“Um, yeah,” I say. Great. She’s pretty and she knows about cameras.
“Can I see?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say and watch as she approaches.
Cole, ever nosy, can’t resist and comes over too. He leans against my table and gives me a quick smile.
I hand Sienna the camera, and she looks through the viewfinder. “I love these,” she says. “My dad is into photography. I am too.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “I thought you were more into podcasts and web series.”
She nods. “But this is my first love.” She hands the camera back. “Hey,” she says, “we’re going to the dance tomorrow night. That’s cool, right?”
I swallow hard. This is awkward. “Yeah,” I manage. “It’s cool.”
“Cool,” says Sienna, smiling at Cole.
He changes the subject. “Hey, I haven’t seen that one in a while.” He points at the camera.
“Yeah, I’m going to put in some different film,” I say. “Try something new.” I turn the camera over and go to press the film-release button.
“Careful,” Sienna says. “There’s already a roll in there.”
I check the camera back, and sure enough, there is already a half-used roll of color film in place.
“Whoa, how old is that?” Cole asks.
His eyes meet mine as we both realize something. The last time I used this camera was before my mom died. We had all gone down by the river and spent the day taking photos. That was the last day Mom left the house. Later that night she got into bed and never got out again.
I feel like all the air has been sucked from the room.
“Lolo?” Cole’s voice comes to me as if underwater. “Lo, it’s okay. It’s all right.”
“Cole,” I say, finding my voice. “What is the date today?”
But he doesn’t have to answer. I know.
In a few days it will be the one-year anniversary of my mother’s death. And a few days after that it will be my eighteenth birthday.
“Death plus birthdays,” I say, looking up at Cole.
He doesn’t laugh though. Not this time.
Chapter Seven
I make it through the rest of the day in a haze, all my attention focused on the camera case I keep in my lap for every class. What’s on there? What will I see? A happy family right before their world got ripped apart? No, that’s what my mind is trying to trick me into seeing. We weren’t happy, not for a long time. We were clutching each other, desperate to pretend that things would be okay. That we would be okay.
Cole follows me around for a little while until I tell him to leave me alone. I’m not mad anymore, but I need to deal with this by myself. He wants to come over after school while I develop the film, but this feels too private. I promise to text him later.
The world on my walk home is a lot less inspiring than it was this morning. I don’t feel like taking any shots. All I can see are the few feet of gray sidewalk in front of me as I hurry back to my house.
When I get home, Dad is still at work, but Kelsey’s SUV is in the driveway. I walk into the house through the side kitchen door and see her working on her laptop at our table. I forgot that there is a Broken Hearts Club meeting tonight. She looks up and smiles, then sees my face. Her smile disappears.
“Logan? You okay?” she asks.
I’ve gone mute, opening my mouth to say something, anything, but no sound comes.
Kelsey stands as if to come toward me with a hug, but I sidestep her and hurry past to the stairwell that leads to the basement. I can’t talk right now. I can’t think. I have to develop this film.
I get to the basement, dump my backpack and my jacket on the floor, unzip my camera case and remove my old Leica. I’ll have to use up the last exposures on the roll before winding the film back into the canister, so I take eleven rapid photos of my feet framed against the orange-brown shag of the basement carpet.
I hesitate a moment after pressing the release button on the bottom of the camera. I have to turn the crank now to wind the film back in, but it has been sitting in the camera for a year. It could be brittle or stretchy, or it could snap off and fail to roll all the way back in.
I take a deep breath and turn the crank. I feel some resistance and turn a little harder, and then it starts to give and cranks until I feel the spool spinning, unattached.
I’m not going to pull up on the crank to release the camera’s back flap until I’m safe in darkness. I don’t want to risk exposing any of the film to light. Cradling my camera in my arms, I pull back the first door to my darkroom, step through and then shut it behind me. I switch off the light and step through the second door. I secure that behind me, too, and flip the little lever lock I installed on the inside. It feels safer this way, for my film and for me.
At last, I am in darkness. I would use a red safelight for the first stages of development with my black-and-white film and papers, but color film is different, so I’m going to keep it dark. That’s fine, because I could do this in my sleep. I keep all my supplies in the same order in the same spot.
I pull open the back of my camera and take out the film canister, then pull part of the film out and slip it into my developing reel, careful not to touch or scratch the surface of the film. I wind it on, then place that reel into my development canister and pour in my developer fluid. I agitate, press the button on my trusty kitchen timer, and then pour it out into the basin. Next I add the fixer, press the timer again and wait, listening to the seconds tick by. Then I pour that out and rinse well with water from a jug. Once it’s all rinsed, I clip the end of the film onto my line and let it hang while I pour over the wetting agent to prevent water spots as the film dries. The liquid drips into an old laundry tub my dad scored for me.
At this point I turn on my dim safelight. The film is fixed, so it won’t develop further, but I’m not taking any chances. Now I need to let it dry for two hours before cutting it into strips to make the prints.
As I exit the darkroom, my phone buzzes inside my backpack. I never bring it into the darkroom with me—it’s too distracting, and if it glowed, it could ruin my film.
