Left to Chance Read online

  “I guess. Is this something we have to decide right now?”

  “No.”

  “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “Is that something we have to decide right now?”

  Miles smiled. “I guess not.”

  “Let’s have some photos ready to show Violet when she gets back.”

  “I think she’d like to see Gretchen Halliday’s photos, but I don’t think she’d ask you.”

  Everyone wanted to see the photos of the actress’s wedding to the Olympic skier. And then to mimic them.

  “I’m not really supposed to but … I can show her a few.” I meant it to sound more secret-spy-like than it did. “Can you at least give me a list of the wedding party? Or tell me how many tables you’re going to have so I can put that into my notes?”

  Miles picked up the tablet again and scrolled back through the photos, stopping at one with the bride and groom sitting on a tree swing. “Do you ever wonder if people are as happy as they seem in your pictures?”

  “They’re usually happy that day. After that I never see them again, so it doesn’t matter.” I stammered. “Of course, it won’t be that way with you and Violet. And it does matter to me if you’re happy. I haven’t forgotten all the fun times we had. All those years we were the Three Amigos even when you would have rather been alone with Celia. You did that for her. I always appreciated how you included me.”

  “I considered you my friend, too, you know. Not just Celia’s.”

  “Me too.” It was all I could say. “So, you and Violet met again at a reunion or some event she came back for?” I had shifted into work mode again. It was useful to know just a little about the couples I photographed so I could make them laugh, or tear up, on cue. I knew too much about Miles, but nothing about Miles and Violet.

  “We met at a grief support group actually—”

  There was a loud knock at the door. Miles pushed back his chair and left the kitchen, likely relieved not to have to answer me. I looked out the window at the backyard to the idle wooden swing set with its covered sandbox. I didn’t remember it being so big, or so still. I resisted the urge to crane my neck to see who was at the door.

  I didn’t have to wonder for long. I recognized the bearing of the footsteps, the low roll of the muffled conversation. Beck stood in the doorway and looked past me as if the most interesting thing in the room was beyond and above me, as if I didn’t exist at all. Then he opened the door and stepped outside, taking his Irish Spring with him.

  Chapter 7

  I WALKED TOWARD THE corner of the yard and examined the patches of yellow coleus tucked into a bed of mulch and rocks. Beck appeared in my peripheral vision as I knelt and pinched off a handful of blossoms. They would fit nicely into a vacant wineglass and brighten my room. I grabbed a small rock and pushed it into my pocket as I stood.

  “Why did you tell Shay to apologize to me about the contest?”

  “Because it’s not her place to make demands of you.”

  “I can take care of myself, make my own decisions.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Look, can we just talk? I—”

  “You’re not the center of attention here, Teddi. This is about Miles and Violet and Shay. So just step back and let them have the spotlight.”

  “I don’t want a spotlight.” I never had the spotlight. I never wanted a spotlight. I looked at Beck straight on. “I just don’t want you to pretend I don’t matter. There’s a difference.”

  “You matter to Shay because she still sees you as a link to Celia.”

  “I am a link to Celia.”

  “No, we’re the links. You’re just a reminder.”

  “Why would you say something so mean?”

  “People change.” Beck shoved a hand into his jeans pocket.

  “Not fundamentally.”

  “Yes, fundamentally. People change. You don’t think you’re a different person than you were before Cee died? I know I am.”

  I wanted to argue but I didn’t want to fight, and that’s what this would become.

  “What do you mean, you’re different?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Beck chortled. “You don’t know what went on here after you left, and I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to give you a history lesson. You saw Shay once a year at some fancy hotel. I’m glad you didn’t abandon her completely, believe me, but now you come back and we’re all supposed to be grateful and let the great Teddi Lerner slip back into place in our lives? Maybe you bring back bad memories. Maybe nobody wants you here.”

  “‘Nobody’ being you.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “We were good together.”

  “You were not good for me, Teddi. Not after you left. I…” he said, and then stopped.

