Spark Read Online Free Page B

even called me Evie instead of Everton. Then heart-racing silence, spectacular prolonged eye contact and the softest, sweetest kiss of my life. The price of humiliation.
    Thankfully, the summers that followed were Jamie-free. He left his sister and his friends at Gainsborough Collegiate and returned to London. I’m not vain enough to believe it has anything to do with me. I understand there are family expectations surrounding the twins’ education. Though I noticed none of his holidays home coincided with my New Hampshire visits. Suited me. Once or twice I might have allowed myself to imagine a reconciliation, but the thought of having to actually face him tonight is a whole other matter.

    “Grab the Nikon,” Miriam calls. “Not the grey case, that’s the Sony. The Nikon has the blue handle.”
    The front door clatters open and I watch her from the hall as she goes down the path, two tripods and a crate balanced before her, trying to keep marks off her black silk dress.
    Move, you coward
. Panicked, I shoulder my way back into the studio, off balance in my high heels. I place the lens case on the counter, carefully, then turn to the darkroom and recite the access code as I tap the keypad. The light comes on automatically when I slide the door back. I push through the old blackout curtain, hoping I won’t get dust on my dress. Since Miriam has gone digital, the darkroom is simply a glorified storeroom. I scan the shelves, tempted to lock myself in and hide.
    I should have blurted my change of mind when I had the chance, railed about Kitty’s voodoo manipulation. Miriam even handed me the very get-out-of-jail-free card I needed, “You don’t have to come tonight, not for my sake.” But she spends so much time worrying and looking after me, sacrificing work and freedom to make room for me in her life, give me a home, even her credit card, for crying out loud! Can’t I slap on a smile and make an effort for a change? So, here I am in high heels that make me feel like Gigantor, my strapless gown in charcoal silk and teardrop earrings, ready for a long night of dying on the inside.
    I spot the grey Nikon case, the one she doesn’t want, but where is the case with the blue handle? It isn’t lying out in the open. I turn to the utility cupboard. When I was a kid, going anywhere near it had been a big no-no because of the developing chemicals she stored in it. It has a keypad too, but I don’t know the code. I try the handle. Surprisingly, it gives. I open it with an uncomfortable sense of breaking taboo. The chemicals are gone. There are shelves of filed negatives, clients’ names on the tabs. There’s the case with the blue handle. I lift it down as Miriam comes in behind me.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” She pushes past me and the scene changes. It flashes with bright colour that stings my eyes and stops my heart. Again, I see a memory that isn’t my own: a metal rail under my hand, a row of mirrors disorientating me with the reflection of my aunt moving in a circular blur across a blue floor.
    Then, snap!
    The vision disappears, plunging me back into the dimly lit room. Miriam doesn’t notice my “episode”. She shuts the cupboard door, a sharp clap of sound in the small room, and resets the lock on the keypad.
    “I was looking for the–”
    “There’s a lot of expensive equipment in there and you can’t go poking around.”
    I pass her the case. “I wasn’t.”
    She sighs and shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m just – we should go. They want photos of the guests arriving.”

ANTICIPATION
    It’s my third trip to the car. We parked around the back by the service entrance to unload, and my new shoes are killing me already. Carrying Miriam’s last tripod and extension cord, I navigate the high-traffic corridors, dodging caterers and waiters who file back and forth with trays of canapés and bowls of flowers.
    Governor Dean’s mansion is big on marble: the steps out front, the colossal columns