Pictures of You (32 page)

She took a step closer to him. She thought of Michelle and her husband, who had known he was going to marry her the second he had met her. Then she thought of Sam, who was so angry with her now he didn’t want to see her—who would never really be hers because Charlie couldn’t trust her enough to let them try.

She thought of all the ways she was going to be lonely from now on. “I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t be just on the edges of your life,” she said. “I love you. I love Sam. I want you to come with me. And I have to do this.”

“Is this it?” he asked, shocked. “You’re really leaving?”

As soon as he said it, she felt an emptiness, like her bones had filled with air.

“What about Sam?” Charlie said.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll explain. I have to say good-bye to Sam. And you have to let me.”

Charlie stared at her as if he didn’t know her.

Isabelle stepped back from him. “I don’t understand a single thing about what’s happening here. Some people fall in love at first sight and stay that way their whole lives. Is that you with April? Is there really no room for anyone else? For me?”

“And some people fall in love and the timing is wrong and nothing they do can ever fix it. My son’s in the middle here, and you’re asking me to jeopardize him to find out if we could be together. You’re asking me to bet on all these what-ifs, and I can’t, Isabelle, I just can’t. Sam was almost killed leaving with his mother. And he’ll be almost killed by your leaving.”

Isabelle grabbed her purse. “I love him. I love you. And I have to go,” she said.

A
FTER
I
SABELLE LEFT
, Charlie sat on the porch. This couldn’t be happening, not like this. Not again.

He went in to check on Sam. He was sleeping. Charlie gently pushed the hair away from his face. You’re all I have, he thought. Charlie put his head in his hands. He felt something, like a whisper at the back of his neck, and he looked up, but all he saw was the room, sparkling with light.

Charlie got out a rag and began to dust. He thought about the day April left, the morning when all he had to do was say different words and she might have stayed. None of this might have happened and she’d still be here. If he had held his tongue, if he had run back into the house and apologized, he’d still have his family. And now Isabelle was leaving and he had said everything he could
think of to get her to stay. He had no idea what to do differently, what else to say.

He used to work with a sheetrock guy whose wife and child had died in a plane crash. The man never got over it, and it used to irritate Charlie the way Hank would say, “I dreamed about Jean and Suzie last night,” and everyone would look sort of stricken, wondering, Why doesn’t he get over it already? But that was the secret, wasn’t it? You never got over what you lost. You always carried it with you, stitched to you like Peter Pan’s shadow. And you never wanted to get over it, because who wanted to forget a time that had been so important? No, the truth was, you wanted to remember it always.

Charlie sat heavily on the couch in the living room, where he used to cuddle with April and watch old movies, where he had spooned with Isabelle as if they were teenagers. He had begged her to stay. He had pleaded for more time. But she was going.

He had Sam. No matter what, he still had Sam.

I
SABELLE DIDN’T CALL
C
HARLIE
. She had already said goodbye, and she didn’t need to hurt either of them any more. A part of her kept expecting him to show up at her door, telling her he had changed his mind, that he and Sam were already packed; but all that happened was that the June days got hotter and hotter. There were more summer people on the streets, and when she walked past the school playground, she saw that the sturdy black gate was locked, the windows of the school shut until fall.

She packed and planned, marking off one week on her calendar and then another, and then went to Beautiful Baby to give Chuck her notice. He was in his office on the phone, and when he saw her, he yawned. “Oh, Isabelle,” he said, as if he had just remembered who she was. “I’ll get right back to you.”

She waited at the door, not moving, even when he kept giving her pointed looks. Finally, he hung up the phone, and shuffling some papers, waved her in. He motioned for her to sit. “So,” he said. “We need to talk about you and Beautiful Baby.”

“I quit,” she said.

He sat up straighter. “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”

“I’m going to photography school in Manhattan.”

She had wanted him to be impressed or excited, but his face was
impassive. His eyes glazed over as if she had just told him she was going food shopping.