  That’s when I saw that look in Beck’s eyes, the squinty look, the one where he glanced away because he was calculating what to say next. Beck didn’t do anything spur of the moment; even when it seemed like he was being spontaneous, he’d thought it all through. His jawline softened as he pulled his hand out of his jeans pocket.

  My phone beeped.

  “You might as well answer it.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “It’s too late to play catch-up and pretend everyone here is important, Ted. You went away. You outgrew Chance and everyone in it.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Beep.

  “I don’t have anything else to say. Just do what you’re here to do and then go home. And do not hurt Shay.”

  “Do you really think I would do something to hurt her? I love her.”

  Beep. After this, the call would go to voicemail.

  I assumed it was Mr. Thomas. His company, Titan Industries, would be a new client and all his retreats would be booked at our properties around the country. I’d be the one snapping photos to showcase on their Web site, arranging for formal portraits, and hiring photographers to shoot each corporate event. If I didn’t answer, the deal might fall through. Hester wasn’t as big as hotel conglomerates, but we offered more personal service—and part of that service was answering the phone.

  Beep. “I’ve got to get this.”

  “Of course you do.”

  I swiveled around and plugged a finger into one ear. “Hello, Mr. Thomas. I mean, Henry. Nice to hear back from you so soon.”

  Beck walked behind me, through the yard, up onto the deck, and into the house. I didn’t need to look or stop talking to know. The ground shook with every step.

  * * *

  Violet led me by the hand. She looked as unfazed and fresh as she had when I’d arrived. She pulled two chairs out and patted one. I sat. Violet tapped my shoulder with hers.

  “I hope Beck wasn’t too hard on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  Not again. “Tell me, really.”

  “He didn’t want Shay to ask you to come.”

  My shoulders shook and I rubbed away the ache, pretending it was a chill. “Oh. Well, we have a history.”

  “I should say! You’ve known him since he was born. I’m sure it’s just because you remind him of Celia.”

  Shay stomped in wearing her dyed shoes.

  “These are awful! Do I really have to wear them?”

  “You wanted the same shoes as the bridesmaids,” Violet said. “You were excited to have them match the dress!”

  “I changed my mind.”

  I clamped my lips.

  “Can’t I just wear sandals or something?”

  “Or something? Really, Shay? This is your dad and Violet’s wedding,” I said. “They’re not that bad.”

  “Thank you,” Violet said.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re on her side?”

  “I’m not on anyone’s side. I just think if the bridal party is wearing dyed shoes that you should too.”

  �
�I know it’s a little old-fashioned,” Violet said. “But it’s what I always pictured, you know?”

  I did not. I did not dream about weddings or gowns or dyed pumps. Well, I didn’t dream about my own.

  Shay harrumphed. “Fine. Where’s Uncle Beck? I want to show him something.”

  “He’s in the kitchen with your dad.”

  Shay clomped away as if trying to fling her shoes off with each step.

  “I’m not used to seeing Shay like that,” I said.

  “She’s a teenager.”

  “What is it with twelve being a teenager? Where did ‘tween’ go? Isn’t tween a thing?”

  “You’re not around too many kids, are you?”

  “Well, no…”

  “The tween years lasted about a week.”

  “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “I wish I was, but middle school is like another planet. They start sixth grade like Lindsay Lohan in Parent Trap, and end up like, well, like Lindsay Lohan.”

  * * *

  Violet hummed as she scrolled through my photos with a flourish of her index finger. I pointed to updos and headpieces, to silk mermaid dresses and knee-length taffeta. We discussed skylines and sunsets, cities and mountains. I described San Francisco, Bozeman, and Miami. Violet chatted about Chance, and she swayed a little any time she mentioned Miles. She sat up a little straighter any time she mentioned Shay.

