She grabbed my arm, relief flooding her eyes. “I thought you weren’t going to show.”
“I’m sorry. Am I late?” I glanced at my cell, which showed I had a ten-minute cushion.
“No. I’m just nervous. There are so many people. I guess there’s a bridal show in town this weekend and all these brides are here.”
I looked around and saw lots of white. “Oh, this is a bridal store.”
She laughed. “Yes. I’m showcasing the bridal line today.”
“Okay. Where do you want me?”
She pointed to a high stool and I positioned myself in the seat. A man in a suit walked up and introduced himself as the owner of the store. “The photographer will be here soon to get some photos of the session.”
“Photos?”
He opened a folder he held, then ran a finger down the first page. “I got your parental waiver for that, right? You’re . . .”
Antonia went wide-eyed from where she stood slightly behind him. “Chloe. She’s Chloe.” She gave me a pleading look.
“Right,” I said. “I’m Chloe.”
“Right. Here you are. Thanks.” He walked away.
“I’m sorry,” Antonia said. “I forgot about the stupid waiver he told Chloe to bring in when I thought she was doing it. Thanks for covering for me. It’s just so he can take pictures for the portfolio that will be next to the display in the store. Are you okay with that?”
“It’s fine.”
She must’ve thought I didn’t mean that, because she kept going. “It’s not really a big deal. Mostly extreme close-ups anyway, of, like, your eyes or your lips. No one will know it’s you.”
Extreme close-ups were not a good way to sell anything. But I knew what she meant. “It’s fine,” I said again.
She squeezed my arm. “Thank you.”
Antonia wasn’t kidding about extreme close-ups. It felt like the photographer was inches from my face throughout the session, taking pictures as Antonia progressed through the stages. I was seeing stars from the flash by the time it was over.
As the last people left, Antonia turned to me and blew air between her lips in an expression of relief. “I’m so glad that’s over. It was way harder in real life than in practice.”
I laughed. Now that I could relate to. My nerves were always way more intense at an actual game than during practice.
“Let me buy you dinner for bailing me out.”
I smiled. “Sounds fun.”
It was late when I got home. I was still fully made up (Antonia didn’t have makeup wipes like Amber did), I could feel the foundation thick on my face, and my eyelashes were heavy with mascara. Plus my hair was down because I’d forgotten to bring an elastic. I needed to get in the house unseen.
I stealthily walked the front path to my house. The window next to the front door was dark, so I let myself relax as I slid the key in the lock and eased the front door open. Gage reclined on the couch, watching television, and he looked over at me with a nod—then did a double take, seeming to take a moment to process my identity.
“I just had some very unclean thoughts about my sister go through my head. I feel disgusting now.”
I offered a weak smile of apology.
“You look different.” He pointed to his own hair and face. “Are you wearing crap all over your face? I shouldn’t be worried that you work in the red-light district at night, right?”
I wadded up my sweatshirt and threw it at his head. Since his question was rhetorical as far as I was concerned, I continued upstairs, grabbed my pajamas, and then jumped in the shower.
I scrubbed at the makeup on my face, wanting it gone. At home, that other part of my life seemed so foreign.
When I emerged, I found Gage sitting on my bed, along with Nathan.
I rolled my eyes.
“She doesn’t look any different to me,” Nathan said.
Gage shook his head and pointed at my face. “Her hair was wavy or something and she was wearing lots and lots of makeup. Her eyelashes and her lips and her cheeks—”
“Gage. Out.”
“Not until you explain.”
“Ugh. It’s nothing. I’ve just been the mannequin for a makeup line.” I thought about my choice of words and the stupid mannequin in Linda’s store. I felt like that lately—like all my pieces had been taken off and put back together lopsided.
“What?” Nathan asked. Then he looked to Gage when I didn’t answer. “What does that mean?”
“Do you mean modeling? You’ve been modeling?” Gage asked.
“Not really. Just sitting there while a girl puts makeup on me. Now get out before I beat you both.”
“Does Dad know?”
I groaned. “No. And he doesn’t need to.” He’d die if he knew I’d been lying to him about this. They both looked at me skeptically. “Can I buy your silence? I’ll give you each fifty bucks if neither of you says another word about this.”
“What are you, Ms. Money Bags now? Exactly what kind of modeling are you doing?”
“Oh. My. Gosh. Get out.”
Gage pointed to my dresser in a lightbulb moment. “That girl. Amber. You really do know her. You work with her.”
“Your brilliance knows no bounds.” This time I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the door. Nathan followed willingly. Before he left, Nathan turned back and said, “If you don’t tell Dad, you know I’ll have to.”
“Of course I know that, Nathan. You’ve never broken a rule in your life. Are your insides twisting up right now with my secret?” It was supposed to be a joke, but my insides were the ones all twisted up.
Nathan smiled but didn’t deny my accusation.
Gage, whose arm I still held and who I was trying to shove out the door, finally stepped out, but not before he said, “Since when do you keep secrets from me?” The way he said it, and the sadness in his eyes, hurt. Before I could defend myself, he’d walked away.
Chapter 20
I tossed and turned until the clock read midnight. I slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face. I leaned into the counter and stared at my bloodshot eyes. Water dripped down my face and onto the counter. I grabbed a towel and patted it dry.
Downstairs, I pulled out the box of pictures my dad kept in a drawer beneath the coffee table. I flipped slowly through the ones of my mother. I wanted them to tell me something different. Something they’d never told me before. Clues about her life. Her personality. But they didn’t. They just told me what they always did.