The Twin Missing From the Family Photo novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: A Nice Photograph of Nothing

On her first day in Portland Carrie's boss tears apart her mockup in front of the team, and her mother calls to say Ivy has collapsed. She refuses, and Trevor texts a boarding pass.

The first thing the founder of Ward Trail Co. ever said to me was that my work was a nice photograph of nothing.

I had been in Portland for four days.

I had a mattress on the floor of a studio apartment and a box of thrift store dishes.

I also had a lanyard that said CARRIE H., DESIGN.

On Monday morning, the production manager walked me through the building.

She had silver braids and a cardigan covered in cat hair.

She told me where the good coffee was before she told me where the exits were.

"Talbot reviews every new hire's first mockup at ten," she said. "Don't take it personally. He does it to everyone."

"What does he do?"

"He tells the truth in a flat voice. Some people cry. Last year a man threw up in the plant."

I laughed. It was the first time I had laughed in a week.

At ten, six of us stood around a long steel table.

On the wall was my mockup for the fall tent catalog, which I had stayed up until three to finish.

It was a field at dawn. Two tents. A thermos steaming on a rock.

I had spent a full day on the light.

A man came in from the back with his sleeves rolled to the elbow.

He was tall and tired-looking, with a faint scar through his left eyebrow.

He did not say hello.

He walked up to my page and stood in front of it for a long minute.

Nobody spoke.

"Who made this?" he asked.

"I did," I said. "Carrie Unsworth. It's my first day."

He turned and looked at me for the first time. His eyes were green and very steady.

"It's beautiful," he said. "The light is the best thing in the building."

I felt my shoulders come down.

"It's also a nice photograph of nothing," he said.

"I can't tell who is camping. I can't tell why anyone would go."

"You left every person out of it."

The room was silent.

My face went hot, and I kept it still anyway.

"Where would you put a person?" I asked.

He tilted his head.

"Wherever you would put yourself," he said. "Do it again by Thursday."

He left. The production manager patted my arm and put a cinnamon roll in my hand.

"See?" she whispered. "He liked the light."

I stood there holding the roll.

He had looked at one picture and found the exact thing I'd been taught to do.

I had left myself out of the frame for so long that I no longer knew I was doing it.

I hated him a little for being right in front of everyone.

I went back to my desk and opened a blank file.

At noon my phone rang.

It was Mom. I had not blocked her number, and I wasn't sure why.

I let it ring four times.

"Carrie." Her voice was thin and shaking. "Ivy collapsed this morning. She couldn't breathe. Your father is with her."

My stomach dropped.

"Did anyone call an ambulance?"

"Gordon is a doctor, Carrie. He's handling it."

"Put Ivy on."

"She's asleep. She's exhausted. You should come home. She keeps asking for you."

I stood up and walked to the window.

Down on the street, a bus went by with a bicycle strapped to its front.

"Mom, did she ask for me?" I said. "Or did you ask her if she wanted me to come?"

There was a long pause.

"That's a cruel thing to say."

"I'm asking a question."

"Your sister could die, Carrie. And you're out there playing at a job."

I pressed my forehead to the cool glass.

When I was fourteen I broke my wrist falling off a bike.

Mom told me to stop dramatizing, because Ivy had a cough that week.

I had finished the school year in a cast I wasn't allowed to complain about.

"If Ivy is in trouble, Dad can call me himself," I said.

"I'll talk to him. I'll talk to Ivy."

"I won't get on a plane because you told me to."

"You're killing her."

"No," I said.

It was the first time I had said that word to her in my whole life.

"No, Mom. I'm not."

I hung up and stood there shaking.

For a moment I thought I might throw up in the plant.

Then my phone buzzed again, and it was a text from Trevor.

It was a screenshot of a boarding pass.

Hartford to Portland. Departing tonight.

Under it he had written: "Your mom called me. Don't worry, babe. I'm coming to get you."

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