“Well, good for you,” he said finally. For a moment, she wished he didn’t look so relieved. He pumped her hand. “You want a good-bye party?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

She stood up and shook his hand and as soon as she left the office, she heard him pick up the phone again. “Because the order was due today, that’s why,” he snapped.

It wasn’t until she was outside, her skin prickling in the hot sun, that she realized he hadn’t asked her why, or when she was going, or even if she would keep in touch.

I
SABELLE DECIDED TO
take a walk. Luke used to insist that if she ever left the Cape, she’d miss it, but she didn’t think so. If she went to New York, she’d never go to Coney Island. She’d never miss salty air or pine trees.

She still hated the Cape. The endless beaches, the sand that always got into everything, even the sheets. She hated the tide of summer people, the way the town seemed to fill up and empty out with the seasons. No matter how long she lived here, she’d never really feel that she belonged. She knew she’d never really be a part of Charlie’s family, not with Charlie still living with the ghost of April. Sam would never really be her son. She knew she needed a new life because this one didn’t really have a place for her.

S
HE CALLED
M
ICHELLE
to talk. “Listen,” Michelle said. “You’re doing the right thing. You need to move on. This is your chance. And guess what? Remember that illegal sublet you were supposed to get last year? I was just talking to my friend Dora and she said the guy renting it moved out. It’s available again, but you’d have to take it now.”

“What?” Isabelle wrapped the phone cord around her wrist.

“Say the word and I’ll call Dora. And even better, I’m driving down to Manhattan next week to see about starting a jewelry business from home. I’d love the company.”

Isabelle tried to think. Next week. Photography school didn’t start until September, but was there any more reason to stay here? Could she afford to pass up on this sublet and a ride to the city? She would have to get a job as soon as she got to Manhattan. Waitressing, something part-time. She’d start to save so she could work less when her classes started, which were supposed to be intensive. Could she do this? “Yes,” she said. She hung up, and then without thinking, she called her mother.

“Oh, the prodigal daughter,” Nora said dryly, and then Isabelle told her she was going back to school. She told her about Charlie and Sam, and her mother was silent.

“That’s good, what you’re doing,” Nora finally said.

“It is? I thought you’d disapprove, because of my age. I thought you’d think because of my divorce, I was a failure.”

She heard Nora sigh on the phone. “I never liked Luke. You knew that. And you know what? Marriage is a funny thing. I put my whole trust in your dad instead of God, and your dad was the one who broke my heart. I used to see the same thing happening with you and Luke, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“It wasn’t the same,” Isabelle said. “Dad adored you. I adored Luke. It took me a while to figure out that Luke adored himself.”

“Listen to me now. I’m apologizing. I was wrong to be so hard on you. I have to forgive myself every day for it, and I ask God for forgiveness, too. But you did the right thing with this Charlie person. You couldn’t lose more of your life for another man, especially not for a man who won’t lose some of his life for you.”

“Mom. I can’t believe you think this.”

“Sometimes marriage isn’t such a sacred covenant. There. I said it.”

“Why didn’t you ever answer my letters? I sent a million of them. I made a thousand calls. You never responded.”

“I couldn’t. Not while you were with Luke. I couldn’t have been any part of it.” Isabelle heard something in the background, a hum of voices, a TV turning on. “But now that you’re going to school, maybe I can visit. If you want. We’re still family.”

“I want,” said Isabelle.

T
HE MORNING OF
Isabelle’s departure, the radio was warning about traffic jams. “Everyone’s headed back to the Cape!” the announcer boomed. How many times had Isabelle heard that and yearned to leave as fast as she could, and now, here she was and leaving wasn’t anything like she ever had imagined.

She had one last call to make. Luke. When he picked up, she heard a baby crying in the background, a female voice soothing. For a moment, her stomach tightened, but she didn’t feel like running away. Instead, she was running to something.

“You’re leaving!” Luke said. “Well, good for you.”

