“Morning,” Fiona says, not looking up.
I stop dead.
“Umm, hey?” Shooting her a glance, I check for a scowl and sarcasm, but she just looks . . . normal. Almost relaxed.
I edge closer. “How are you?”
“OK.” She shrugs, returning to her book, but I can’t believe the change. Deciding to push my luck, I actually sit down at the table and pour myself a bowl. Yesterday’s paper is folded on the side, so we sit there, reading in companionable silence for a moment, while I try to figure out what’s going on. Our fight was days ago, and it’s not like she would ever care about my feelings. I pause. Maybe not mine, but that stuff I said about the others . . . ?
Perhaps I finally got through to her.
“How’s the website going?” Fiona asks out of nowhere.
I blink. Neutral tone, normal expression — now I’m really weirded out.
“Good!” I recover. “Ethan’s kind of lost interest, so I was thinking of taking it over. We put up the photos of town, and the video posts, but it’s still pretty bare.”
She puts her finger in between her pages to keep the place. “You should probably start getting pictures of the house now, right? A couple of rooms are done, and if you look at the outside from way out back, you can get an angle where the plastic doesn’t show.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Before I try to wrap my head around the miracle of this new, civil Fiona, she adds, “I don’t know what good it’ll be. I mean, they’ll never be done in time.”
“Still, it’ll help.” I decide. Baby steps.
When Susie finds us later, photographing the parts of the house that actually look habitable, her expression is exactly what I expect. After all, there’s no screaming, stomping, or sulking going on — unheard of in Fiona-related activities.
“Hi, girls!” She edges over as if the slightest move could unbalance this precious calm.
“Hi, Susie.” I look up from the camera. “Everything’s coming along great. I like the wallpaper in the living room.”
“Thanks.” Looking breathlessly between us, she seems at a loss for words. “I was just at the store, and I got some ice cream. Did you girls want some?”
“That sounds great.”
“OK,” Fiona says reluctantly, and then, quieter, “That would be cool.”
Susie’s face melts into the biggest grin. “I can dig out sauce, too, and even those cherries you like so much, Fiona. We can make sundaes!” She spins around and heads toward the kitchen, still babbling about the different things we can add and how lovely it is outside.
Fiona turns to me and raises her eyebrows in a familiar show of disdain.
“She means well,” I argue, praying her mood-switch holds. And, thank God, it does.
Fiona lets out a weary sigh, but there’s no tantrum, just the mutter, “There better be chocolate.”
We spend the afternoon lounging around in the sun, even though there are a million other things Susie needs to be doing. (Well, Susie and I lie in the sun; Fiona pulls her blanket into the shade and sits there with a drooping sunhat and sunblock slathered everywhere.) Fiona manages not to make a bitchy comment every ten seconds, and in exchange, I manage to convey to Susie that enthusiastic chatter doesn’t exactly help her cause. After fluttering around, making sure we’re fully stocked with sundae ingredients, she finally settles down on the grass with one of my cast-off romance novels and a glow of contentment.
“Can you pass the Cool Whip?” Fiona stirs a gloopy concoction that would send even the healthiest person into a diabetic coma. She pauses and then with super-human effort adds, “Please?”
I nearly faint.
“Here you go!” Susie passes her the can. Fiona rolls onto her back and proceeds to squirt artificial cream right into her mouth.
“Eww, gross!” I cry, throwing a jelly bean at her.
“Shut up,” she says through the cream.
“Wait, hold that so I can immortalize you.” I reach for my camera. Fiona ignores me and flips back onto her stomach, but I start shooting anyway, capturing her lazy pose and the way her hat sends crisscrosses of light over her face. I switch between manual and automatic modes quickly to try different lighting effects, more practiced now.
“Can I see?” Fiona asks.
“Sure.” I pass her the camera and watch, a little nervous, as she flicks through the past weeks of images on the digital screen. Too late, I realize there are a few of Reeve — shirtless — in there, but I hope the other stuff disguises my attention to his details. “It’s just for fun. I mean, it’s not supposed to be like a portfolio or anything.”
She lingers on a set of photos I did the other week: a series of the guys with their Rock Band instruments, caught in action during a song. “Those were hard,” I say. She’s looking at one of Grady flipping his drumsticks. “The light down there was weird, and I had to try and get the movement . . .”
“No, these are . . . actually good.” She sounds surprised.
“Thanks.” I feel kind of shy. “Like I said, they’re just a fun thing.” I never really had time for art stuff before, what with all my Green Teen commitments, but out here, I’ve got nothing but time. My collection of photos is actually a big file by now, and I make a note to upload them to Susie’s computer soon.
“Look, Susie, she’s got one of you and Dad.” Fiona pushes the camera in her direction. It’s only a snapshot of them working on the back wall, but Susie can’t stop tears from welling up. I have a feeling it’s less about my magnificent photography skills than Fiona’s civil tone.
“Thank you, Jenna.” Her bottom lip is trembling.
“No problem.” I exchange a look with Fiona, and we go back to our ice cream and books in silence for the rest of the afternoon.
I think it’s the closest thing to domestic harmony this place has ever seen.
21
Beep.
“Olivia! Hey, how are you? Just calling to see what’s up, but I guess you’re out saving the earth or in that yoga cabin again. Umm, nothing much to report here . . . Oh, Fiona’s actually acting like a human being now — it’s a total mystery, but I’ll tell you all that in person. I’m just heading over to Ethan’s to hang out with everyone. Anyway, miss you. Call me!”
Beep.
“Hey, Livvy . . . Voice mail again . . . OK. Things are going fine here, good, actually. I spent the day down at the lake today, and Fiona even lent me this old Polaroid camera she hasn’t used in ages, so I was able to get these faded old shots. I wish you had e-mail so I could send scans or something; it gets so pretty here, especially in the evening right before the sun sets — the light is just awesome . . . Umm, hope you’re having fun. Give me a call back when you can!”