The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (4 page)

“Just because she didn't drop any f-bombs doesn't mean she wasn't escalating things. You don't get a free pass just because you're passive-aggressive. You can't treat people the way she treated Jessica and get away with it.”

“I agree,” he said. “I was just wondering if you planned on doing anything.”

This sounded like Tom the Counselor, and it annoyed the hell out of her. She knew he couldn't help it. A thousand counseling sessions on a thousand living room couches had left him sounding mechanical in conversations like these. Clinical, almost. Caroline could admire Tom's equanimity when he used it to help other people, but when he used it on her, consciously or otherwise, she despised it.

“I don't know what I'll do yet,” she said. “I might do nothing.”

“I'll support you either way,” Tom said.

She knew that he meant it. Tom had never lied to her, and she loved him for it. She hated him for it too, because she knew that his utter lack of subterfuge was the result of an unwavering belief that his intentions were noble in almost everything he did. “My results might not be great,” he often said, “but my intentions are good.”

Caroline smiled. Tom did too.

“Did you know that it was Lucy's anniversary yesterday?” he asked.

Now it was Caroline's turn to be surprised. “You thought I forgot?”

“No, but you usually mention it. I was just wondering if that might've been part of it. Maybe you were upset already?”

“Maybe,” she said.

There was no maybe about it.

Caroline rarely lied to her husband. She might tell a small, white lie from time to time. She might stretch the truth on occasion. But she would never lie about anything significant. Except when it came to Lucy. Almost everything she had ever said to her husband about Lucy had been a lie. This too.

five

Caroline was in her customary place, wedged between the exterior wall of the Sears Portrait Studio and the hedgerow that lined the front of the building. She was crouched between two large shrubs, her camera lens filling a small gap between the greenery that looked out onto the parking lot. Branches poked at her from all angles, but she ignored them and focused directly ahead. The van had just entered the parking lot and was pulling into the spot closest to the building. She raised her camera and prepared to shoot.

A thin woman with dreadlocks and a brightly colored headscarf stepped out of the van and made her way to the passenger door just as the chime on the studio door sounded. Caroline turned to her left and watched as Henry Parker, a middle -aged man carrying a pet carrier in each hand, pulled the door open and stepped inside.

She hoped Henry would wait patiently.

She knew it was unlikely.

Caroline turned back toward the parking lot and refocused her camera on the woman by the van. She began to shoot, switching from wide angles to close-ups, focusing and firing as quickly as possible. A minute later, the woman had locked her van and was pushing a wheelchair-bound girl across the parking lot and through the same door Henry Parker had entered just moments before. She waited another moment, to be sure that the woman wouldn't see her emerge from the bushes. She counted to ten.

Then it was time to go. Hurry up, in fact, before Henry becomes … Henry. She wished she could stay hidden behind the bush until Tiffany arrived, and she was a little annoyed about being left alone.

But only a little.

Caroline didn't begrudge her coworker's tardiness. For Tiffany, this was just a job. Not a career.

This made it all the more painful for Caroline, knowing that she had graduated from Providence College with a degree in photography, and yet she and Tiffany were doing exactly the same job. And Tiffany did it better.

It wasn't that Tiffany's photographs were superior to Caroline's. At Sears Portrait Studio, there was no room for creativity; any attempt to infuse a personal touch or an exacting eye was frowned upon. Standard portraits were taken at standard angles at standard distances with standard backgrounds. Every shot was prescribed. That was the essence of the Sears Portrait Studio experience. The actual photography involved could have been done by almost anybody. But Tiffany possessed an innate ability to handle the difficult customer in a way that Caroline did not. The studio was a breeding ground for difficult customers. Henry Parker was one of them. And now he was being kept waiting.

Henry was the only customer in her twelve years on the job who Caroline could describe as a regular. He was as close to a crazy old cat lady as a fastidious, obsessive-compulsive cat lover in his early forties could get: a little odd, but not exactly certifiable.

But like a crazy old cat lady, Henry Parker owned cats. A great number of cats. More cats than any human being should ever own. Once a month he arrived promptly at the studio for his standing appointment with an assortment of feline friends.

