The First Move Page 2

  Wandering around the tables, she continued snapping pictures. This wedding was full of energy and excitement. The whole atmosphere pulsed with love. Even the teenagers who had been wearing scowls as they walked through the chapel doors were now laughing with their parents and teasing their siblings. Cathy and Richard were in love and the emotion had rubbed off on every guest.

  “They love each other so much. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  The Ex. She knew it was him before she turned around. It wasn’t her photographic sixth sense, but some pull on her emotions when he started talking.

  “It is. Is it hard to be here?” Normally she wouldn’t discuss the couple with a guest, but he’d asked her first.

  His mouth curved up and he looked like he was about to shift his weight from foot to foot when something glued him to the floor. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl, either. She wasn’t sure what the expression on his face meant. “I suppose you must be used to emotion at a wedding.”

  She turned back to the room, ignoring his nonanswer. How he felt about Cathy and Richard wasn’t her business, anyway. “Weddings aren’t always this perfect.”

  An unfortunate side effect of her career was that Renia no longer believed in the magic of weddings. She still believed in love, but not the perfect white dress and dance with Dad that made all the guests cry.

  “No?” The Ex raised an eyebrow. “And what are they always like?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen a drunk priest or two.”

  His short laugh indicated he knew her answer was a blow-off. She’d been to weddings where the brides were crying as their mothers talked them into a marriage when they really should have mimicked a white dove, flying for freedom outside the church instead of caging themselves with the man standing at the altar. There had also been several nearly puking-with-nerves grooms, too many creepy uncles to count and one memorable wedding with a lipstick-stained wedding dress the bride wore down the aisle. Renia didn’t tell those stories because one didn’t stay in the wedding business by spreading tales of matrimonial disasters to guests.

  “Any good Bridezilla stories?” the Ex asked.

  “Not that I share with strangers.”

  “Strangers?”

  Her head snapped back to face him at his wry tone. The corner of the Ex’s mouth was cocked up and he’d raised an eyebrow at her. She didn’t know what the little noise he made in the back of his throat was about.

  “Well then, I’m Miles Brislenn,” he said, introducing himself.

  “I’m working.” She ignored his outstretched hand.

  “No time for a dance?”

  What was it with this family and trying to treat her like a guest at the wedding? “Still working.” Renia smiled because this was a wedding, she was the paid help and he was the guest. Her job was to capture beautiful moments on camera, even if she had to force them. But someone else was responsible for making sure the Ex behaved.

  “Cathy won’t mind,” he insisted.

  “But I will.”

  “Mind dancing with me? You don’t know me well enough to know if you’d mind dancing with me.”

  There was that mocking half smile again. She didn’t think he was mocking her, but instead laughing at a joke where the punch line involved him. A joke she didn’t know.

  “Cathy wouldn’t mind. In fact, I think she’d even encourage it, but that doesn’t mean I will. She’s paying me to take pictures, not dance.”

  For the first time since she’d taken his picture before the ceremony, the Ex looked serious. With his boyish, teasing smile purged from his face, his intensity unnerved her.

  He looked at her as if he could tunnel into her life and excavate her secrets. And with no more secrets rammed inside, what would keep her back straight?

  “You’re right. Cathy is finally getting the wedding she deserves. The wedding I denied her. No matter how happy she would be to see you dancing, to see me dancing, I wouldn’t want her wedding album to be anything short of perfect because I asked you to dance.”

  “I’ll get back to taking pictures again.” She needed to be away from him and the prickly awareness she felt in his presence.

  “So this entire time while you were putting me off with ‘still working,’ you were lying?”

  That maddening smile was back and only a flashing neon sign emblazoned with Ten Thousand Dollars kept her from swinging her camera at him and knocking out teeth. Retreat was the better part of sanity, her pocketbook and reputation.

  “Wait.” He grabbed her arm with a warm, firm grip. “Do you do photography besides weddings?”

  She stared at his hand, but it refused to catch fire. He didn’t give any indication he felt the burn at all.

  “Yes.” She wasn’t stupid enough to turn down business. Again with that pocketbook. “If you’re interested, send me an email or come to my studio. I’m working here. For your ex-wife.”

  He didn’t let go, even when she pulled. “Monday.”

  “I won’t be in.” She yanked harder this time, but his fingers were like some type of bizarre Chinese finger trap.

  “Vacation?”

  She raised an eyebrow at his hand still holding onto her arm. “None of your business.”

  “More information you don’t share with strangers,” he said, the mocking now in his voice, instead of his smile.

  Renia contemplated her options. Everyone was too busy admiring the bride and groom to see what she did. “Do I know you?”

  He sighed. “No, Rey, you never knew me.”

