‘No,not like astalker. More like … a fairy godmother.’ She smiled at the idea of someone watching over her, sending her encouraging messages and providing guidance on how to live her life.
A new thought was playing at the edges of her mind, but one that she couldn’t quite yet process. .
She looked back down at the new charm. The idea made sense, and it certainly fed Holly’s imagination. She liked the idea of someone on the periphery looking out for her, giving her a small push in the right direction.
‘You know I’m adopted, don’t you?’ she said to Laura, almost reluctant to share her thoughts out loud.
Her friend’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, so you’re thinking …?’
In all honestly, Holly wasn’t sure what to think. But there was no denying it was nice to think that somebody was looking out for her.
So maybe she should do justice to her mysterious benefactor, whomever it might be. After all, without her love of reading, Holly might not have the ability to dream and imagine and wonder about the charm that she now held in her hands.
Mind made up, she decided that, tomorrow, she would pick up a book, one of her old friends, just to read for fun.
But tonight,tonight, she would go to this party with Laura, and keep an open mind. A recognition of sorts, of what the charm might be trying to tell her.
After all, her future could be likened to an open book and, Holly thought, surely the best part of life was enjoying writing your own story?
9
Greg rummaged around in the bread drawer and came up with a heel from a loaf of white and an end from a loaf of rye. He slapped together a makeshift sandwich of tomato and mayo and leaned up against the counter to eat.
His grandfather,Nonno, from the deli, would be spinning in his grave about that sandwich. Despite his heritage, they were the only Italian words Greg really knew:Nonnomeaning Grandpa andNonna, Grandma. And only because his mother would say, ‘Oh, your Nonna would have loved that’, or, ‘Your Nonno could make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.’
Both had died long before he was born, and he often wondered what impact they would have made on his life. His father’s parents had also died young, a product of the hard work and sacrifice necessary to make it in America.
He made his way to his darkroom, filled the trays with chemicals and switched off the lights to begin exposing the film. As he worked, he felt a sense of calm that only happened in the darkroom.
‘Or just all those chemicals making you stoned,’ Karen would tease.
She’d come round a little since the other day, once she’d had a chance to get used to the idea of his leaving the firm and going out on his own. In truth, it was Greg’s own fault for landing such a huge change on her completely out of the blue. Who could blame her for being concerned? But she needn’t worry for long: Greg wasn’t one for sitting around, and today he was going to get out there and start work. It might not be paying work just yet, but everyone needed to start somewhere.
He let the chemicals do their thing and, once he had everything pinned up to dry, he slipped out the door to wait.
He noticed the answer-machine light was blinking. He’d been so absorbed in his work that he hadn't even heard the phone ring. He pressed play on the machine – it was Karen.
‘Hey babe, just wrapping things up here on Further – back in town later.’
She was at a staff team-building exercise in the Hamptons. The event management crew had just finished with the Macy’s parade, and were now knee-deep in planning the January promotions.
Her boss Bradley’s’ house was on Further Road in East Hampton, and Karen always joked, ‘You never know, if we push a little “further”, we could wind up there.’
She was in love with the idea of a summer place, like so many other New Yorkers, but Greg couldn’t really understand it. His parents never had a summer place: if they wanted to go out of town they usually rented.
And they were right, Greg thought, the simpler the better. Owning multiple properties would surely turn into a full-time job and, besides, with his reduction in pay, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. He grabbed his phone and texted Karen, ‘Got your message. See you later, let me know when you’re back.’
He returned to the darkroom to check on his photos; they were developing nicely. He studied the one he’d taken the week before in Queens of the girl who had suffered the asthma attack. She and her mother were sitting on the front steps of their brownstone with paramedics in various states of work around them. They were oblivious to anyone, and looking with joy into each other’s eyes, as if to say: ‘We got through it.’
The mother’s grey knit cap stood out like ash against the dark stone behind her. Apparently she had run out of the building holding her near-unconscious daughter in her arms. There was no phone in the building and she had no cell – hard to believe in this day and age, Greg thought. So she’d run out into the street, screaming for help, and a cabbie had radioed it in to his call centre, from where they had called 911. After the incident, Greg had asked one of the police officers if there was any way to arrange a cell phone for her. The officer, older and seasoned, had wagged his finger over the steering wheel as they had driven away. ‘You’re just an observer, man. You take your pictures, and that's it, don't even think about getting involved.’ Greg later learned that most of the officers carried cards from city social workers that they would hand out, and it was a shot in the dark as to who would call wanting the help and who didn't.
Was there a huge stretch between want and need? Greg wondered.
Then, satisfied that the other shots were also coming up well, he stretched and looked around.
He felt restless, and was itching to get out and about in the city again – now that he was master of his own destiny. All those years cooped up in that cubbyhole … he was anxious to make up for lost time. Greg eyed his bike standing guard near the front door. Maybe he should take it out and about today, and see where he ended up?
He might pay a visit to his mate Rob, who worked at theNew York Times. He hadn't even told him yet that he had quit. Digging around in his pocket for his phone again, he sent Rob a text saying he'd be in the area later, then slipped into sneakers and a sweatshirt, before grabbing his camera and a new roll of film.
