Page 75 of The Roommate

There were definite benefits to anonymity. The people here didn’t immediately link her surname to the library or the wing at the hospital like people she met back east. No one said, Oh yes. Of course I know your father or Such a shame about Oliver’s insider trading snafu five minutes after bumping into her.

In L.A., Clara had her own identity. The future wasn’t carved in granite.

“Mosquitoes are gonna eat you for dinner.” Josh came out carrying a citronella candle.

“They do love me,” she agreed. He really was unusually thoughtful. The familiar notebook under his arm told her he’d come home straight from the set.

“It’s late.” He frowned. “You should be in bed.”

“You have to stop mothering me. I’m totally fine. I could cartwheel right now.” Assuming she’d ever learned to cartwheel.

Josh pulled up a second chair next to hers. “What are we looking at?”

She handed him the box of images. Sure, they contained evidence of several awkward phases, but Josh had already seen her stripped bare both emotionally and physically. She had nothing left to hide. Her heart hammered . . . reminding her of all the things she’d taken “off the table.” Fine. Almost nothing.

The night had that unique summer energy when the air grows heavy and sparkling. When each breath in feels like freedom and the sky seems so glad to be rid of the sun it sighs in relief. If Clara wasn’t careful, an evening like this could get her tipsy on its potential.

“Look at you.” Josh lingered over a headshot from second grade. “Man, you look exactly the same. What kind of seven-year-old wears sweater-vests?”

Clara smiled sheepishly. “I picked that one out myself.”

“Of course you did.” He flipped her a shot from the middle school debate team. “I like those bangs.”

“My mom loved that haircut. Even though I clearly don’t have enough forehead to sport fringe.” Clara wrinkled her nose. “It took me until eighth grade to stand up to her and demand to grow them out. There’s a distinct headband phase in there if you keep digging.”

“Wait, this one is the best.” Josh passed her a faded Polaroid. This one featured Clara posing with a huge oak tree, exposing her terrible teeth pre-orthodontia. “I had a gap too.”

“No way.” Josh had a perfect grin complete with dimples.

“Oh yeah.” He moved to light the candle with a matchbook from the pocket of his faded Levi’s. “Huge gap. I thought it had personality with a capital P. I cried when I got braces and it closed up.” Josh dug for more pictures. “Now wait a minute.” He tapped the image with his thumb. “Who’s this babe?”

Clara glanced at the image and then stared out into the darkness of the backyard. “That’s my mom.”

“You have her eyes.”

But not her tiny waist or perfect poise. Not her patience or her self-control.

“I’ve never seen another pair your shade of slate.”

Clara shifted in her seat. No one ever mentioned the color of her eyes.

“She didn’t know the picture was being taken or she would have said it was undignified. See?” Clara pointed to her mother’s bare feet. In the photo, Lily stood in the kitchen drinking a glass of iced tea with the sun setting behind her.

“She always liked to look put together, head to toe. It wasn’t until the end of the day when she would come home and kick off her heels that I really recognized her. I used to think that was the signal that she was morphing from director of the board to mother.”

“I bet she’s a firecracker.”

“Usually,” Clara said. And then for some reason, “She cried the day I left. To fly out here, I mean. She’s used to having me an hourlong train ride away.”

Chirping crickets filled their silence.

“She wouldn’t even drive me to the airport. Said I was being selfish, leaving her alone.” Clara took a deep breath. “I think she was scared. My family’s been through a lot, and my mom has always borne the brunt of it. Cleaned up other people’s messes. I promised her she’d never have to worry about me, but then I woke up one day and everything in my life was disposable. Nothing was mine.”

“So you came out here.” Josh handed her a new image. Another shot of her and Everett, though this time from senior year of high school. Clara recognized the yellow dress and the sunburn on her nose from senior week.

Everett’s arms and legs had filled out. He looked like a boy on the cusp of becoming a man. They sat on the hood of the Wrangler, waiting for graduation rehearsal to start. “It always ate at me,” Clara said. “My mom got to choose her life, but I never once asked for what I wanted.”

Josh propped his elbows up on his knees and sank his chin between his hands. “I didn’t realize that you’d been gone on Everett that far back.”

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