  She wrenched her arm again and, when he let go, she had to take a step back to keep her balance. “Then I don’t expect to talk with you again unless you have business with my studio.”

  It wasn’t until later that night, when she was curled up on her couch reading, that she realized he’d called her “Rey,” a name she’d not gone by since high school. Even her family rarely called her that these days.

  The Ex may not need to ferret out her secrets. He might already know them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  RENIA’S VIGIL STARTED with a trip to the grocery store. She bought enough canned soup, frozen meals, coffee, pop and other necessities to last her a week.

  For her entire working life, she’d taken off tomorrow, August 3, and been back at work, ready for the world, by August 4. But the consequences of this week were different. No, could be different. She shouldn’t get her hopes up.

  “What are your hopes, anyway?” she asked the empty space in her apartment.

  The only answer she got was the clinking of tin cans as she pulled them out of a grocery bag and set them on her granite countertop.

  She spent her first day off alternating between preparation and anxiety. The preparation part was easy. She forwarded her office phone to her house phone, rerecorded her outgoing voice-mail message, put a box of tissues next to each phone and carefully blocked all incoming calls from family and friends.

  Dealing with her anxiety took more effort. Every time she felt anxious, she would undo her careful preparation from earlier in the day. She forwarded and unforwarded her office phone so many times she no longer had to listen to the menu options. One inexplicable hour was spent unplugging every landline phone from the jack, then going for a run. She’d made it a mile before racing back to the house and plugging each phone back in. By that time, she was regretting taking August 2 off.

  “I would rather be working right now,” she said to the emptiness. At least then s
he would have a distraction. The cool air blowing from her vents didn’t solve her emotional problems for her, but neither did it mock her for her stupidity.

  * * *

  SHE SPENT AUGUST 3 sitting by the landline in her bedroom, her cell phone plugged in and the sound turned up to wake the dead, waiting.

  The only time either phone rang was when she tested them by calling herself.

  She woke up the morning of August 4 in the same pajamas she’d worn for thirty-six hours straight and a drool stain on her pillow. She closed her eyes and wished it was August 3 and there was still a chance her phone would ring. Then she reminded herself the phone could ring today. One quick trip to the bathroom and she was ready for the vigil to continue.

  At three in the afternoon her phone finally rang. She snatched it from the receiver before the first ring ended.

  “Hello?” she asked calmly into the phone. At least she sounded calm. How did one answer such a phone call?

  “Renia? Are you alive?”

  All that calmness had been wasted on her best friend and office assistant.

  “Amy, where are you?” And why wasn’t your phone call blocked?

  “Where am I? I’m standing in your lobby, calling from the lobby phone.” Which explained the scratchy line and the reason Amy’s call wasn’t blocked. Next time Renia tried to hide herself away in her apartment, she was going to block calls from the lobby, as well. “Where have you been?”

  “In my apartment.”

  “Why have you been... Never mind. Buzz me up.”

  The temptation to ignore Amy was brief, but intense. Letting her in won out only because explaining why she wasn’t allowed in the apartment would be too much trouble.

  Amy tumbled through the doorway as soon as Renia opened the door and her friend enveloped her in a tight hug. “Call your sister. And your mother. Oh, and you look terrible. Take a shower and put some clothes on. Are you sick? Because Ebony had her baby yesterday and wants to do the picture. I scheduled her for tomorrow.”

  Renia pulled out of Amy’s embrace before answering. “I’m not sick. I’ll call my sister and take a shower later. We can take Ebony’s pictures tomorrow.”

  “Call your sister now.” Amy elbowed her way past Renia into the kitchen. “And your mother. I’m making tea. Black or herbal?” She rummaged through Renia’s pantry, then turned to wave a tin of jasmine tea at her. “Never mind. I’ll make this.”

  “You can’t stay.”

  Amy ignored her. “Call your sister. In the past two days, I’ve had three calls from your mother and five from your sister. I wouldn’t turn down a call from your brother, but he’s been silent.”

  Karl wouldn’t call her, but he might call the police to come check on her. He had strict boundaries, as well as a habit of overreaching.

  “I’ll call Tilly from my bedroom.”

  “Don’t shut your door. I want to hear you talking,” Amy called in a singsong voice over her shoulder as she filled the kettle with water.

  “I’m a hermit, not suicidal,” Renia sang back before her bedroom door slammed shut with a satisfying bang.

  Tilly answered the phone on the first ring.

  “Did you have to send Amy over?” Renia asked.

  “Oh, thank you, God! I’m working and Mom didn’t think you’d let her into the apartment.”

  “Mom was right, I wouldn’t.”

  “Says the sister who pushed Mom in on my problems,” Tilly reminded her.

  “Your problems and my problems are different. Besides, this isn’t a problem. I do this every year.”