Since Henry was relatively benign if handled promptly, Caroline took care of almost all his shoots. She could deal with cats. Actually, she was excellent with cats. Cats and rats and spiders. Anything with more than two legs was her specialty. It was the human beings who caused Caroline the most trouble.

But now she was keeping Henry waiting. She needed to extract herself from behind these bushes and move.

When she entered the lobby, Henry was standing at the counter, tapping his foot both dramatically and impatiently.

“Hi, Henry.”

“There you are,” he said, spinning around. “Geez, I could've stolen the cash register, and no one would've been the wiser.”

“So you're a felon now, are you?”

Henry stared, blank faced. It reminded Caroline a little bit of Polly's rehearsed indifference.

“Sorry,” she continued. “I had to step out for a second. I wasn't far. Besides, that cash register is heavy. I would've caught you.”

“You're the only one working today?” he asked, motioning in the direction of Mrs. Arnold, who was sitting beside her daughter's wheelchair. “I don't want to be rushed. You know this takes time.”

“I know,” Caroline said. “Tiffany's coming in. She's just running late.”

Henry shook his head disapprovingly. “Not exactly running a tight ship today.”

“She'll be here in a minute.” Caroline turned her back to Henry. She knew he was only getting warmed up. “Mrs. Arnold?”

“Yes,” she said, rising from her seat. Mrs. Arnold was a tall, dark-skinned woman with large, brown eyes and perfect teeth. She spoke with an accent. Jamaican, maybe? Haitian? Caroline wasn't sure. “And this is my daughter, Alysha,” she said, motioning to the girl in a wheelchair.

Alysha was about ten years old and was severely handicapped. Her head and neck were held up in a cushioned support column, and she appeared to have little control over her arms. Cerebral palsy, her mother explained when she had made the appointment. The girl offered Caroline a haphazard wave and uttered something like, “Hello.”

“Hi, Alysha. I'm Caroline.” She returned the wave. “Sorry I was late, Mrs. Arnold. I'll get you in the studio in just a minute.”

“You're right on time,” she said. “Don't worry a bit.”

“Wait—you're taking her first?” Henry asked. “That means I'll be stuck with Tiffany. No way am I letting her shoot my cats. Do you have any idea what she did to Felonious Monk the last time I let her near my baby?”

“Can you work with me here, Henry? I just need a few minutes, and then I'm all yours.”

“She yelled at me because he wouldn't look at the camera. Called me a crazy cat lady. And what's worse,” he said, lowering his voice “she called Felonious a fur ball.” Henry whispered the last two words.

Caroline lowered her voice, hoping it would have a calming effect. “Please, if I can just get Mrs. Arnold and Alysha started, then we can switch off when Tiffany gets here.”

Henry plowed on as if Caroline hadn't said a word. “I know that it might sound foolish to a person who doesn't have cats, but they have feelings, too. They don't like to be shouted at. You get that. Tiffany doesn't.”

“I know, Henry,” Caroline said. “I love your cats. But Mrs. Arnold has her daughter here, and Alysha needs to be somewhere soon.” She wasn't going to tell Henry that Alysha was missing school today to have her portrait taken. The company that had done picture day at her elementary school had made no attempt to even capture Alysha looking straight ahead. Mrs. Arnold had e-mailed the pictures to Caroline, and she had been appalled. In one shot, Alysha's head had been tilted left and down, capturing a skewed profile of the girl. In another, she was looking up, slack-jawed with her eyes half closed.

“I'm not letting that cat Nazi anywhere near my girls. I don't care where that girl has to be,” Henry said, motioning in the direction of Alysha. “No offense.”

“No offense?” Mrs. Arnold said. “Do you think you can be rude to my daughter and then be forgiven by
no offense
?”

“I wasn't being rude to your daughter.” Henry sounded legitimately surprised.

“No?” Mrs. Arnold said. “Then who?”

“I just want to keep my appointment.”

“And you will,” Caroline said

“It's fine,” Mrs. Arnold said. “Let his cats go first.”

