CHAPTER ONE WEST #2
“Fuck you, Martin,” she seethes, as her body stretches out on the ground.
“It needed to be opened. Not my fault you didn’t stand back when it started opening.
” The husky voice must belong to Martin, the man still sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, making no attempt to come to her rescue.
Before I offer her a hand up, I catch sight of his eyes in the rearview mirror.
The anger in them only adds to my perplexity of the situation.
Focusing my attention on the woman, I hold my arm out for her.
“Can I help you up?” She lies on the ground, eyes shut tightly, mouth moving a mile a minute.
This time, she has the decency to keep her voice quiet and to herself.
She stays in the same position—whether from embarrassment or frustration—for a few more minutes, finally opening her eyes with a huff of her breath.
When her eyes meet mine, she squeezes them shut again, her head shaking side to side.
“Ma’am?” I inquire, wondering what her deal is, questioning my actions of what the heck I’m doing standing over her.
“Is everyone watching me?” Her whispered words float to my ears and when I take in their meaning, I look around at the other patrons.
No one seems the least bit concerned with her actions as they are all too absorbed in their own affairs: wrangling kids out of car seats, chasing down runners, brushing hair.
“No, you’re good,” I assure her, still offering her my hand to help pick her up. With another audible sigh, she opens her eyes and pushes herself to sitting.
“I can take this from here. No doubt your wife is wondering where you are. If you are offering help to a complete stranger, I’d bet you’re a hands-on dad.” She runs one hand through her wild brown locks, the other shooing me away.
Her words cause me to pause, her assumption so far from reality. “I don’t,” I start but she cuts me off.
“You should go before she thinks you’ve wandered off.
Not that you’d ever do that. Wander off from her.
Seek out another woman. Or if you would, at least have the decency not to do it in front of her and the kids.
Am I right?” She lets out a loud chortle as I try to make some sort of sense of the words coming out of her mouth.
Wander off from her? Who is she even referring to? “I’m sorry. What?” It’s about the best I can do at the moment.
She stands hastily, pushing me out of her space, clearly not needing my help. Her cheeks tinge with the pink of embarrassment, but I’ve yet to decipher exactly for what.
“Thanks for your offer. You can go now. I’ll clean up my mess.
It’s what I do.” With her words, she cranes her neck around to her backside, groaning as she realizes the dirt she’s now covered in.
Her maniacal laugh confuses me further, my head shaking side to side wondering what the hell is even happening here.
I start to walk away, trying to distance myself from all aspects of this bizarre situation when her words halt me yet again.
“And to think, I actually thought we’d be able to conceal the clusterfuck that defines our family with today’s photoshoot. Guess some things are just not meant to be.”
I turn back around, my interest highly piqued for reasons I won’t ever understand.
She haphazardly swipes her arm down her backside, dirt flying around with every up and down movement.
It’s a good thing her pants are black since the dirt won’t show up as much, and depending on who her photographer is, he or she can most likely touch up the photos.
Mid-swipe, she catches me staring at her.
There’s really no other way to explain the way my eyes study her movements.
First, she winks at me, sending me more off-kilter.
Then she waves me away, her fingers dismissing me.
Finishing up her cleaning routine, she faces away from me, her attention focused back on the people in her car.
This time, as I walk away, I actually make it past the parking lot, over to where Marisa stands.
“You going to watch today or something?” she asks with a sidelong glance in my direction.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Not or something. Seems like the crazies are all out today. I’ll be at my cabin. Come find me when you’re done. You want a burger?”
Longingly she shakes her head. “What I wouldn’t kill for a burger. One of your burgers, no less, but sadly I must get home after I’m done for the day. Duty calls.”
“Right. My bad. Tomorrow? Next week?” I hold onto hope she will agree to a future date, knowing I have to share my time with her now.
Between her job as a photographer and her fiancé, my time as best friend has been limited lately, much to the chagrin of both Marisa and me.
So much so that I find myself asking, “Need an assistant today?”
Her face perks up at my words, and the reality hits that I can’t take them back. Especially when she claps her hands and smiles giddily my way. “I thought you’d never ask,” she declares, shoving her camera bag in my arms. “Come, follow me.”