  I showed Violet a few of Gretchen Halliday’s wedding photos that I’d kept on my tablet for this purpose, as well as blooper photos of just about every bride, all stored in a password-protected file. Violet studied the photos of Gretchen, the Oscar-nominated bombshell, and I wondered if Violet thought she wasn’t as pretty as the movie star. She was. After the first photo of a bride pulling at her gown, in, let’s say, an unladylike pose, Violet bellowed a deep, resonant, powerful laugh, and then covered her mouth. I laughed at the difference between her looks and her sound, and it encouraged us both to ride out our giggles. Violet’s crossed leg swung like a pendulum timed to her heartbeat.

  “This is really fun, Teddi. And I don’t just mean because I’m a Gretchen groupie. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” I meant it.

  Everything about Violet was as smooth as her skin and as eager as her laugh, and all without pretense or malice. She was the kind of woman who glistened and didn’t sweat.

  And who I started to like anyway.

  Violet skittered around the table adjusting the silverware and plates, moving them a millimeter, stepping back to assure herself of the change, clasping her hands as if asking for approval. I wasn’t used to insecure brides. The privileged women who married at Hester properties had entourages and expectations. Violet got the giggles any time she mentioned anything remotely opulent, like cascading hydrangeas and the chocolate fountain. She looked at me straight on, but not as a challenge. With Violet, I felt welcome, a sweet and sad welcome.

  “Can I come in?” It was Shay.

  “Do I really have to wear these shoes? They hurt.”

  “Nice try,” Violet said.

  “I have an idea.” I glanced at Violet, not meaning to interfere but interfering all the same. “You could wear these shoes for the pictures and wear them down the aisle and then change into something else for the party. The best people are doing it,” I said. Violet turned to me and I nodded. “It’s true. We could even bedazzle a pair of flip-flops.”

  Shay scrunched her face and pulled back her head. “Huh?”

  “Glue sparkly things to them.”

  Shay smiled. “Can we do that?”

  “Of course,” Violet and I said together. Then I realized Shay hadn’t been talking to me.

  Shay pulled out the chair next to me and sat. With Violet on one side and Shay on the other we studied more photos and went off on tangents about shoes and hair that had nothing to do with weddings. Shay doodled in a small notepad the whole time.

  “What did you and Daddy talk about while we were gone?”

  “Pictures.” I tapped the tablet. “And then Uncle Beck came.”

  “What did the three of you talk about?”

  “Nothing really, sweetie.”

  “You didn’t talk about my mom?”

  “Just wedding talk going on here, nothing else, Shay.” Violet’s voice was stern but kind, like she knew what Shay was talking about.

  “Anything else you can think of, Shay?” I asked. “About the wedding? The pictures?”

  “That seems like a lot,” she said. “Of pictures, I mean.”

  “I usually take a few hundred pictures, because although you look good in every shot, Shay-Shay, that’s not true of everyone. I want your dad and Violet to have a lot of choices.”

  Violet smiled.

  “But if you’re taking that many pictures—during the party, I mean—how are you going to have a good time?”

  “I love my work. I always have a good time at weddings. There’s music, beautiful clothes, and happy people. And you’ll be there. That will make it a wonderful day for me.”

  “What table does Aunt Tee sit at, Vi?”

  “Aunt Tee will be working, Shay.” Violet looked at me.

  Maybe she wasn’t as nice as I’d thought.

  At Hester Hotel weddings the chef always saved a perfect plate of food and had it waiting for me in the kitchen. A perk of being on staff. A perk of being thought of as Simon Hester’s girlfriend, even though I wasn’t officially anything. Not yet.

  “I’ll eat in the kitchen and sit when I can. I promise. It’ll be fine. I do this all the time.”

  “Well then you have to stay and eat with us tonight.”

  “I can’t, sweetie, but thank you.”

  “But Uncle Beck is here!” Exactly.

  “Who’s talking about me?”

  We three turned in tandem and saw Beck step into the dining room.

  “I want Aunt Tee to stay for dinner, but she says she has to go.”

  “Well, if Aunt Teddi wants to go, nobody can stop her.”

  “Tell Aunt Tee you want her to stay, Dad.”

