“Calm down, Boomer.”
Boomer? I was forty-three, not eighty. Or whatever age it took to be a baby boomer.
He tossed his camera into the passenger seat, started the engine, and peeled away down the street.
I didn’t relax until the SUV disappeared around the corner. When I got back to the car, both girls were watching me with wide eyes.
“Was that a photographer?” Mia asked as I opened her door.
“Yeah,” I said gently. “But he’s gone now.”
“They know where we live?” Mia’s voice cracked. “That’s like … beyond creepy.”
“Apparently.” I looked at Margot, who’d gone very pale. “You okay, mon cœur?”
She nodded, but her hands were trembling.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get inside. We’ve got a surprise to set up, remember?”
Inside, I made the girls swear not to text Lila about the stereo. “It has to be a surprise.”
“We won’t tell,” Mia promised. “Right, Margot?”
“I won’t say anything,” Margot said quietly. She still seemed shaken from seeing the photographer.
“Hey.” I crouched down to her level. “That man is gone. And I’m not going to let anyone scare you, okay?”
She nodded, managing a small smile. “I can’t wait to show Lila what we got her.”
“Same,” I said. “Now let’s get to work. I bet she’ll be home any minute.”
The girls helped me carry in the records and bags. I brought the turntable in last, setting it on the kitchen island.
“All right,” I said. “Where do you think we should put this?”
The girls looked around like a committee preparing for a summit.
“We can’t just plop it anywhere,” Mia said. “Mom’s kind of a perfectionist about stuff like this.”
Margot pointed toward a low cabinet against the far wall. “What about there? That seems just right.”
“Good eye,” I said. “Great spot.”
“But we should say it’s temporary,” Mia added. “She might have an idea of where she wants it.”
“Definitely temporary,” I agreed.
They helped me set everything up, and, when I placed the needle on the first record, Cécile McLorin Salvant’s voice filled the room—low and velvet-smooth.
Mia grabbed Margot’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”
I took photos on my phone of them twirling around the living room, giggling and breathless.
A text came through, interrupting my photography. I opened it, hoping it was Lila telling me when she’d be home.
But it was from my best friend … and others.
Dorian
