Picture Perfect

by D. Anne Love

  Mama set her camera on the table. “I got some good shots of the dunes earlier. But the sunrise was obscured by clouds.”

  “I’m all sticky,” Shyla said. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  “Don’t be long,” Daddy said. “The burgers are almost ready.”

  While he tended the burgers, Zane and I went to the kitchen for buns, mustard, and a bowl of watermelon chunks he’d left chilling in the fridge. We set everything on the picnic table, and I went back to get plates and glasses. Just as I was setting the table, Shyla let out a blood-chilling scream. “Oh, my God! Come quick!”

  Daddy dropped his spatula and we all ran inside. “What’s the matter?”

  “Look!”

  Shyla pointed to the fuzzy image on the TV screen, and there was my mother, big as Dallas, right there on the Beauty Channel. Mama-in-person clutched her hands to her chest and stared at the screen like she’d seen a ghost. But I guess it would be totally weird seeing yourself on television.

  “… and all it takes is a thin layer of our new Bee Gone concealer, and those fine lines and age spots disappear like magic.” TV Mama finished applying makeup to the model and smiled her Bee Beautiful smile into the camera.

  “What—,” Zane began, but Daddy shushed him.

  “And remember,” TV Mama said, “if you call right now, you’ll get the Bee Beautiful bonus pack, which includes our Bee Gone concealer, Moisture Glow night cream, and two lipsticks from our new collection, all in this beautiful travel tote.”

  Then the Beauty Channel hostess stepped into the picture. “This is an amazing offer, Beth,” she said. “Folks, the calls are pouring in, so if you want to take advantage of this incredible collection of Bee Beautiful products, pick up the phone right now and dial the number at the bottom of your screen. There’s less than a minute left to place your order.”

  The camera zoomed in for a close-up shot of the hostess. “Now, don’t you dare go away,” she said. “In the next hour we’ll be bringing you the Howard Carmichael hair care collection. He’s showcasing some great new products that I know you won’t want to miss.”

  Then a car commercial came on. Shyla switched off the TV and said, “Wow, Mama, you looked great on TV!”

  “I taped that piece almost five months ago,” Mama said, “and this is the first time I’ve seen it. I thought they’d decided not to use it.”

  “They’d be crazy not to use it,” Zane said. “You’re the best saleslady Bee Beautiful ever had.”

  Mama pulled Zane close and kissed him. “Thanks, honey.”

  Daddy said, “Who wants lunch?”

  We headed outside. I was starving, but the burgers were ruined, burned beyond recognition. Even Lucky realized they were inedible.

  “Hand me your keys, Dad,” Zane said. “I’ll go pick up a pizza.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Daddy said. “Let’s drive into town for lunch.”

  A couple of hours later we were sitting at a table overlooking the harbor, drinking sweet tea and eating shrimp and grits. After we’d finished off the meal with peanut butter pie, we walked down the cobble-stone streets to the waterfront, past the pink- and blue-painted houses and the Gullah ladies selling their sweetgrass baskets. I took pictures of my family in front of the famous water fountain, and after a walk around the Battery we started home.

  Zane conked out in the backseat. Mama and Shyla were talking to Daddy. I switched the camera on and reviewed the pictures we’d taken that week. There were shots of Shyla and Zane flying a kite at sunset, pictures of Daddy walking on the beach with his shoes in his hand and his pant legs rolled up to the knees, and the pictures of the five of us Mama had taken with the tripod and timer.

  Shyla said something that made Mama laugh and for a moment I wondered if Mama loved us as much as Shyla thought. After all, Mama was a master of deception, a wizard who could take lipstick and concealer and turn anyone into a whole new person. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized all of us were keeping secrets of one kind or another. When it comes to the people in your life, what you see may not necessarily be what you get.

  Our last day at the beach passed too quickly. We swam with Lucky, played beach volleyball with a group of church kids from Mississippi, and pigged out at a low-country boil. Mama and I walked to Mingo Point, talking and taking pictures, and the last of my doubts melted away.

  “Stand over there,” Mama directed when we’d crossed a low bridge spanning the river. “I want a picture of you with your hair like that.”

  “Are you kidding?” I smoothed my hair off my face. “It’s a mess.”

  “It’s windblown,” Mama said. “It looks very fetching.” Then she laughed at herself. “Do people use that word anymore?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She focused and pushed the button, and the camera beeped. “Very nice,” Mama said. “You’re becoming a real beauty.”

  “Me?”

  We started walking again.

  “Yes, you.” Mama looped her arm through mine, and I felt her trembling. “I owe you an apology.”

  “What for?”

  “For lots of things. For starting the Bee Beautiful job without explaining to you why I had to do it. For spoiling your birthday. And for making those unkind remarks about the necklace Beverly gave you.”

  “I put it away, Mama. I haven’t worn it all year.”

  “Well, that’s a shame, because it’s lovely. I didn’t mean to disparage Beverly’s gift. I was jealous that someone else was paying attention to you, even though I was the one who chose to leave.” She let out a long breath. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter now.”

  Beneath the bridge a silvery fish broke the surface of the water and landed with a soft splash.

  “Come on,” Mama said, wrapping one arm around my waist. “Let’s start back.”

  Walking on the beach later that last night, I found a couple of whelks, empty and perfectly formed, and added them to the collection on the mantel. Zane and I helped Mama close up the house while Daddy drove Shyla to the airport for a late flight back to Austin. The next morning we packed the car and went home.