“This isn't a cat versus human thing,” Henry explained. “It's the principle. I had an appointment.”

“So does Mrs. Arnold,” Caroline said.

“But mine is with you.
Her
photographer is late,” he said, pointing at Mrs. Arnold.

“There's such a thing as acting like a gentleman,” Mrs. Arnold said.

“I take offense to that,” Henry said. “Letting you go first would be sexist. Gender plays no role here. Ladies before gentlemen is completely patriarchal.”

“I wasn't talking about me,” Mrs. Arnold said. “I was talking about my daughter. She's the one having her photograph taken. I thought it would be nice for her to see a gentleman in action.”

“She's a girl, too,” Henry said, sounding petulant. “Still a gender issue.”

“She's a child,” Mrs. Arnold said.

“So you get to cut just because you have a kid?”

“Henry!” Caroline said. “Please.”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Mrs. Arnold said to Caroline. “Please just take this man first. Me and Alysha will be fine.”

“Alysha and I,” Henry corrected.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Arnold said, rising from her seat.

At that moment, Caroline's phone rang, stopping Henry before he could fire off his retort. She removed the phone from her pocket, apologizing for taking the call. She hoped it was Tiffany, calling to say that she was five minutes down the street. She looked down at the screen. It was Polly's school.

Caroline pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?” She listened intently. “I understand,” she said after a moment. “I'll be right there. Fifteen minutes.”

“You're leaving?” Henry asked.

“I have to,” Caroline said, stuffing the phone back into her pocket. “It's my daughter's school.”

“You can't just leave,” Henry said. “I have an appointment. You can't just walk out. And what about those two? They have an appointment, too.”

“Now you're worried about our appointment?” Mrs. Arnold asked.

Caroline had to go. She had no choice. But she couldn't just run off without somehow getting Henry Parker and Mrs. Arnold to leave first. Henry was right. She couldn't just leave them here waiting.

“Please,” she said. There was that word again. “It's an emergency. I need to get to my daughter's school now. Could you all just wait outside? Tiffany will be here any minute.”

“Are you canceling our appointment?” Mrs. Arnold asked.

“And what about Georgio McGovern and Temptress?” Henry asked, lifting the pet carrier to give Caroline a glimpse of the cats. “I need them photographed today.”

“Please,” Caroline said. “It really is an emergency.”

“I told you. I'm not letting Tiffany anywhere near my cats,” Henry barked.

“Okay, Henry, let's take it down a notch or two and relax.”

Heads turned to the front door. Even Georgio McGovern (or maybe it was Temptress) turned in the direction of the voice. It was Tiffany. She was standing just inside the doorway, her arms crossed, smiling. Caroline had the impression that she had been standing there awhile.

Tiffany was wearing a navy blue skirt, a matching jacket and heels. Her dark hair was pinned up. Her makeup was subtle and immaculate. But her appearance was beside the point. She could've been wearing one of Polly's T-shirts and still exude authority.

“You're not shooting my cats!” Henry said.

“Henry, I'd love to shoot your cats,” Tiffany said. “But there are laws about these things.”

Mrs. Arnold laughed.

Henry chuckled a tiny bit, despite himself.

As if the laughter had opened a door, Tiffany stepped through it and joined the group. “Mrs. Arnold,” she said. “My name is Tiffany. I'm a photographer here. Sorry I was late, but Caroline needs to go.” Then she turned to Caroline and smiled. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Polly's school called. I have to go.” She hated how answering to Tiffany's authority placed her in the same category as Henry Parker and Mrs. Arnold, but there it was. Unavoidable.

“So here's what we're going to do,” Tiffany said, directing her attention back to Henry. “I'm going to take care of Mrs. Arnold and Alysha's shoot first, because Alysha is missing school right now, and we don't want that. And we're not going to make Caroline feel guilty for leaving, because you know that if your cat needed you, you'd drop everything and run to him, too. Right?”

“But I had—”

“I know you're not happy, Henry, but that's okay. Emergencies aren't supposed to make people happy.” She turned to Caroline and winked. “Caroline, you'll call and let us know that Polly's okay?”