6. Natalie
Natalie
“I’m so sorry I can’t be there to do your engagement shoot, Madison.
A family emergency came up, and I had to leave town for a while.
But, don’t worry. I know a lot of amazing photographers in the Miami area who I’m sure would love to book a session with you.
” I pause while Madison tells me her worries around scheduling a different day and finding a photographer who matches the style she wants for her pictures.
I nod along, trying to keep a smile on my face. Smiles travel through voices, you know.
Once Madison takes a breath, I jump in. “I know. It’s a lot to think about during a chaotic time, with all the planning you’re doing for the wedding.
And, again, I’m so extremely sorry I had to cancel.
But you’ll get your deposit back in full, so don’t worry at all about that …
Uh-huh.” Madison speed-talks again and then she begins to cry.
“Madison, don’t cry,” I say, trying to calm her.
My hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, and I turn down the volume on the speakers to muffle her sobs.
“Everything will be okay. I’ll send you a list of photographers I know in the area, and I’ll personally reach out to a few I’ve worked with to make sure you get booked around the same time as your original session.
The photos you get will look amazing. I’m so excited to see them posted on your page. ”
Madison’s tears finally subside. She thanks me while sniffling through the phone. I reassure her once more and hang up.
I rub at my temple. I knew canceling all my scheduled sessions would be hard but hadn’t had the forethought to mentally prepare for emotional breakdowns. I’m busy enough trying to get off my own emotional roller coaster.
With a deep sigh, I click the phone number of the next client with a scheduled photography session on my digital planner. The phone rings, and a man’s voice answers.
“Hello?” he says gruffly.
“Hi, this is Natalie Hamilton,” I reply, “from NataLily Studios. I’m looking for”—I check the name on my planner again, only looking away from the road for a second—“Cynthia?”
“Cynthia can’t come to the phone, but I’m her husband, Craig. Is this about the photo thingy she scheduled next month?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to say that something came up—a family emergency—and I won’t be in town to take your photos. I’m so sorry. I can—”
“Oh, really? That’s too bad,” says Craig, interrupting me. I can tell from his voice, however, that he definitely does not think it’s too bad. If I were to guess, he’s probably smiling. “Cynthia won’t be happy,” he states. “Did she pay you already?”
“She paid half as a down payment, but I’ll be sending it back. And please tell Cynthia I’ll be emailing her a list of photographers in the area that I think would be more than happy to schedule your shoot.”
“Yeah … You know, don’t worry about that.
I’m sure she can find someone else. If I’m being honest, I’m not a fan of having photos of me posted on her insta-whatever.
Sooo, this is kind of okay with me.” He chuckles, and I roll my eyes.
In my experience, the men never like to be photographed unless it’s for their own social media page.
“Well,” I say, “either way, please tell Cynthia I’m sorry about the change of plans.”
“Sure, yeah,” he mumbles. “I’ll tell her. Thanks for calling.”
“Of course. Have a nice day.” He hangs up before I do.
I’m definitely sending Cynthia that list of social media photographers.
I don’t think I can trust Craig to pass along my message.
If it’s left entirely up to him, Cynthia probably won’t hear about my cancellation until the day the shoot is supposed to take place, leaving her shocked and freaking out that she didn’t have time to find someone else.
I’ve seen that kind of thing happen before.
It’s not fun to get angry calls from clients.
I eye the passenger seat, looking for my water bottle. My mouth is dry; no doubt an annoying side effect of the alcohol last night. I woke up feeling fine—no headache at all—but my mouth has felt dry ever since, no matter how much water I drink.
It turns out I didn’t dream of the sun, but I also didn’t have a nightmare. I slept great, like I knew I would. I’ll take that win any day.
Now I have endless miles ahead of me and hours upon hours to think of what I’ll say to my family. I’ve talked to four clients already, left two voicemails, and I only wish I could send emails while I drive too.
But I’m alone—as I keep reminding myself—and getting in an accident so far from home—so far from Luke or Emma or anyone I’d call for help—isn’t on my agenda. I mean, it wouldn’t be on any given day, but I’m not taking any chances by looking at my phone.
