Chapter 4
In town the next day, I shop for champagne and a gift for Samantha and Hal’s twenty-fifth anniversary party.
As I walk along Main Street, acquaintances ask after Tom’s health or comment on Rosie’s absence and I have to tell them, He’s doing just fine, or, Rosie died three weeks ago.
Most people respond lightly to Rosie’s death, offering mild sympathy—she was only a dog, after all.
A pet. But she was my constant companion, beside me for more hours of the day than Tom, even.
I whispered to her when she curled on my lap; she always listened intently.
She held all my secrets, never judging me or loving me less for them.
I can’t say that in public, though. I simply say “Thank you” and move along.
Toward the end of the street, I pause in front of Mr. Katz’s old toy store, whose oddly formal window display hasn’t changed in years: dusty teddy bears, alphabet blocks, and empty-eyed dolls.
But what’s different today, what catches my eye is…
myself. From the neck down, I’m a dark female shape reflected in the center of the window, with blue sky surrounding me and one wilted teddy bear caught in the bell of my skirt.
Above it all, my face looms, bright and alive.
I’ve seen myself reflected in windows before, of course, but something about this, about the composition, sets the back of my neck tingling.
I fish my Nikon out of my purse, lift it chest-high, and click the button.
I think of Paul admiring the finished print, saying, Incredible. The composition is striking. That uncanny eye of yours at work again, Judith.
Pure nonsense, of course. I don’t even know if it will come out well.
Or if I’ll show Paul more pictures after all.
He said he wanted to see them, but what if he was simply being polite?
I believed him at the time, but now, with a little distance, I realize I may have been starstruck, na?ve.
Paul has had a picture in Harper’s, after all; what could he possibly see in mine?
I glance back at the window: there I am, floating in the world.
Not quite embodied, not quite real. Like a phantom or an alternate self with no past, present, or future.
Who is this person, I wonder. I know her face, but she isn’t quite me.
I feel dizzy and my vision blurs. When I step to the right, the spell breaks.
The image alters, the composition dissolves; I return to my body, to myself, a bit shaken.
I turn and walk back toward the heart of town, trying to recapture my business state of mind. To the liquor store, I remind myself. And then to Virginia’s Boutique for a vase or a nice frame.
Samantha and Hal, our longtime neighbors, have asked me to be their photographer.
I know what they want: posed, artificial shots of pairs and groups of people with fixed smiles.
All the same, I’m glad to have a purpose for the evening, and to have a chance to wear my dark blue satin cocktail dress with the deep V-neck, matching heels, and Grandmother’s pearls.
I walk briskly toward the liquor store, appreciating the sound of my low heels hitting the sidewalk and the tinkling bell of the door when I pull it open.
I’m here, I tell myself as I greet Lance, the owner. I am Judith Stanley.