Inside, time is running out, so I click and reposition, zooming in on individual hydrangeas in the wallpaper. I probably look insane, but I take a shot of the tile Loretta replaced in the bathroom—one salmon-pink square in a sea of cracked buttermilk relics.

I’m chasing the clock, and guys are stepping out of my way, falling respectfully silent as I step back and take a portrait of the fireplace. I will not let so much as a sheet of sandpaper touch this mantelpiece.

Why didn’t I do this earlier? Why didn’t I take days, recording and archiving these memories I have? I truly forgot that this was a skill of mine, something that could be used for a purpose other than a paycheck.

A banging sound begins, like the outside world is trying to break in.

I think I take more than twenty minutes and I’m a little drained. I really want to load these into my computer. I look at the time. I was immersed up to my neck in a state of creative flow for an hour. I took over two hundred photos. How did that happen?

I look up in astonishment and make eye contact with Tom. I wonder if he even has a website.

He doesn’t smile, but I can tell he’s pleased with me. Maybe all is not lost.

“Good work, Darce. Now get gloves on and get to work.”

* * *

I’M WILTED WITH tiredness and it’s only Wednesday. Three more months of this? Stepping out of the way, tripping over power cords, and being covered in dust? I had a bar shift thrown in last night for good measure, and just finished a photoshoot for Truly. I think I need to go to bed at six P.M. tonight.

I’m sorting through photos of butts in underwear when Jamie calls. For once, it’s me answering the phone with my heart in my throat. Is he dead-dying-drowning? Surely it’d take an emergency for him to call after this long.

“What’s up?” How cool I sound.

“Voicemail Darcy is picking up her phone for once in her life. That’s what’s up.”

Even when my phone isn’t in urine, I’m not a great phone answerer. Most people love their phone like a baby, but I would have left mine on the church stairs.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Jamie decides how to proceed for a second. “I know something.”

“That must feel extraordinary,” I reply, and continue scrolling through the photos I’ve just taken. “You’d better let your employer know. They’ll be so glad they took a chance on you.” I grin as his sigh partially deafens me.

“How’s the progress on site?”

I’m not his employee. “I bet you feel like I once did. Those summers I watched you and Tom mowing all the neighbors lawns, raking in the cash.”

“We sweated for that. We worked like mules. Be glad you sat inside in the air-conditioning.”

“I wanted to do what you guys did, but I had to watch from the window. Just like you’re doing, right now.” I don’t hold much hope that he’ll understand what I’m telling him, or why it feels so important that I see this through. “The renovation is fine. Tom and I are making sure of it.”

“I know that you know. About Tom and Megan.”

“Oh, that. Sure.” I click and drop a file. “We’re buds. He tells me stuff.”

That’s a bit of a stretch. I’m permanently screwing things up around here.

“Sure,” Jamie says, dripping sarcasm. “But here’s the thing. You’re leaving him alone.”

“What do you—”

“Cut the shit. When he’s in the same room you’re a drooling mess. Like, for years, and it’s painfully obvious. That’s why he tried to not tell you.” Jamie confirms what I had just started to hope was a pathetic misunderstanding on my part. “He’s embarrassed to be around you. He’s never going to reciprocate.”

Only Jamie could make a word like reciprocate sound like he’s holding a turd with a pair of salad tongs.

“‘Drooling mess’ is a bit of an exaggeration. But yeah, he’s gorgeous. My eyes like gorgeous things. I’m a photographer.” I hate hearing my own voice being so flippant. Diminishing Tom down to a face and body feels wrong. “Don’t you go for beautiful women?”

“I go for women in my league,” Jamie says forcefully, “and I don’t go for childhood friends.” He laughs a little. “I can’t believe we actually have to have this conversation. You and him? Never happening.” A pause. “So you’ve decided you’re a photographer again?”

I’m not touching that one. “He told me it was completely over with her. He seems surprisingly okay about it.”

“He’s devastated. Did you know that?”

My stomach twists up. I didn’t exactly try to listen before I began tearing the world apart with my bare hands.

Jamie continues. “He’s been trying to find a time to meet up with her to talk it through and get back together. But you wouldn’t know that, ’cause he’s not your bud, and you never stop thinking about yourself.”

“You are weirdly possessive over your childhood friend. Something you need to tell me?” The thought has crossed my mind once or twice.

Jamie doesn’t take the bait. “That guy has had my back probably a thousand times by now. Now it’s my turn. I want to make sure he gets the future he deserves.”

“You should be a motivational speaker, Jamie. I’m inspired. He’s already got his business. His dream. He got it.”

“That’s only phase one. Tom wants the real deal. A house, a picket fence, a wedding. Taking triplets to Disney or some shit like that. Haven’t you ever noticed his obsession with taking care of things and fixing them? We’re not getting younger. Darce, he’s a husband and a dad.”

Goddamn it, I hate when my brother is right. I don’t say anything.

Jamie senses I’ve understood what he’s saying, and his next harsh sentence is spoken with unbearable kindness. “That’s what he wants. To be the dad he never had. He wants a wife and to make sure his mom is sorted out. Not a one-night stand with the queen of one-nights.”

“Maybe I want …” I trail off. I never thought about it before. Those sorts of things are for Megan-type girls.

“Not with him you don’t. Megan hasn’t given the ring back. He doesn’t want it back. Connect the dots, Darcy.”

I feel like throwing up. “Okay, I get it.”

“If you make him get all wrapped up in your drama and get a little crush on you, only for you to leave? Just like when we were eighteen? I will never speak to you again.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that Jamie knows about this. But I am anyway. “That was complicated.”

“That was something that should have been a no-brainer and you blew it. Just like the developer’s offer on the house.” Jamie says “One minute” to someone in his office, then says to me, “I’ve got someone on-site keeping an eye on you.”

“Colin.” His name is out of my mouth like a curse.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Prove it.”

“You dropped a nail gun yesterday and broke it. I’ve got to go now. Funny. You’re usually the one saying that.” He hangs up, and I put my head in my hands.