  A couple of weeks after we returned from the beach, the police arrested two guys for the attack on Daddy. It turned out they weren’t from Eden at all; they belonged to a group from Houston that called itself the Global List of Radical Youth, GLORY for short. According to the police chief, their purpose was to protect the American flag by beating up on anyone who dared desecrate it. These mental giants couldn’t figure out that the ideals behind the flag were way more important than a piece of cloth.

  Anyway, I was hugely relieved that nobody connected with Nick’s family was involved; Nick already had too much stuff to deal with. His dad had left Eden. The Harpers’ house was up for sale, which meant Nick had to keep his room clean all the time in case buyers came to check it out. While they were waiting to move back to Houston, his mom was working the night shift at a convenience store on the Dallas highway, and Nick had to hurry straight home after school every day to babysit Jacob.

  “At least you won’t have to watch Jacob after you move,” I said one day as we ate lunch in the quad. “Your grandmother is going to take care of him, right?”

  “Yeah, but I need to find a job for the summer, to help Mom with my school expenses.”

  I thought about my own plans for the summer—sleeping late, hanging at the mall with Ashley and Courtney, maybe even taking a trip to Atlanta to see Lauren, and I felt so bad that Nick would have to spend his vacation working instead of just kicking back and enjoying being fifteen.

  Finally freshman year wound down. Madame Rochard gave exactly one A in French One. Personally, I was relieved to escape with a B. The week before classes ended Mr. Clifton finished lecturing about his glorious tapestry and wound up showing a series of jerky classroom films, which several people slept through. Courtney and I sat in the back row of his class and wrote notes bac
k and forth, planning our summer vacation. Mrs. Grady handed back our final projects in science class. Nick and I got an A and celebrated by consuming ice-cold sodas and a giant package of M&M’s.

  In PE everyone had to repeat the physical-fitness test, to measure how far we’d come since last fall. Ashley, Courtney, and I managed to climb the rope but were told we still needed to work on increasing our endurance over the summer.

  Ashley leaned over and whispered, “The only thing I’m working on this summer is my tan.”

  “Ditto.” Courtney flipped her hair and checked it for split ends. “I wonder if that avocado shampoo I saw on TV really works.”

  “I’ll bring you some Bee Beautiful shampoo,” I said.

  “Girls!” the teacher said. “Either your attention, or detention. I don’t care which.”

  We stopped talking and finished inking in the charts that showed how many push-ups, sit-ups, and chin-ups we could complete in five minutes.

  That Friday, Zane went with the rest of the junior class to their end-of-the-year blowout at Six Flags, leaving me to ride the bus home after school. Beverly waved as I crossed the street, and I went over to say hello.

  Behind her on the porch were piles of boxes. Following my gaze, Beverly said, “I’m moving.”

  Even though everything had been straightened out, I was relieved at her news. But at the same time I felt guilty that maybe I had contributed to running her off.

  “Where are you going?” I let my backpack slide to the ground.

  “Back to Italy,” Beverly said softly, shading her eyes with one hand. “After Marshall died, I thought it best to find someplace new and start over, but now I realize it’s useless to try to outrun your memories. It just doesn’t work.”

  “Maybe you’ll be happier in Italy.”

  “My husband always said if you can’t be happy in Italy, you can’t be happy anywhere. But I don’t know. I’ve decided to keep this house for now. Maybe someday I’ll come back and try again.”

  “What will you do over there?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll paint, or write another book. Maybe I’ll become a winemaker and spend my days stomping grapes. Anyway, I was wondering if you’d have some time tomorrow to help me pack my books. The movers will be here next Tuesday.”

  “Okay, sure.” I picked up my backpack.

  “And Phoebe? I’m sorry if I caused you any problems. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I was rude to you. I was all mixed up about a lot of things, and I took it out on you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She patted my arm. “You’re a sweet girl. I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Great. Hey, wait! I have something for you. Be right back.”

  I waited while she ran inside and came back with a manila envelope. “Here you go. Open it later.”

  I shouldered my book bag and crossed the yard to our house. Mama was out back, kneeling in the dirt with her watering can and a package of flower seeds. Lucky was lying next to her, his tongue hanging out. She looked up and smiled when I came though the gate.

  It felt good to see Mama looking so much more normal. Her hair had come back white and curly, which made her look totally different, but somehow it suited her. She looked happy even with a dirt smudge on her cheek and black potting soil caked under her formerly perfect Bee Beautiful nails.

  There were other changes too. Since our trip to the beach Mama had been writing in her red journal every day. Now she was planting seeds that wouldn’t push through the soil for weeks, another hopeful sign.

  She handed me a trowel and said, “Dig me some holes. Lucky and I are planting zinnias.”

  Lately Mama had been hanging out with Lucky like he had been her idea all along. And sometimes he acted like he was hers instead of mine. But I wasn’t complaining. I scratched his ears and set my backpack down. The envelope Beverly had given me slipped onto the ground. Mama picked it up. “What’s this?”

  “Beverly gave it to me.”

  “May I open it?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Mama slit the envelope, and the photographs Beverly had taken at our house back on Christmas Day spilled out. There was Lucky, sprawled on the floor with his legs straight out behind him and a goofy grin on his face, blissfully unaware of how close he had come to being roadkill. Behind him stood the five of us. I could see the scar on Daddy’s forehead, Mama’s thin, shadowed face, and Shyla, Zane, and I looking hopeful despite our bruised hearts.

  Like the old stones in the wall in Connecticut, we had done a lot of shifting that year, but we were still a family; still holding each other up. Who cared if we weren’t picture perfect? If you look close enough, you can see cracks in everything. And that’s okay. Because when you really think about it, it’s the cracks and gaps and chinks in things that let the light shine in.