising his voice, I just hung up the phone,” she said, with a shrug. “He finally got the message that if he wanted to have a complete conversation, he couldn’t do it by yelling at me.”
“That’s progress,” Sara said.
“He’s come to see the boys about three times when I’ve been out working. He can see them as much as he wants. That’s fine with me,” Lucy insisted. “Maybe he’ll even be spending more time with them than when we were together. He’s always working or out with his political pals.”
“I guess that’s true.” Sara paused. She wondered if she should ask more—she didn’t want to pry, but she was concerned for Lucy’s welfare. “Have you talked to a lawyer at all?”
“A lawyer? I haven’t even thought of that,” Lucy admitted. “I mean, things could change. It might not come to that.”
“I didn’t mean you had to rush into anything. It’s just that you ought to find out what your rights are—I mean, if you and Charlie get legally separated.”
“Yes, I know. There’s the house and the business and all. My mother said the same thing,” Lucy said, making Sara feel a little easier about bringing it up. “But I’m just not ready for that. I can hardly figure out up from down right now. On Friday I forgot to put sandwiches in the kids’ lunch boxes. Can you believe that? They both came home pretty mad at me.” She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “School’s over now. The kids are starting their Christmas vacation, so at least I don’t have to worry about that for a while.”
“What about you? How did you end the semester?” Sara asked.
“Not good.” Lucy glanced at her and winced. “I had to take two incompletes. My professors were real nice about it, when I explained I had a family crisis. But the truth is, writing those papers doesn’t seem all that important now compared to my marriage. Still, if I lose those credits, it’s like Charlie got his way anyway about me going back to school. So that’s what really gets me,” she admitted. “He kept telling me to give it up, that it was too much for me. And now I just couldn’t stand it if I proved him right.”
“Maybe I can help you with those papers,” Sara offered.
“Would you, Sara? That would be great. I don’t know if I can go back for the spring semester, but I just want to finish this one. I really do.”
“I understand,” Sara said. “Don’t worry. Charlie’s not going to take all your hard work away from you—even by default.”
“I have seen Reverend Ben,” Lucy went on. “I talked with him twice last week.”
“What does he think you should do?”
Lucy gazed at the Christmas tree. “He thinks this is a hard time of the year to see anything clearly. The holidays have a way of stirring up everybody’s feelings. So he thinks I ought to see how Charlie reacts after he calms down a bit. Reverend Ben isn’t the type that really tells you what to do . . . which is maybe why I like him so much,” Lucy said, with a small smile. “But he did say to go slow and really think things through. And to pray.”
All excellent advice, Sara thought. She didn’t pray much herself, but from time to time, she found herself talking to God. Or writing him letters in her journal. Luke was the one who had given her that idea when she had felt so stuck about what to do about Emily. She wished she could tell him about seeing Lucy. He would understand how inept she felt, unable to really help or advise her friend. She wished she could tell Lucy about what had happened with Luke. But this didn’t seem like the right time.
After a few more minutes, Lucy brought Sara in to meet her mother. Margaret Dooley was a plump, middle-aged woman who looked like an older version of Lucy.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sara,” she said, with a broad smile. “And now you write for the newspaper, too.”
“Yes, I do,” Sara said evenly, realizing that good-hearted Lucy had probably exaggerated her talents to no end.
“Would you like to stay and have supper with us?” Margaret asked. “There’s plenty.”
“It smells wonderful,” Sara said honestly. “But I have to get going. I have to be at a family thing.”
“The Warwicks, she means,” Lucy said quietly to her mother.
“I know that.” Margaret smiled at Sara again. “Well, you come back and see us another time then.”
“I will,” Sara promised. She wondered how long Lucy would be living here. Maybe a long time, she thought. Then again, maybe she and Charlie would be back together by the New Year. It was really impossible to say.
“AM I DOING THIS RIGHT? I THINK MY FINGER IS STUCK TO THE SPOON.” Emily wanted to laugh at herself, but Jessica was so serious about cookie baking, she didn’t think her sister would appreciate the humor.