My plan is to stop in Richmond, Virginia, for the night and drive the last leg of the journey tomorrow.
Before leaving the hotel, I took time to plan out the drive—where I’ll stop for gas, the hotel I’ll stay at, as well as a few cute coffee shops along the way.
If anything, I can at least make the crazy-long road trip pass a little quicker by exploring.
In the early afternoon, I pull into a small lot and enter an old fire station that’s been transformed into a coffee shop, complete with huge garage doors out front and a fireman’s pole near the entrance.
The bells on the door chime as it swings shut behind me, and I’m met by the scent of coffee beans as they’re ground by a loud machine behind the counter.
I approach the moving line and scan the menu on the wall. It isn’t long before the two young girls ahead of me place their orders, and I step forward.
A blonde girl with two pigtails smiles at me from behind the register. She can’t be more than sixteen years old. Her braces catch the overhead light as she speaks.
“Hi,” she says. “Welcome to The Burnt Bean. What can I get started for you today?”
I chuckle. The name of the coffee shop is humorous, but it also works since we’re literally in a fire house.
“What do you recommend?” I ask, looking at the display of pastries and a list of coffee flavors marked in chalk. “I’ve never been here before.”
She clicks a pen in her hands. “The Soot Saver is really good.” She leans toward me, whispering behind her hand. “Don’t ask me why the names are so weird. Everyone asks if it’s really made with soot, and no, it’s not.” She rolls her eyes, obviously annoyed by the question I wasn’t going to ask.
My brows lift. “Oh. Okay, then. Thanks for clearing that up.” I give her a tight-lipped smile.
The girl shrugs, then says in her high-pitched voice, “No problem. Do you want to try it?”
I shake my head but keep a smile plastered to my face. “No, thank you. Can I just get a”—I scan the menu once more, squinting—“iced cookie butter latte with an extra shot of espresso?”
It’s not my usual, but I feel like mixing it up a bit. With everything else upside down right now, why not also switch up my drink order?
“What size?”
“Better make it a large. I have a lot of driving left to do today,” I explain, somehow thinking this teenager will care. And just for good measure I add, “I’m driving to Pennsylvania.”
She looks up at me as she grabs a clear plastic cup, writing my order on the side. “Oh yeah? That’s cool. I’ve been to Pennsylvania once—last year. My parents took me camping in a town named after a tree. I think there was a lake too? I can’t remember.”
I rest my hand against my chest, lost in a memory of home. The girl’s voice fades into the background.
In my teen years, I was jealous of the kids who took vacations with their families.
My family rarely traveled, and when we did, it wasn’t far—a few hours north to bigger mountains or to the east for a rocky beach.
Maybe that’s why I felt so stuck living in Maple Lake.
So bored. Being surrounded by the same trees and dirt roads your whole life makes you question if there’s any way to escape. To find something exciting.
“Can you believe they don’t have one?” The girl’s voice comes back, breaking into my thoughts. I must have missed something, because I don’t think she’s talking about camping anymore.
“Sorry,” I say, blinking. “Don’t have what?”
“They don’t even have a working movie theater there. Everything was so outdoorsy—which I’m okay with—but I really just wanted to spend a night chilling, doing something inside, you know what I mean?” She scoffs and shakes her head, her pigtails shaking.
All I can do is nod. The Maple Lake movie theater is gone?
There’s silence for a beat, and when I fully come back to the present moment, the girl is smiling at me somewhat impatiently. “Your coffee will be ready in just a minute at the end of the counter.” She points to the opposite end of the long café.
“Thanks,” I squeak, and clear my throat.
“Have a good one.” Before I walk away she’s already sighing, like taking my order wore her out.
I smile back at Pigtail Girl and then notice why her voice felt familiar—she sounds identical to my sister, Jules, at that age. The knots in my stomach tighten at the thought of seeing her soon.
Once I’m back in my car, my phone rings. I fumble through my purse to find it, splashing cold coffee on the console in the process.