They talked a bit about where she would live, what she was going to do, even about Chloe, his sunny little baby. And then, just as she was going to ask about his job, he grew so quiet. She felt something dissolving through the wires. “I’m so sorry, Iz,” he said. “About everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize. All that feels like such a long time ago.”

The baby’s laugh sparkled in the background. “I hope everything is wonderful for you,” he said.

“For you, too,” she said. “But it sounds like it already is.”

When she hung up, her jumpy heart was more about getting ready to leave than about Luke. She spent all morning looking for a special photograph she wanted to give Sam. She had enlarged it to 8 × 12, and it was black and white and full of shadows. It was a photograph of the two of them, her favorite, and though they weren’t looking at each other in the picture, you could tell how connected they were. She turned it over and carefully wrote “Some connections are never broken.” She packed the photograph in a box with an old
zoom lens that she knew Sam would love, with directions on how to press the button to get the old lens off and put this new one on. Then she wrote a letter to him. It took her several tries to get it right.

Dear Sam, I had to leave to go to school, but it’s not forever. No matter what, you have to know that I love you. That that love will always be there for you. That I didn’t leave because of you or because of your dad. I left because I had a chance to go to school. This is my new address and I will have a phone number soon that I will get to you, and I hope you’ll call and visit and write. I’m sorry I wasn’t an angel, but that doesn’t meant there isn’t magic in the world
.

Love, Isabelle

P.S. The zoom lens is for your Canon. You can see much more with it
.

Michelle was coming to pick her up in two hours, so she still had a little time. Her apartment was empty.

The day was clear and hot, the sky like watercolor wash. During the whole walk to Sam’s house she missed him so much, it felt like a wound.

The house was quiet, the shades drawn. She sneaked around to Sam’s window, which was halfway open. Standing on tiptoes, peering up from under his plastic blind, she could see him sleeping, the damp, soft sleep of boys. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes were rolling with dreams. She ached to kiss his forehead and take his hand, to hear his raspy little voice. Instead, as she wavered on her tiptoes, she tried to memorize him, imprinting him like a snapshot she’d never forget.

She crept to the front of the house. She could knock on the door and demand to see him. She could rap on his window and wake him up. She could stand here and scream for them both to come outside and listen to her, just for one minute.

Gingerly, she stepped over the new young plants, Charlie’s
bright, hopeful splashes of color. He could open up to nature, but with her, he was closed, and how could she stay with someone like that? Plus, there was all this Cape Cod, all this place that was like a single finger pointing at her, reminding her of what had happened, of what she had done. She turned back to the window. Charlie was a heavy sleeper. Carefully, heart sprinting, Isabelle tapped on the window. Sam started and then just as he was pulling the plastic shade angrily down on her, she beckoned him to the window.

He opened the window fully.

“We don’t have time for you to pretend to be mad at me,” Isabelle said.

“I’m not pretending. I am mad.”

“I know.” She tried to touch his hair, but he stepped pointedly away from her.

“Why don’t you just leave if you’re leaving?”

“I came to say good-bye.” She handed the package through the window. “I wrote something for you. And inside is a camera lens. A good one. And a photograph I wanted you to have.”

He blinked really hard. “I hate you. Go away.”

“Listen to me, Sam,” she said. “I know you don’t hate me. Well, maybe today you do, but you won’t always. I will always love you. I will always want to know how you are. I will always try to call and write you and you can call and write me. I wrote down my address and as soon as I get my own phone, when I get settled, I’ll send that to you, too.”

“I’ll never call you,” he said. “I’ll never write.”

She heard something. The slam of a screen door, a neighbor next door. Any moment Charlie could come up, and if he found her here, there would be an argument. She reached out to touch his face, but he pushed her hand away. “You’re not an angel,” he snapped.

“I never said I was. You write me,” she whispered. “You call if you need to. I love you, Sam. I love you.”

She started walking and then she heard feet, and then she turned
and Sam was climbing out of his window, and then he was running after her in his bare feet. She stopped and crouched down, and when he flung himself on her, she wrapped her arms around him. His shoulders shook with sobs.