“What’s happened now?” Jessica came over and looked over Emily’s cookie sheet, which was covered with oddly shaped scattered dollops of dough, a sharp contrast to Jessica’s tray, which had perfectly formed dough balls in three neat rows.
“Interesting. Did it take long to get them to look like that?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Emily replied innocently, as Jessica carefully removed the spoon stuck to her finger.
“That was close. I nearly thought we had to call Dr. Elliot,” Jessica remarked. “That’s what the glass of water is for, by the way.”
“I was wondering about that. I thought you might have left it there in case I got thirsty. From eating too much cookie dough, I mean.”
“Oh, Emily.” Jessica shook her head. She took Emily’s cookie sheet and started filling it with more bits of dough. The contrast was startling.
“Do all married people get so smug?”
“Only the extra-happy ones,” Jessica teased back.
“That’s what I thought.” Emily tugged a ringlet of her sister’s long shiny hair. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were domestically challenged as well. You ought to have a little more sympathy, I’d think.”
Jessica turned away to put the cookies in the oven. “I think you ought to get married again,” she said.
“Married—me? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Haven’t you thought about it?” She turned around and stared straight at Emily.
Emily felt her mouth twist in a smile. “Well . . . from time to time, I guess. Yes, maybe I have—lately.”
“Since you started seeing Dan?” Jessica prodded her in a knowing tone.
Emily’s eyes widened. The cat was out of the bag now, it seemed. “Partly,” she admitted. “But it seems more like finding Sara really gave me the idea. Or made it seem as if now I was really free to get married again. Before that, I felt too sad about losing her—almost as if I didn’t really deserve to be so happy again,” Emily said honestly.
“And now?”
“Now I do. I know I’ve been teasing you a lot, but you and Sam do seem so happy. I guess I’m a little jealous or something.”
“Emily . . .” Jessica reached out and touched her sister’s arm. “Please don’t say that. I wouldn’t want to make you sad
for the world.”
“Oh, I know that. And I didn’t say sad. I love seeing you two so happy. It’s just made me think about my own life. What I had once . . . and what hopefully I can have again. Tim and I were so happy together,” she said. “I’d like to feel that way again, to share my life with someone. I know I’ve certainly taken my time, but I finally think I’m ready.”
“Well, what about Dan? I think he’s perfect for you,” Jessica urged. “I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. Someone even told me . . . Oh, forget it. It was nothing,” she said hastily. “I’d better check the cookies—”
“Someone told you what?” Emily prodded, following her to the oven.
“Oh, it was silly, really.” Jessica removed a pan of cookies from the oven, put it aside to cool, then glanced over at Emily. “Someone told me they saw the two of you hugging last weekend in the middle of Main Street.”
Emily felt her face flush. “Oh. That. I was just helping him get into my car.”
Jessica shrugged. “People love to gossip. Especially about their mayor.”
“Yes, being gossiped about is part of the job,” Emily agreed.
“So, is it serious? I mean between you and Dan?” Jessica asked.
Emily picked up a cookie. It was almost too hot to eat, but she took a bite anyway. “I don’t know really. When we’re together, it always seems great. Better and better, actually. I know Dan seems sort of—oh, I don’t know—stuffy or something. But he’s really a lot of fun, and he’s so smart. We talk about everything and even when we argue, it just feels right. Really right,” Emily said, with a sigh. She blew on the cookie and took another bite. “He’s so sweet. Even with his leg still in a cast, he made me this beautiful lamp. Restored one, I mean. A real antique.”
“He made you a lamp?” Jessica looked impressed. “Wow, this does sound serious.”
“Sam made you a house. That’s serious,” Emily reminded her, gazing around at the beautifully renovated kitchen.
“He already had the house. He just needed the right woman to inspire him to fix it up,” Jessica replied, with a laugh. “So what does this lamp look like?”
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