by KG MacGregor
process fun. What he liked most was making people feel good
about saving that moment. That’s what I try to do too.”
“That is what you do,” Claudia said. “I saw it over and over
at school. And you did it with me too. Do you think I would have
volunteered for more if I didn’t expect it to be fun?”
“You say that now. Wait until your neck starts cramping
because I’ve made you hold your head in the same position for
thirty minutes. And these lights are going to be murder, so you
might want to bring along shorts or something.”
“Is this where you start talking me out of my clothes?”
Leo snorted and shook her head. “Were you always such a
smart aleck?”
“That depends on who you ask. My father thought I was an
angel…except for the time when I wrecked his Porsche. As soon
as he made sure everyone was okay he hit the ceiling.”
“Now I see where you got your appreciation for sports cars.
Was he upset about his baby?”
0
“Not as much as he was about the fact that I had four of my
friends in it. Apparently that’s a no-no in a two-seater.”
“No kidding. Maybe we should trade cars. You can pack
everyone you ever met into the Volvo.” She gestured toward the
ladder and waited as Claudia descended backward. Then she
pulled the light chain and followed to the landing below. “I take
it your mother didn’t notice your angelic qualities.”
“Not once in twenty-two years. She wanted to make me into
her own image and I turned into my father instead.” Her tone
was more serious, a marked departure from the light-hearted
references to her father’s ire over the car. “I always thought that
was a good thing.”
“Sounds like it was tense in your house while you were
growing up.”
“It was. My mom used to ride me all the time about not being
ladylike. She had this image that we were rich just because my
dad was a doctor, but what she really wanted was to be rich like
Mike’s family. I wasn’t supposed to do things like wear jeans or lie
around listening to rock music on my headphones. She thought I
should spend all my time reading the classics and playing piano.
It horrifies her that I want to be just an ordinary schoolteacher,
but you know what? There comes a point where you have to
screw what everyone else wants and follow your own gut. I did
that when I picked Santa Cruz instead of some women’s college
back east. And believe me, my father was thrilled. In-state tuition
versus a hundred thousand a year. Now you know why he gave
me a sports car.”
Leo nodded along. There were little things about Claudia
that showed what she thought must be her mother’s influence,
like the cashmere sweaters and alligator boots, but it was just as
easy to imagine her at home in sweatshirts and sneakers.
Claudia returned to the den for her purse and day planner.
“I probably still sound like a spoiled brat, but that isn’t who I
want to be. I’m serious about teaching, and I want to prove I can
stand on my own two feet and take care of myself just like you do.
Unlike my mom, I don’t need some fancy house or bridge club.”
She gestured around her at the living room. “This is so much
more comfortable to me than a mansion on a cliff.”
“I’m glad you like it. Maybe you’ll find a house like this of
your own one of these days.”
“If I could have a house like this in Cambria I’d snatch it up
in a heartbeat.”
Leo glanced at the clock as Claudia continued down the
stairs. Three minutes before her next appointment. “Any more
questions about the photo shoot?”
“Just one.” Claudia stopped at the front door and grinned
back at her. “How come Miss Murphy isn’t wearing any pants?”
“Because she—”
Claudia guffawed and bounded off the porch toward her car.
“See you Sunday at two. Save me some popcorn.”
Chapter 11
Present Day
The McCords weren’t exactly middle class, except perhaps by
the Pettigrews’ standards. Leo had met the young couple for the
first time last weekend at a coffee shop in Palo Alto, where they
had planned the wedding album. Both had recently graduated
from Stanford, Eva in sociology and Todd in law. He had won a
prestigious clerkship in the US District Court headquartered in
San Francisco.
Mrs. Pettigrew flinched slightly as Leo gently touched her
shoulder to angle her alongside her granddaughter. “Bear with
me, please. I need to get the shadow just right.” To say nothing
of the fact that a full-on shot would highlight the woman’s girth,
especially in contrast to Eva’s slender figure.
The bride mouthed a silent apology for her grandmother’s
condescension, but Leo merely shot her a wink. She didn’t care
what the old biddy thought.
“How much longer is this going to take?” Mrs. Pettigrew
demanded.
“Do you have someplace else to be?” Eva asked playfully.
“One hundred of my friends are arriving downstairs after a
long drive, young lady, and I don’t have time to be out here on
the terrace chatting with the help.”
Eva flashed Leo yet another apologetic look. “Grandmother,
this is Leonora Westcott. She’s one of the most gifted and
accomplished photographers in California, and we were very
lucky to get her on such short notice when poor Maria got
hurt.”
