Kris?” I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the jasmine-scented hand cream I use at night.
“We can figure them out together.”
“And I can enforce them.”
“Well, according to your little zinger earlier, you’re not going to be around. What was that about, anyway?”
“Do you really want to get into this now?”
“I have to leave early in the morning, and I won’t be home until it’s time for shivah. So now makes sense.”
He sounded angry, or rather, controlled, as if he were afraid the anger would erupt in unpleasant ways and he was working to contain it.
I capped the hand cream and lay down facing his side of the bed, propping myself up so I could see him better. I waited until he changed and got in beside me. All these years of marriage, and I still find my husband attractive. Kris has strong Slavic features that accent wide-set hazel eyes. Despite hours at a desk he usually finds time midday to go to the gym, and he watches his diet.
I would have preferred a more romantic homecoming, but the only fairy tale in our house tonight was the one Nik was reading down the hall.
“Cecilia is coproducing a documentary about foster care with a well-known filmmaker named Mick Bollard. We watched one he did on Ronald Reagan, remember?”
“No.”
In truth I had watched it, and Kris had walked in and out of the room with his BlackBerry. I wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember.
“Well, he’s amazing. For this one he wants a celebrity who actually was a foster child to be part of it. Cecilia’s...” I tried to figure out how best to explain this. “She’s come to realize she needs to tell her story. For herself as much as her audience. So they’ll be filming in places where she lived, and she’ll talk about what her life was like there. Of course it’ll all be interspersed with history and facts about child welfare. You know how that works. But she may do a lot of the narration, and her life will be the thread that’s woven all the way through.”
“Why does that have anything to do with you?”
“Cecilia wants me to be the production stills photographer. They’ll need photos for publicity, and Donny’s already spoken to publishers about a book on the making of the documentary. The right photograph can convey the point of an entire film. It’s an exciting challenge. She showed my work to Mick Bollard, and he’s enthusiastic.”
“There are a thousand photographers who could do that. A million.”
I tried not to let him see his words had hurt. “Of course. There may be that many, and, who knows, all of them may even be better than I am. Although if somebody like Mick Bollard thinks my work’s good enough, that’s a pretty good sign I have talent, wouldn’t you say?”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“How did you mean it?”
“There are other photographers who have the credentials besides you. And a lot of them would probably kill for this opportunity.”
“So why me?”
“Listen, it was rhetorical, okay? I know why you. Cecilia’s been trying to get you to work for her as long as I’ve known you. Longer, even.”
“And I have carefully not done so. Not because I’m not good enough, but because my life has gone in other directions.”
“And...”
I knew what else Kris was referring to. Years ago, during my college internship with famous celebrity photographer Max Filstein—an internship Cecilia had arranged for me—Max had given me some sage advice. In between critical tirades he’d admitted I had talent, yes, but he had insisted I should never focus it on my sister. Because even though I had a gift for exposing souls, when it came to Cecilia, I was clueless.
Max still calls regularly and rants about the way I’m wasting the skills he taught me. These days I take photos of my flowers and shrubs for gardening magazines, and sometimes I do photo shoots for local families or school fund-raisers. Once I opened an envelope to find magazine photos of my old roses torn to shreds with Max’s business card nestled among them.
“I think enough time has passed that I can do this and do it well,” I said, hoping it was true.
“How long is she talking about? A week? Two?”
“Live filming begins in a little more than three weeks and goes through January. Maybe a bit into February.”
He made a noise low in his throat, as if to say, you’re kidding.
“There will be times when I can fly home to visit. Thanksgiving for sure, and I told Cecilia we’re going to the Czech Republic to be with your parents for Christmas. I told her those ten days are nonnegotiable.”
I hoped Kris would see I was already thinking of him. His father, Gus, was teaching for a year at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague, a triumphant return after years of exile. It would be the family trip of a lifetime.
“Don’t you think that whether you’ll go to Prague is kind of beside the point, Robin?” Now he was unable to hide the anger in his voice. “In the meantime you’re talking about leaving the kids and me at home taking care of things for months while you trail your sister all over the country or wherever the hell you’ll be going.”
I was sorry Cecilia’s offer had come up now. I should have presented the whole thing with more tact, and I should have considered it carefully for more reasons than I was willing to go into with Kris. But I’d lashed out at him earlier, and this is what I got. Of course no matter how I phrased it, I was dropping a bombshell.
“I haven’t decided yet.” I hoped that would delay the discussion, but it was not to be.
“Then please decide not to go, okay? It was hard enough handling things while you were in the hospital.”
Suddenly he wasn’t the only angry person in our bed. “Really? I’m so sorry I inconvenienced you. Maybe I should have stopped the car that plowed into us with my superpowers. Or maybe I shouldn’t have gone to dinner at all, considering that I had to beg poor Michael to babysit because you had something more important to do.”
He stared at me, and I stared right back.
“Let’s face it,” I went on. “Everything is more important than spending time with your kids, Kris. Everything except me and what I need. You wonder why Nik is surly? Maybe it’s because he’s beginning to realize he won’t have a father to guide him through the difficult waters ahead. While you’re at it, take a look at your daughter. Girls develop so much faster these days, and when it comes to men, Pet will need help figuring out how to separate the wheat from the chaff. She’ll need a role model. And what kind of role model is a man who’s too busy to spend time with her?”
“Is that what this is about? You’re trying to force me to be a hands-on father? You couldn’t just ask?”
“I have asked until I’m blue in the face. But believe it or not, this