I fish it out and look at the screen. It’s Cole.
C: HEY
L: hey
C: …
L: ?
C: WHAT’S IN THE BOX?
Of course Cole had to insert a Se7en movie reference right now. I text back.
L: You did not just Brad Pitt me.
C: I could not help it.
L: You’ve been waiting ALL DAY to do that.
C: I have. You know me so well.
I’m smiling in spite of myself.
L: I developed it. Drying now. Waiting.
C: Didn’t peek?
L: Couldn’t. Want to make prints first.
C: Can I come see?
I hesitate.
L: Not tonight, k?
C: k…say hi to everyone at the meeting. And tell Humphrey I have something for him. I will call him tomorrow.
L: What? Is it Zelda?
C: Hey, I’ve got secrets too. L8R…
Great, he’s holding out on me now. What does he have for Humphrey? I’d better get a move on with tonight’s snacks and setup. Everyone will be here soon.
I go up to the kitchen and see that Kelsey is already cutting fruit and cheese for a tasting board, arranging the slices of cheese with bunches of grapes. She places a scattering of mixed olives on another board with some draped cold cuts and crusty bread. It looks delicious, and I sneak an olive. She sees me out of the corner of her eye and smiles.
“How was your day?” she asks as she hands me the trays to take downstairs.
“Weird,” I say.
She smiles again. “So many of my days are weird.”
“Really?” I ask. Kelsey seems like the kind of woman who always has it together. “You?”
She looks stunned. “Yes, me. A couple of years ago I was married to my high school sweetheart, we were trying to have kids, and a rout
ine test revealed his cancer. He was gone within months.” She stops talking and hovers at the top of the stairs.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That just sort of bubbled out.”
“No,” I say. “It’s fine. It’s good, I think.”
We walk down the stairs to the basement, and Kelsey offers me some of the cheese. We both sit on the couch and dig in, guests be damned.
“It was intense,” she says, chewing on a piece of bread. “Everything I knew and understood about the world was wrong. Up was down, you know?”
I nod. I know what she means. “So,” I ask, not sure if I’m pushing it, “how did you…move on?”
Kelsey raises her eyebrows. “Move on? You mean to your dad?”
“Yeah.”
She offers me some grapes, and I pick them off. I haven’t been this hungry in a long time.
“I guess I didn’t move on,” she says. “The truth is, if my husband, Ben, came back today, I’d be with him in an instant. And I suspect it’s the same for your dad.”
Of course she’s right.
“But,” she says, “that doesn’t mean we have to stop caring for and loving people while we’re alive. I can’t think of a better tribute to my husband than to continue on in life with an open heart.”
I know what she’s saying is right. “But,” I ask, “how do you do it?”
Kelsey reaches over and takes my hand. I get a flash of my mother in my mind.
“You try. Try every day, and it gets a tiny bit easier.”
Overhead we hear Dad’s heavy footfalls.
“Is it me, or does he walk like a rhino?” Kelsey asks, and we both laugh.
Tonight’s Broken Hearts Club meeting turns into more of a surprise party for me. I guess they all, somehow, found out it’s my birthday soon. Everyone wants to give me a present now, because our next meeting isn’t for a couple of weeks.
The first gift I get is from Dad and Kelsey, who chipped in to get me a stack of high-quality photo paper and a neutral-density filter for my camera. The filter keeps too much daylight from entering the camera. I can use it with a slow shutter speed when I’m taking shots of the river.
One of the lawyers gives me a fancy pen set. (I think it was Jim. Or maybe it was Other Jim?) Grace gives me a custom T-shirt with a photo of me holding a camera up as I take a photo. It’s meta in the best way, and I love it so much that I have the urge to hug her.
“Go ahead, child,” she says. “I don’t bite.”
I lean in and put my arms around her. It’s like sinking into a pile of warm dough covered in a wooly sweater. It’s the best.
Humphrey saves his gift for last, handing me a heavy gift bag with hearts all over it.
“You shouldn’t have,” I say as I take it from him.
“Yes, I should,” he says and watches as I lift the tissue paper and pull out the gift. It’s a lamp, but not any old lamp. It’s a neon tube lamp bent into the shape of a lopsided heart. I rush to plug it in, and when I do its light is blinding. It’s the greatest thing ever.
“Whoa,” says Dad. “Turn that thing down. I’m sure they can see it from space!”
I click it off and am left with an impression of the neon heart burned into my retinas, so that everywhere I look around the room, the heart shape is superimposed. There’s Grace with a heart next to her. Lawyers Jim, Jim and John with hearts. Dad and Kelsey, also with hearts. Humphrey, sweet Humphrey, with a blazing heart dead center in his chest.
I have the best idea. And not a jump-from-the-roof idea—a save-my-Media-Arts-project idea.
I throw my arms around Humphrey. He is the exact opposite of Grace. He’s all bones, but still warm. “Thank you, Humphrey,” I say.
“Of course, lovey,” he says.
“Oh, that reminds me. Cole says he has something for you,” I say.
“For me?” asks Humphrey.
I shrug. “He said he would call you tomorrow.”