I groan. “That’s just freaking fantastic,” I mutter.
I set the cup in the console, then find my phone as I reach for a pile of napkins in the glove compartment. While soaking up the coffee spill, I see it’s Emma who’s calling, and I answer.
“Hey,” I say distractedly.
“Hey. How’s the drive going? And how are you doing?” Her voice is like sweet honey, smooth and full of reassurance.
“The drive is good. I just got coffee at a place called The Burnt Bean, and I’m about to get back on the road.”
“Well,” she says cheerfully, “you had the good sense to get the essentials, so at least I know you haven’t totally lost your mind.” Emma makes a lot of jokes, and I know from her tone that she’s trying to lighten the mood.
I roll my eyes.
“Where are you staying tonight?” she asks.
I toss the wet napkins on the plastic floor mat behind my seat. “I’m stopping in Richmond, and I’ll finish the last five hours of driving tomorrow.”
“Dang,” says Emma. “How many hours is the whole drive up there?”
“It’s about nineteen, but that doesn’t include stops.” I run my fingers through my hair as pressure builds in my chest.
“And?” she presses. “How are you feeling about going back?”
Scared. Humiliated. Like I’m bringing a raging wildfire from Florida to the mountains of PA.
I stir my coffee with the straw, then take a sip. “Ummm, I’m getting nervous,” I answer truthfully. “The closer I get to Maple Lake, the more my chest seems to tighten.”
“Aww, Nat. I’m sorry. What are you the most nervous about?”
“I guess I’m scared that my family won’t welcome me back. That I’m going to see them for the first time in nine years, and they’re going to hate me?”
“No one could hate you,” she states.
“They might,” I mutter.
She clicks her tongue. “You could go back to Luke.”
“I … No. I can’t. He let me go. He told me he won’t ever change his mind about having kids, so I’m free now. I’m starting over.”
Right? Isn’t that what I’m doing? What I want? If so, then why does my heart feel torn in two?
Emma sighs. I can tell she’s getting irritated. “Natalie, Luke is beside himself. I think you should go back.”
I set my phone down, connecting it to the car speakers.
“No. I can’t. I just—” I back away from The Burnt Bean and drive down the street to the north-bound interstate ramp.
“Maybe I’ll go back someday, but I have to see my family.
I’ve already set my mind on this, and it’s worth seeing it through.
” My tone comes out harsher than I mean it to.
“Okay.” Emma sounds a little deflated. “You know I usually encourage you in everything you do, but as your best friend I can’t support this. I can’t be on your side when it comes to you and Luke. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Emma, there aren’t sides.” I check the side mirror as my car accelerates on the highway.
“I’m serious. I don’t want you to feel like you have to pick a side.
I understand where you’re coming from, and yes, it’s not the best look for me to leave Luke.
I know it’s not right, in the general sense, but it’s complicated.
And I still love him, I really do.” So much it hurts more with every mile put between us.
“But this is what I think is best for us right now.”
She pauses a moment before saying, “Do you mind if I check on him? Just to make sure he’s not doing anything rash?”
I nod vigorously. “Of course I don’t mind.
Please check on him. I think he’d be happy to see you.
And Ceecee. He’s used to seeing her, and it might make him feel better.
” If she checks on Luke, then maybe I can see how he’s handling my leaving without having to get in touch with him myself.
I hate to put her in this position, but Emma can act as our middleman, just so I know he’s okay.
“Okay, thanks,” she breathes. “I just didn’t want to cross any lines by going over there.”
I trust Emma one hundred percent. She’s single and beautiful, but Luke is off-limits. A slimy individual might slide right in as soon as I left, knowing how attractive and wealthy my husband is.
But Emma is a good person. She would never pursue a married man or try to take my place. And besides, she’s like our sister—there’s nothing between them at all.
“I trust you, Emma. Definitely check on Luke.” I don’t add for me, because that would give her the ammunition to shoot back a You should call him yourself. “And thanks for checking on me. Love you.”
There’s a smile in her voice as she says, “Love you too. Drive safe.” And then she’s gone.