Heather’s too busy to date, but she has a short roster of friends with benefits.
“He’s new. Just in the city for a night.”
“Ah.”
It’s another way Heather and I differ: I’ve never slept with someone I don’t love. I can’t fathom having a one-night stand. But since I have no intention of throwing myself into another relationship for a long time, if ever, I may need to rethink my strategy.
“That sounded like a very judgyah,” Heather says.
“No judgment. Only reasonable sisterly concern. Be careful, okay?”
“Always.” Heather wraps her arms around me, guaranteeing I’ll smell like vetiver for the rest of the night. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“In just a few weeks.” She’s bringing Bennett to the cottage to spend a week with Nan and me. I can’t wait. Three generations of Everly women under one roof is my idea of heaven.
“And you’re coming back to the city for the show, right?” she asks.
I wince.
Elyse is about to open a gallery on Davenport, andIn (Her) Camerais her first exhibition—it’s also the first major show I’ve been asked to participate in. It was a pinch-me moment: my former photography instructor, a woman I worship, wanting to represent me. Then she told me which photo she wanted to display, and I felt ill. But how could I say no when everyone knows thatElyse Cho has impeccable taste? It’s been many years since she was my teacher, but I have yet to find equal footing in our friendship. I still see her as my superior in all ways.
“We’ll see,” I tell Heather. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to swing it.”
A perk of heading north for the summer is that I have a good reason to avoid the opening night party.
“Turtle,” Heather says. “Youhaveto come back.”
“Sure,” I say, ushering her to the door. “Love you, Lion.”
“Love you more.”
When she’s gone, I open the photos from the swimwear shoot on my laptop. They’re due tomorrow, and I’ve already edited them. Twice. In one version, the women have been “smoothed” the way Willa wants. In the other, I’ve removed a few pimples and tidied the flyaways, but I haven’t touched the cellulite.
I love photography. I’ve been shooting professionally for more than ten years, and I feel lucky to earn a living this way. But I thought if I proved myself, I’d reach the point where I’d be working to achieve my own vision, not someone else’s. That’s why I took this assignment. Like most magazines,Swishdoesn’t have the big budgets that come with ad campaigns—Willa promised they’d make up for it by giving contributors more creative runway.
I think about what Elyse would do. She understands the realities of collaborating with photo editors, but sherespectsartistic vision. I sigh and shut my laptop. I still have one more day to decide which photos I’m going to send.
My phone vibrates with a text.
Charlie:Everything’s ready for you, City Girl. Keys are in the outhouse.
City Girl? I may not be prepared to take a stand with my work, but I can do something aboutthat.
Me:Thank you.
Me:But for the record, my name is Alice Everly.
Charlie:Noted. I look forward to meeting you, Alice Everly.
4
Friday, June 27
First Day at the Lake
It’s the last Friday in June, and Southern Ontario is fleeing to the lakes. Traffic is heavy. It’s going to take us well over four hours to get from Toronto to Barry’s Bay, a blink-and-you-miss-it town on the north end of Kamaniskeg Lake.
Nan has been quiet since I turned off the 401 and began heading north. With the city, suburbs, and exurbs behind us, her attention is fixed on the view outside. First fields and farmland. Now forests and fresh water. We drive over the Burleigh Falls bridge, and she sighs at the sight of the rapids. We’re on a single-lane highway, and traffic is almost at a standstill, so I peel my eyes from the road and take in the cascading white water.