  “No, every year you take August 3 off. This is the first year you’ve taken off three days and refused our calls. Don’t think we didn’t notice.”

  Renia twirled the phone cord around her index finger. “I wanted privacy.”

  “We’re your family.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did you block all calls?”

  “No.” The tip of her finger was turning magenta, so Renia unwound the cord.

  “Did you get a phone call?”

  “No.” Could she wind the cord around her heart and squeeze? No, best to not even think about that. She’d told Amy she wasn’t suicidal, and she wasn’t. Just not certain of her emotions and a good heart squeeze seemed the best fix.

  “Are you happy or sad about that?”

  Her sister’s questions squeezed her heart and turned it purple without the help of a phone cord.

  “I don’t know. I’m disappointed, relieved and uneasy—all at the same time.”

  “Maybe they didn’t tell her.”

  Renia didn’t say anything for several seconds. She hadn’t considered that option. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

  “Will you try to find her?”

  The thought made Renia choke. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want me to come over after work tonight?”

  “No. I plan on being asleep at midnight. Stay home with Dan.”

  “Do you want me to call and check in on you?”

  “Maybe I’ll keep your number blocked.” She stretched out the twisted cord of the line and watched it bounce back.

  “The next worried family member will be Karl.”

  Renia rolled her eyes. “I’ll unblock your numbers.”

  “Will you answer your phone?”

  “Not at midnight.”

  “Are you going to call Mom?”

  “No.” A phone call would spark a conversation Renia didn’t want to have with her mother. Ever. “Can you call her for me?”

  “She wants to talk to you. Especially about this.”

  “Which is why I don’t want to call her. Either you call her and report every word we’ve said or I send her a text that says ‘I’m not dead.’ Which do you prefer?”

  Renia couldn’t see it, but she was certain Tilly rolled her eyes on the other end of the line. “I’ll call her.”

  “Did you tell Amy anything?”

  “It’s not my secret to tell.”

  “Thank you.” She closed her eyes in relief and prayer.

  “You should talk with her. She was just as worried about you as Mom and me, only she didn’t know anything about what yesterday meant to you.”

  “Maybe another time. When the day isn’t so close.”

  “It’s your secret,” Tilly said, in the same tone she would say “It’s your funeral.”

  “Get back to work.”

  “Don’t close us out again and we have a deal.”

  “’Bye, Tilly. Do good business today.” Renia gently replaced the handset and prepared to face Amy.

  Her closest friend looked up from the tea she was pouring when Renia walked back into the room. “You changed. You didn’t shower and those are still pj’s, but they’re clean pj’s, so I won’t make you go back in the room and wash yourself. Did you call your sister? What about your mother?”

  Renia accepted the delicate teacup Amy nudged across the counter and wrapped her hands around it for warmth and comfort.

  “I called Tilly. She’s calling my mom.” Renia looked into the cup as the hard green ball stretched and unfurled until a magenta flower emerged in a burst of exotic jasmine steam. Next time she had a cup of tea, she would have her camera with her to capture the emergence of life and color.

  Amy could talk a dead man into moving cemeteries for a little peace and quiet, but she knew when to hold her tongue. In unison, they blew ripples across
their tea before taking tentative sips.

  “You told her not to tell your brother you were okay, right? I’m still hoping for a phone call from him.” Amy looked over her teacup and grinned, her thin lips disappearing into pale skin and whiter teeth.

  “I doubt he knows your number.”

  “He could find it, I’m sure, if he wanted to. I’ve always pictured Karl having mad skills.”

  Renia giggled in spite of herself. Not long after Amy had started working for her and they had become friends, shortly after Karl’s divorce, Amy had bugged Renia to set them up on a date. She refused on the grounds that a chatty person and a silent person was not a guarantee of a good match. Amy had stopped harassing her about it, but used the reference when she wanted to cheer up Renia. It worked, of course. Renia had yet to meet the person who could remain sullen under Amy’s rambling cheer.

  “Do I get to know why you’ve imprisoned yourself at home this week? Your mom said you never work on August 3, but that this was the first time you’ve taken three days. I guess I knew you took off at least one day in the beginning of August, but never realized it was always the same day.”

  “I’m not ready to tell you, but I will soon. Can you just keep me company today? And not eavesdrop if I disappear into the bedroom to take a phone call?”

  “Of course. It’s Lily’s week with her father. While looking for tea in your cupboards, I found enough food to keep an army fed for a week. I’ll make some movie food and we can watch five of those ten DVDs sitting on your coffee table. Not any of the weepy ones. I don’t want weepy and I don’t think weepy would be good for you. Nachos sound good for dinner? I can make popcorn to munch on until dinnertime.”

  “Nachos sound perfect. And Amy...”