The Photographer's Return novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Vote
Her husband and son vote her out of her own honeymoon and book Bali for themselves and her sister, so Sylvie takes off her ring and books Lake Tahoe alone, then finds the hotel booking: one king suite for her husband and her sister.
I was folding my good sweater into the suitcase when Warner changed the honeymoon again.
"Bali," he said from the bedroom doorway, phone in hand. "Kenzie found a package. It's perfect."
Bali.
The place my sister had been posting about for six months.
I stopped folding.
Behind Warner, our son Milo looked up at his father, and the two of them traded a look.
I knew that look.
"Mom has a problem with it," Milo said. "Let's vote."
That was how it always went.
Every single time Mackenzie and I wanted different things, my husband and my seven-year-old voted.
My birthday dinner at the French place on University Avenue? They voted for Kenzie's salad bar. So healthy.
The winter I couldn't get out of bed and asked to see a therapist? They voted with Kenzie.
"It's just stress," she'd said, and squeezed my shoulder.
Three hands went up in the hallway now.
Warner. Milo. My sister, leaning on the guest suite door in her bikini top and an oversized linen shirt.
Two against one, plus her.
I lost again.
My throat closed up.
I made myself say it anyway.
"Warner. Lake Tahoe is where we met."
Ten years ago I'd been twenty-four with a prize-winning photograph on a magazine cover.
He'd been the cute broker who rented the kayak in my shot.
We got married at the courthouse in South Lake Tahoe and never took a honeymoon.
This year he'd finally promised.
He didn't look up from his phone.
"It's all water, Sylvie. Same thing."
I watched him tap through the booking screen.
Package deal. Three travelers.
He typed his name. Then Milo's. Then Mackenzie Harrow.
Then he turned to me.
"You can buy your own ticket."
He'd drawn the line right there in the hall.
Him, our son and my sister on one side.
Me on the other.
I looked down at my left hand.
The ring was a little loose. I'd lost weight that winter and nobody had noticed.
I slid it off and set it on the dresser beside my sunscreen.
Then I took out my own phone and bought a ticket.
San Jose to Reno, Friday morning, one way.
Lake Tahoe.
The place I wanted to get to, I could get to on my own.
Warner saw the confirmation on my screen.
His forehead smoothed out.
He ruffled Mackenzie's hair on his way past, then reached for my hand.
"Good. Come on, let's go get swimsuits."
He didn't see the ring on the dresser.
"Kenzie and Milo have been at surf camp all spring," he said in the car. "Bali's their chance to actually ride the waves."
Milo had wrapped himself around my sister's leg in the parking lot of the surf shop.
"Aunt Kenzie's gonna be the prettiest thing on the whole beach," he said, in a sweet little voice I never heard.
My son almost never said sweet things.
Not to me.
To me, he was always cold, with a look in his eyes I couldn't read.
I'd tried everything.
I found the food videos he watched and learned every recipe he liked.
Mac and cheese from scratch. Dumplings shaped like little fish.
Every time, I'd watch him take a bite and hold my breath.
Every time, he'd wrinkle his nose and spit it into the trash and gag.
"Mom's cooking is disgusting."
And Warner would laugh.
I used to think it was just his taste.
Driving home down 101, I finally understood.
He didn't like me, so he hated everything I made.
I was in the passenger seat.
In the mirror, Milo was curled in Mackenzie's lap in the back, quiet as a cat.
He saw me watching.
He made a face and pretended to spit at me.
Mackenzie covered her mouth and laughed.
"God, Syl. You two just don't mix," she said. "He's the sweetest kid in the world. Just not with you."
I turned back to the windshield.
A new billboard was coming up on the right, huge and lit.
WHITMER LAKE & COAST. Your Place on the Water.
Behind the words was a photograph.
Emerald Bay at dawn, the water like green glass, one red kayak in the middle.
My photograph.
The one that won the prize at twenty-four.
The one I took the morning I met him.
In the corner, in neat white letters, it said: Photo by Warner Whitmer.
"Like it?" Warner said, and glanced at me. "Went up Monday."
I didn't answer.
At home, everybody scattered.
Mackenzie went to her guest suite to try on suits for her followers.
Milo went upstairs with Warner's iPad.
He left it on the kitchen counter twenty minutes later, still open, still logged into his father's email.
I picked it up to plug it in.
The Bali confirmation was the top message.
Twelve nights, oceanfront resort, Nusa Dua.
Room one: King Suite. Guests: Mr. Warner Whitmer and Ms. Mackenzie Harrow.
Below it, one more line.
Kids' Club day pass, ages 4-12: Milo Whitmer.
One bed.
My husband and my sister.
And my son booked into childcare, so they'd have the room to themselves.
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