From her emotionless look, Mrs. Pettigrew was unimpressed.
She tugged at her dress yet again and started toward the door.
“We’ll be even luckier if we don’t all starve to death before the
ceremony gets underway. It’s time to gather the wedding party in
the Miramar Room. Come along.”
“Not yet. Mom hasn’t been up for her pictures.”
“Why does your mother always have to be so obstinate? She
should have had her sitting by now,” the woman groused to no
one in particular.
“I asked her to be last so she could walk down with me and
Grandpa.”
Mrs. Pettigrew huffed indignantly. “That isn’t the way it’s
done at proper weddings, Eva. That’s why we hired a wedding
director.”
“Why you hired a wedding director,” Eva replied firmly.
“Todd and I wanted to elope.”
“Don’t even say such a thing! It shames your father’s
memory.”
Eva was obviously biting her tongue, as if knowing another
word would send them all into a melodramatic downward
spiral—not exactly the atmosphere one wanted on her wedding
day. Clearly, one crossed Marjorie Pettigrew at her own peril.
When the door banged to punctuate Mrs. Pettigrew’s
departure, an ironic breeze rustled the light blue sheers, like the
proverbial breath of fresh air.
Chapter 12
November 1986
“…I know she’s ready, but she’s not the one getting married,”
Claudia said, stretching the ph
one cord to its full length so
she could reach her coffee cup on the kitchen bar of her tiny
apartment. Talking with her father on Sunday mornings was one
of the highlights of her week. “I don’t want to live in Taiwan for a
whole year while Mike wraps up this job. It makes more sense to
wait until he’s done so we can buy our own house and be settled
in one place.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” her father said. “I’m just
the messenger here.”
“I know. I just can’t understand why Mom’s in such a hurry.
Sometimes I think her biggest fear is that Mike will change his
mind and she’ll miss out on the chance to throw an extravagant
wedding.”
He chuckled. “That’s my little cynic. Have you considered
the possibility she’s just excited? After all, she’ll only get one shot
to be the mother of the bride. At least that’s what we all hope.”
“Don’t worry. Mike and I wouldn’t have gotten engaged if
we didn’t think this was it for both of us. But there’s no hurry.
Besides, you always said you liked my independent streak.”
“I do, and I think that’s what drives your mother crazy about
both of us.”
Claudia laughed, imagining the hours of fretful harping her
father had been subjected to. If only he hadn’t let her do this or
that. “It’s perfectly healthy if you ask me. Just because people get
married, it doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have their own lives.” She
didn’t want to talk about her relationship with Mike anymore.
Though her dad understood her desire for independence
better than anyone and was her ally in taking things slowly, the
conversation always left her feeling defensive. “What are you up
to today?”
“Tennis at the club at three. Dinner with the Bradshaws. Just
another typical Sunday. You?”
“I’m heading over to a friend’s house this afternoon. We may
walk down to the wharf for a bite.” She had decided not to tell
anyone about her modeling sessions so it wouldn’t become a
topic of scorn. Mike would think it was a frivolous waste of time,
and her mother would think it beneath her class. But then her
mother thought teaching was beneath her class too.
“I’d offer to drive up next weekend for a visit, but I signed
up for that charity doubles tournament. You want me to send
your mom to keep you company? I’m sure she’d love a couple of
nights in Carmel.”
She had committed already to a photo session with Leo,
and there was no guarantee her mother would leave on Sunday
morning in time for her to make it to Leo’s by two. “I don’t know,
Dad. I hate to have her plan that when I can’t say for sure I’ll have
time to be with her.”
“Okay, but don’t forget we won’t be here for Thanksgiving.
We’re going to Vail with the Hanovers.”
“Right.” And she would be having another fun-filled dinner
with Mike’s parents, she thought miserably. If only she could
marry Mike and not his whole family. On the other hand, Mike
was getting Rosemary Galloway for a mother-in-law, so she was
in no position to complain. “Maybe I can drive down for a quick
visit in a couple of weeks.”
“We’d love that.”
“Don’t tell Mom, though. She’ll plan the whole weekend
with lunches and dinners and people coming over, and then I
might not be able to come.”
They said their goodbyes and promised to talk again same
time next week. By the clock on the stove, she had plenty of time
to shower and dry her hair before going to Leo’s, and just enough
to return the call on her answering machine that had come while
she was out working on her car.
“Hey, Sandy. I got your message. What’s up?”
“Nothing much. I was sitting here going through my
Thanksgiving list and realized I hadn’t said anything to you about
it. Maria and I take in strays for turkey dinner if you’re going to
be stuck here for the holiday.”