“Okay then,” he says. “Now, if you would do me a favor, lovey?”
“Anything.”
“Switch that gorgeous lamp back on.”
I grin. “You got it.”
I switch it on and it beams to life. All anyone can do is stare.
Later, after everyone is gone, I head to my darkroom to make some prints and work on my Media Arts project. Humphrey’s gift has inspired an idea, a way of “drawing” over images with light, but in a more organic way than using Photoshop or something. I’m going to use my photos of the Broken Hearts Club members.
I’m going to blow the prints up large, cut out shapes in the prints and then mount the final photos onto light boxes so the light beams through. I’m thinking of doing an image of Humphrey with a heart in his chest, and maybe the shape of a person standing next to Grace. It will be a way to add what they’re missing. And each of us has something missing.
I take down the clip of old film I had drying and examine the exposures. A lot of them are grainy because the film was breaking down. I’m disappointed to see that most of the shots are scenery shots. Not a single one has Mom in it. There is one exposure I decide to print. It’s a self-timer photo I took of myself by the river. In my memory I can see Mom off frame, so I’m going to develop this one and “draw” her in.
I get to work, knowing I will be in here all night until I get it right.
Chapter Eight
It’s the day of the dance. It’s also a year to the day since my mom died. Death plus dancing. But I won’t be dancing. I’ll leave that to Cole and Sienna.
When I wake, I look out my bedroom window and see that the sky is clear and blue. That’s annoying. This is definitely a rain kind of day.
After I get dressed in my usual uniform of black jeans and black top, I look in my closet at the sea of black and fish out a bright blue scarf my mom gave me. It’s a long wrap, made of some kind of fancy material that is so soft it brings tears to my eyes. Mom bought it on a trip to Paris when she was a little older than me. I’ve never worn it. I’ve always been afraid that it would get lost or ruined, but that’s stupid. Here is this gorgeous thing sitting in my closet. If I died tomorrow, I would never have enjoyed it.
I smell the scarf, feeling its softness on my face, and then drape it around me. I look in the mirror. It’s like covering myself in a piece of sky. I vow to wear this scarf every single day from now on.
When I walk into the kitchen, I kind of expect to see Kelsey, but she’s not here. Dad says nothing as he buzzes around and gets coffee and toast going for us, but I understand. Today is not a day for new girlfriends. It’s not a day for anyone.
Dad hands me toast with jam, and I cram it into my mouth. He gives me a cautious look.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Yes, Father, your toast skills are adequate,” I say.
He rolls his eyes and mutters something about teenagers.
“But yes,” I add. “I’m okay. In fact, over the last few days I have made a lot of progress on my project.”
“Really?” He whirls around from the counter, butter knife in hand. “Can I see?” he asks.
“Nope,” I say, taking my coffee to go. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see it at the end-of-term art show.”
“You’re…you’re going to…participate?” he asks. He’s almost trembling with excitement.
I laugh and start to leave him with his toast. But I think better of it and turn back to give him a sudden hug.
“Oh,” he says. “Thank you.”
I’m getting better at this hugging thing.
“Do you need me today, Dad?” I ask.
He looks at me and touches the scarf, caressing it between his fingers. He shakes his head. “No, I need you to go to school. And I need to go to work.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later?” I ask.
He swallows. “I will be here. I’ll grab some Chinese takeout on the way home.”
“Maybe we could watch a movie,” I suggest.
“Sure. A comedy,” he says.
�
�So nothing about dead wives or moms then?”
He shakes his head. “I was asking for that, wasn’t I?”
“Sorry.”
“Get your butt to school!” He gives me a little push as he places another piece of toast in my hand.
I grab my backpack and head out the door. As it shuts behind me, I look back at my dad. He has a smile on his face. He’s going to be okay.
I’m a little behind schedule, but what else is new? I have to hurry to get to school so I can talk to Ms. Mill before class. I’m kind of half walking, half jogging when I hear the familiar high-pitched squeal of Cole’s Toyota pulling up alongside me.
“Hey!” he calls out. “Want a ride? Hop in.”
I can’t be late, so I open the door and get in, avoiding eye contact. It’s still so awkward between us.
“Hey,” I manage.
“Hey,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here today.”
I shrug. “Life goes on and all that crap.”
“Yeah,” he says.
We drive in silence the rest of the way to school. When we pull into the teachers’ lot, I hop out before he can cut the ignition. I offer a quick “thanks” and speed walk toward the school.
“Lo!” he calls after me.
I turn around as he hurries out of the car. He’s in such a rush that he doesn’t bother to shut the door behind him.
“What?” I ask.
He jams his hands into his pockets, looking nervous. “Tonight’s the dance, remember?”
I nod. Not this again.
“I wanted to make sure it’s okay that I’m going with Sienna,” he says.
“Cole, you’re free to do whatever you want.”
“I know, but—”
“Please don’t ask me again,” I say.
He nods. “Okay.” He walks back to his car.
I go inside and make my way to Ms. Mill’s office, a tiny room attached to the Media Arts lab.
The Unbroken Hearts Club Page 4
