Page 78 of If My Wishes Came True
“What’s wrong?”
“Sorry to interrupt you. It’s my buddy Rob—the travel journalist. He just messaged me and said his publisher wants to see my photography before they extend a formal offer. But I haven’t updated my portfolio in forever.”
“When do they need it?”
“As soon as possible.” Charlie exhales. “I have an album of more recent shots, but I’m not sure which ones to choose. Want to help me take a look? I could use your artistic expertise.”
“Of course,” I say, eager to see Charlie’s work.
He hands me his phone, and my heart skips a beat the moment I lay eyes on the first photograph. It’s of a sunlit cobblestone path leading to a sparkling turquoise ocean. I can practically smell the salty sea air. And the photos that follow are just as beautiful. Snow-capped mountains against gray sky. Rain puddles on the street reflecting wispy clouds overhead. A row of little houses painted in dreamy pastels.
Every now and then, there’s a portrait. A photograph of an old woman in a headscarf looking out into the distance. A child playing with seashells on the beach. A man holding a lit cigarette, smoke coiled in the air like a snake.
And then, I see a familiar face.
A woman I know well—or thought I did.
My heart lurches. My hands are shaking.
There’s nothing indecent about the picture. She’s just sitting in the grass and smiling.
But the sultry way she’s looking at the camera tells me she’s no stranger to the man behind the lens. And judging by the looks of her, the photograph was taken relatively recently.
I gasp.
“Jenna, what’s wrong?”
My mind is racing. Trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together. Praying they don’t fit.
There has to be some other explanation.
“Jenna?” my boyfriend says again when I drop his phone onto my tangled bedsheets.
I look up at his beautiful, loving face. His eyes are laced with worry, waiting for me to answer him.
But my heart is racing. And my mouth is dry. By the time I finally say something, my voice comes out thin and shaky.
“Charlie…how do you know Vanessa?”
Ican’t believe it. Only a moment ago, I was looking at a picture of Vanessa onmyphone.
Now here she is again, on Charlie’s screen. The only difference is, her hair’s shorter in this picture than I’ve ever seen her wear it—so he must have photographed her before I met either of them. But when? And why?
My mind’s still spinning as the blood drains from my boyfriend’s face. The rosiness I know him for is gone and, for a moment, he just blinks at me. “You…know Vanessa?”
I nod, trying to temper my mounting anxiety, but no such luck. “I met her in art class. Her aunt is my teacher.”How do you know her, Charlie? I want to ask again, but the words get stuck in my throat.
“Oh,” he says, sounding hopeful. “So you and Vanessa are just acquaintances, then?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t known her long, but we’ve already become close friends. She’s the one who encouraged me to go totherapy, and found Esther for me.”
“Hmm.” He purses his lips, and I try to make sense of the change in his expression, which seems more concerned now than thoughtful. “And you said her aunt is your art teacher? I thought Marie worked at a bank.”
“She retired,” I explain before my brain can process the significance of what Charlie just said.
When I do, my stomach churns. “Wait—you know Marie, too?”
He frowns.