“Take in strays?”
“Yeah, we have a lot of friends who don’t go home for
Thanksgiving for one reason or another, and we’ve made sort of a
tradition of getting together to celebrate on our own. It’s usually
about ten or twelve of us. You met them all at the Halloween
party. Patty does a football pool for anyone who’s interested.”
“That sounds like a lot more fun than where I’m going, which
is to my future in-laws’ house. The good news is that Mike will
be home for a few days.”
“So you won’t be a refugee?”
“No, but I appreciate the invitation. If your Thanksgiving is
anything like your Halloween, I’m sure it’s the hottest ticket in
town.”
“I don’t know about that, but we always have a blast. And
Maria makes a mean chestnut stuffing.”
Claudia wasn’t surprised. Maria was one of the most
amazing women she had ever met—a gourmet cook, a brilliant
photographer, and rich as all get-out from her family’s investments.
“Is there anything Maria can’t do?”
“She can’t sit still,” Sandy answered, not missing a beat. “She
called Leo this morning and found out you guys were starting
your photo shoot this afternoon. I’m really glad you two are
hanging out. Leo’s one of our favorite people.”
“She’s very sweet. Can you possibly tell me why someone like
that doesn’t have a girlfriend?”
“Believe me we’ve all wondered the same thing. She just
doesn’t seem to want one. I’ve set her up a couple of times and
introduced her to people at our parties, but she never follows
through after the first date. I keep hoping someone will turn her
head.”
“She’s such a cool person. I’ve never met anyone like her.”
She had been thinking a lot about Leo since their talk the week
before. It wasn’t surprising that Leo hadn’t clicked with Patty,
but she couldn’t put her finger on why. “Did you ever meet
Melissa?”
“No, nobody did. That was over before any of us ever met
Leo, and I think she moved to Atlanta. Patty saw a picture of her
once, though. Nice looking woman.”
Claudia had no idea what nice looking meant to someone
like Sandy. She had considered Leo the most attractive woman at
the Halloween party, though she wasn’t what most people would
call pretty. Pretty was a word for women who fussed with their
hair and makeup, and dressed in the latest styles. Leo did none of
those things, and yet there was something about her she found
captivating. Maybe it was because she was already comfortable
with who she was, utterly without pretense. It was true not only
of her appearance, but with the rest of her life as well. “All I can
say is somebody is going to get a nice prize one of these days if
she ever decides she’s ready.”
“I know what you mean. Patty says she thinks Leo might
be afraid of losing someone the way she lost her dad, but Maria
; thinks she’s waiting for everything else in her life to fall into
place. That’s one of the reasons she pushed her into doing the
workshop, so she’ll be a step closer to where she wants to be.”
Given what Claudia knew about Leo so far, Maria’s theory
made more sense than Patty’s. “She certainly seems focused on
her work…no pun intended. But I think this workshop thing is
going to be fun.”
“You’ll have to bring in your pictures.”
“Leo says I can’t see them until she’s finished. She doesn’t
want me thinking about how I look.”
“Yeah, Maria always says that too. Anyway, I hope you guys
have fun. And if you change your mind about Thanksgiving, we’ll
save you a place.”
Leo had spent every spare moment since Tuesday preparing
her quasi-studio, tacking bolts of black cloth to the open rafters
in front of the window on the south wall of the turret. That left
her a natural light option from the front, which would be brilliant
by mid-afternoon, but today’s shoot called for artificial light.
She hoisted the long cardboard box onto the platform and
climbed up through the opening to the attic. Her setup needed
one final touch before the first photo session, the two new light
stands she had purchased the day before from a supplier in San
Francisco. She had tried in vain to adapt her father’s old tripods,
only to admit there was a reason she had junked them in the attic
in the first place. They now sat alongside her curb awaiting trash
pickup. She had salvaged one of the seascape backdrops, since its
flip side was bright white and she could use it as a reflector wall.
Her father’s Bronica was mounted on a tripod facing Miss
Murphy, who still wore the long white shirt. The new Mamiya
in her studio took sharper photos, but she didn’t want to risk
lugging it up and down the ladder several times a week while she
framed the next set of shots. Though the Bronica was eight years
old, it was still a reliable camera and it produced far better photos
than the 35mm Nikon she used for candids.
Assembling one of the light stands took twenty minutes,
much of that spent looking for a wing nut Madeline had batted
around the room. “Would you mind not helping so much?” she
groused at the calico. “Claudia’s going to be here any minute and