And I do. Like a puppy follows his owner. Just call me Fido.
I trail Marisa back to the parking lot. The photographers and clients meet there at the start of the sessions. I try to track down the woman from the Porsche, but she doesn’t appear in my line of sight. Until she does.
Loaded down with a baby carrier and what appears to be three bags, she heads in our direction, a man lagging a few feet behind her. The asshole, if only according to her.
“Marisa?” she questions, looking between Marisa and me. At Marisa’s nod, she offers a smile. “Hi, I’m Nellie Sturges. So good to meet you.” With her hands loaded, she can’t reach a hand out.
“So nice to meet you too. I’m all set up by some trees like we talked about on the phone, so if you’ll just follow me, we can get started.” Marisa’s in full-on work mode, her professionalism making her a pro in her field.
Ignoring Marisa’s words, Nellie turns to me. “So, you’re not a client? Not here with your wife and kids?”
Marisa’s belly laugh cuts off any answer I could give. “She thought you had kids? Oh, that’s rich.” Her head falls backward, then her body tips forward as she doubles over with laughter at my expense.
“It’s not that funny,” I mutter under my breath, which only eggs her on more.
Her arm slaps her knee in excitement and she nearly falls over, catching herself at the last minute.
After an awkward three minutes of Marisa’s laughing, Nellie and I alternatively staring at each other and Marisa, she finally manages to get herself under control. Well, after one last dig.
“West doesn’t do kids.”
I want to argue with her, laugh it off, but Marisa’s comment hits the nail on the head. I don’t do kids. They just aren’t my jam. And for the record, I don’t do dogs either. And when the two of them mingle? I shudder at the thought.
Instead of saying anything to contradict what Marisa has shared, I casually shrug my shoulders. “I don’t have a wife either.”
Marisa goes to laugh at the absurdity of that statement too, but I shoot her a look, one that effectively keeps her from running her mouth anymore.
Shaking off this weird interaction, Nellie asks, “So, pictures?”
With the question, Marisa puts her professional mask back in place and starts walking toward her designated area, the rest of us traipsing behind.
Thirty minutes later, I curse myself for wanting to spend time with Marisa.
The session runs for an hour. Usually Marisa gets a shit ton of images, a variety of shots, especially when it’s only one child involved.
Except for this baby apparently. All she’s done is scream, which seems par for the course for the family.
Mom screams at Dad. Dad yells back. Baby cries harder.
Marisa has done her best to keep them calm, relaxed, using soothing words to get a decent shot, something she can deem worthy of the exorbitant sitting fee she charges.
“Maybe she’s hungry,” Marisa suggests, her professionalism slipping with her frustration. I can see it on her face as she wipes her hair off her forehead.
“I can try feeding her,” Nellie agrees, bouncing the infant in her arms. “I fed her right before we left the house. She’s usually not this fussy.
Not at this time of the day.” Nellie babbles about the kid, something about ten weeks and a possible growth spurt, all the while walking around, her eyes darting back and forth, frantically searching for something.
I take in the husband. Besides yelling at his wife, the man has been no help.
He’s not once touched the baby, not offered to hold her, attempted to calm her down, nothing.
It was Nellie who got her dressed and ready.
It was Nellie who stood behind Marisa, willing a smile out of her uncooperative daughter.
And it’s Nellie who now looks on the verge of tears as her daughter’s cries get louder and more high-pitched.
Sounds I’m not at all familiar with, yet sounds I’d like to avoid at all costs.
I signal over to Marisa that I’m going to take a break. Especially if the baby’s going to be fed, I can certainly take a five-minute breather. Until the baby’s cries get even louder, and the sound comes from only a short distance away.
“I’ll be right back,” Nellie grumbles, thrusting her daughter into my arms before taking off for a run in the trees.
I gasp, the shock of a screaming baby being in my arms overwhelming my entire being.
As the baby thrashes her tiny body, I do my best to hold on to her, my large fingers gripping her abdomen and waist tightly.
As my breathing quickens, my heart pounds loud in my chest, the severity of the situation rising as each second passes.