  “I think Aunt Teddi is tired.”

  Shay slumped and rolled her eyes.

  “Shay, show me those shoes you just picked up,” Beck said. “And your newest drawings. Let these guys talk wedding.”

  “Fine.”

  Beck followed Shay out of the room and I heard them walk upstairs.

  “I wish you’d stay,” Violet whispered. “Beck will ease up on you. He’s a sweetheart.”

  “I think we’re good to go,” I said. “With the pictures, I mean.”

  “Fabulous.”

  Violet flitted around the table, as if she would be responsible for each place setting at the reception.

  I gathered my tablet, my papers, pens, and bag, checked the time. That’s when I realized I had nothing to eat and no one to eat with. The idea of Josie’s book club was looking better by the moment.

  “I guess I’ll be going…”

  “Thank you so much for everything.”

  “Let Miles drive you back to Nettie’s.”

  “It’s okay, I’d like to walk.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I like the alone time.” It’s what I’d grown accustomed to. “I’d like to say good-bye to Shay.”

  “Of course,” Violet said.

  I also wanted to say good-bye to Beck. Maybe he was different. Maybe I was different too. But different didn’t have to mean indifferent. Not anymore. I knew Beck when he was born, when Celia got the little brother I’d always wanted and said she’d share him with me. I’m not sure she meant it the way I eventually took it. No matter the hurt, Beck and I had known each other our whole lives—Before, During, and After Celia’s death. Well, not so much after. I had to say good-bye this time.

  Even if he didn’t say it back.

  I walked up the steps sure-footed but without sound, as Violet watched. I didn’t want to surprise Shay or Beck, but I also didn’t want Beck to hi
de in the bathroom. I wanted Shay to sense that we all got along. Even if we didn’t.

  Once on the landing I noticed the master bedroom door was closed. That was good. I didn’t want to see a new bed, or new curtains, or rearranged furniture. The guest room door was partially open. Celia had spent weeks in that room on a hospital bed, so I certainly wouldn’t be going in there, but I could see new shiny dark wood furniture and taupe walls. Violet’s touch, perhaps?

  I walked to Shay’s door. “Knock knock,” I said, and pressed my cheek to the doorframe.

  Shay looked up and smiled, her hands tearing pieces of paper into small random shapes. “Sorry Uncle Beck was early and you couldn’t just do the photos with Dad.”

  “That’s okay.” It was more than okay. “So, where is Uncle Beck?”

  “In the attic looking for something.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We have a date at the mall after class? It ends at noon tomorrow, right? See? I remember everything you tell me.”

  “Yeah.” Shay smiled and continued with busy hands. “Dad said he’d drive us on his way to a meeting. And then pick us up. Maybe the three of us can have lunch.”

  I walked to Shay and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll see.” She had stacks of paper in shades of every color around her on the floor, surrounding a piece of poster board arranged with torn pieces. It looked like—it looked like Miles. “Are you making a portrait of your dad?” She held up a small photo of Miles, Celia, and herself. I remembered that photo. Shay was three and had cut her own bangs. They were almost straight. “She’ll be an artist,” Celia had said. It made no sense to me then, but Celia’s intuition had been spot on, as usual.

  “It’s my collage.” Then I saw it. The snapshot had been duplicated in a pencil outline, with numbers and words scribbled in each section, like a paint-by-number. Celia’s likeness was still empty, white, untouched. Was that how Celia felt to Shay? Like a pale outline of a mother for whom she worked to fill in the color? I felt sad, but Shay’s deliberate movements, her intentions—those felt brave.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  Shay nodded. I left the door open just a crack, then walked down the hall. That’s when I heard the creaking of the floorboards above me. Yes, Beck and I were waiting each other out. Or at least I was waiting out Beck. How long could I stay before Miles and Violet realized I was upstairs? How long until Beck returned and I could apologize for hurting him, for leaving without saying good-bye? I wouldn’t apologize for leaving. I wasn’t sorry I left.