they must come straight from my subconscious.
The silence that follows is almost unbearable, even with the TV droning on in the background.
He doesn’t look at me. “I can’t go back, but I’m trying in a different way. I hope it works.” He glances at me now. “I really hope so.”
What ever it is, it looks like it hurts. And in that moment, I feel awful for Ned. He seems suddenly so . . . real. Not a target, but a living, breathing human being that feels things.
What ever he’s thinking about, he’s concentrating on it so hard it’s almost tangible. It seems as if it’s hanging between us by a thread and I know that even if I could take a shot of this moment, it’s something that might not show up.
Maybe not everything can be seen through a lens.
“Hey, are you Jo Taylor?” a guy’s voice calls out from the corridor that leads from the offi ce to the communal living room. Ned and I both turn to look at him. I’ve seen him 95
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before, working in the offi ce area. He’s youngish and is wearing one of the retreat’s staff polo shirts.
I nod, and when I do, his gaze fl icks over to Ned. Instantly, I know this is about work. “Sorry,” I say to Ned. “I’d better see what he wants.”
“Sure,” Ned answers, and turns back to the TV.
I get up and go over to the guy— his name, embroidered on his T-shirt, reads “Rowan.” “Yes?” I say when I reach him.
He nods with his head, indicating that we should step farther down the corridor, completely out of earshot. After we do, he glances around before he speaks. “If you need to use the, um, facilities in your room, you can do that to night from nine to ten p.m.”
Ah, right. I’d wondered how Melissa was going to arrange for me to e-mail through her shots— it looks like Rowan is going to be doing that arranging. I check my watch; it’s eight thirty. When I look back up again, I inspect Rowan with a frown. I don’t think he’s used to this kind of thing— he’s sweat-ing. Beads of perspiration are dotted all over his top lip. Maybe he’s not as familiar with the dark side as I am.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “Try not to have a heart attack, okay?” And with a shake of my head, I go back to the communal living room. Ned’s still there, sitting on the couch. He glances up at me when I drop back into my seat.
“The bureaucracy here,” I say, and shrug, “it’s never ending. I mentioned on one form that I was lactose intolerant and everyone suddenly seems to think I’m going to go into 96
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anaphylactic shock if I’m in the same room as milk.” This was close to the truth— I am lactose intolerant, and every time I enter the cafeteria, one of the staff makes sure to let me know which items have dairy in them and provides me with my own soy milk. Which is really nice of them, but I’m kind of used to fending for myself when it comes to dairy.
Even so, I feel bad about lying to Ned.
Yet again.
“That must suck,” Ned replies. “I don’t know if I could give up milkshakes.”
I nod absentmindedly, not thinking about milkshakes, but thinking that it does suck. Lying to Ned sucks. Big- time.
Especially because I know that I’m going to have to keep on doing it.
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8
I can hardly believe I have the guts, but at 9:47 p.m., during my time with the “facilities,” I decide to play Melissa. I e-mail and tell her getting decent shots is harder than I thought it would be. Because I leave it till the last minute, Melissa doesn’t have time to reply, and, for a while at least, I’m off the hook.
By lunchtime the following day, I’ve taken only a few more shots of Ned and they’re all terrible. I tell myself that there hasn’t been much opportunity, that the lighting
The silence that follows is almost unbearable, even with the TV droning on in the background.
He doesn’t look at me. “I can’t go back, but I’m trying in a different way. I hope it works.” He glances at me now. “I really hope so.”
What ever it is, it looks like it hurts. And in that moment, I feel awful for Ned. He seems suddenly so . . . real. Not a target, but a living, breathing human being that feels things.
What ever he’s thinking about, he’s concentrating on it so hard it’s almost tangible. It seems as if it’s hanging between us by a thread and I know that even if I could take a shot of this moment, it’s something that might not show up.
Maybe not everything can be seen through a lens.
“Hey, are you Jo Taylor?” a guy’s voice calls out from the corridor that leads from the offi ce to the communal living room. Ned and I both turn to look at him. I’ve seen him 95
212-47604_ch01_1P.indd 95
212-47604_ch01_1P.indd 95
5/5/11 4:25 PM
5/5/11 4:25 PM
before, working in the offi ce area. He’s youngish and is wearing one of the retreat’s staff polo shirts.
I nod, and when I do, his gaze fl icks over to Ned. Instantly, I know this is about work. “Sorry,” I say to Ned. “I’d better see what he wants.”
“Sure,” Ned answers, and turns back to the TV.
I get up and go over to the guy— his name, embroidered on his T-shirt, reads “Rowan.” “Yes?” I say when I reach him.
He nods with his head, indicating that we should step farther down the corridor, completely out of earshot. After we do, he glances around before he speaks. “If you need to use the, um, facilities in your room, you can do that to night from nine to ten p.m.”
Ah, right. I’d wondered how Melissa was going to arrange for me to e-mail through her shots— it looks like Rowan is going to be doing that arranging. I check my watch; it’s eight thirty. When I look back up again, I inspect Rowan with a frown. I don’t think he’s used to this kind of thing— he’s sweat-ing. Beads of perspiration are dotted all over his top lip. Maybe he’s not as familiar with the dark side as I am.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “Try not to have a heart attack, okay?” And with a shake of my head, I go back to the communal living room. Ned’s still there, sitting on the couch. He glances up at me when I drop back into my seat.
“The bureaucracy here,” I say, and shrug, “it’s never ending. I mentioned on one form that I was lactose intolerant and everyone suddenly seems to think I’m going to go into 96
212-47604_ch01_1P.indd 96
212-47604_ch01_1P.indd 96
5/5/11 4:25 PM
5/5/11 4:25 PM
anaphylactic shock if I’m in the same room as milk.” This was close to the truth— I am lactose intolerant, and every time I enter the cafeteria, one of the staff makes sure to let me know which items have dairy in them and provides me with my own soy milk. Which is really nice of them, but I’m kind of used to fending for myself when it comes to dairy.
Even so, I feel bad about lying to Ned.
Yet again.
“That must suck,” Ned replies. “I don’t know if I could give up milkshakes.”
I nod absentmindedly, not thinking about milkshakes, but thinking that it does suck. Lying to Ned sucks. Big- time.
Especially because I know that I’m going to have to keep on doing it.
97
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8
I can hardly believe I have the guts, but at 9:47 p.m., during my time with the “facilities,” I decide to play Melissa. I e-mail and tell her getting decent shots is harder than I thought it would be. Because I leave it till the last minute, Melissa doesn’t have time to reply, and, for a while at least, I’m off the hook.
By lunchtime the following day, I’ve taken only a few more shots of Ned and they’re all terrible. I tell myself that there hasn’t been much opportunity, that the lighting
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