Night Blindness Read Free

that made me feel like I might pass out, or scream out loud for a long time without stopping.
    In the foyer, I was met by photographs of Will and me. “Hello?” I set my bags on the floor. The house smelled buttery, like roasted garlic, usually comforting, except with the Navigator outside, I knew Luke was here and had been cooking, which could only mean one thing: bad news. When Will died, Luke had canceled two months of a North American tour to cook for us while we sat, silent in our grief. “I’m home.” My voice sounded thready, unconvincing. I corrected myself. “I’m here.” I tossed my coat on the banister. “Jamie? Dad?” Down the hall, the kitchen, with its gas burners and built-in wine racks, was dark, but the bathroom door was outlined in light. “Luke?” I took a step forward. No one answered. On the wall was a slightly crooked picture of me at six years old; I was balanced on a stack of pillows, playing Luke’s baby grand. Will was standing next to me, sticking out his tongue.
    The toilet flushed. A second later, the faucet ran. I heard the lock snap back. And then after thirteen years, Ryder Anderson stepped out of my parents’ hall bathroom as if he’d walked out of that photograph from Breakneck Lake. “Ryder,” I said. But the sound was a whisper. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. He held the door handle tightly. I could smell him from where I stood, fresh laundry and lemon, and I almost stepped forward, almost went to him. But something kept me from it. He’d always kept his hair on the long side, but it had been cut military short, and he was wearing a monogrammed oxford shirt. In my leather sandals and cutoffs, I felt underdressed, sloppy. We stared at each other. He was taller. His hair was darker. He was still beautiful.
    â€œJenny,” he said. His voice was low, surprisingly soft.
    I wished I’d put on my silver earrings, wished at least I had on lipstick. There were snaffle bits on his loafers. I couldn’t remember him in shoes like that except for prom. He’d hardly ever worn shoes when we were kids. He straightened his cuff links. I saw us on our backs on the Hamilton School field, waiting for a shooting star so we could wish for the same thing. The grandfather clock started playing Whittington chimes. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Eleven strikes. He was so close, I could have reached out and touched his jaw. I thought of us riding double on his red ten-speed bike. He used to go no-handed while I screamed. He leaned away, against the closed door.
    â€œIt’s been a long time,” he said. “I—”
    â€œThere you are.” Jamie appeared at the top of the stairs. And it was as if I’d never left. Her dark hair was straightened and pulled back in a low ponytail; her baby-doll dress made her look even younger. “Honey,” she said in her singsong voice, “I thought I heard a car pull in.” She started down the stairs. Her eyes were the color of the sky before a thunderstorm, a wild blue that made men love her. “I was just reviewing the contracts Vogue sent for Brazil.” She hesitated, as if posing for a portrait, then kept coming with practiced elegance. “Was your flight delayed? You missed dinner,” she said, as if I hadn’t missed the last thirteen years of dinners. Cutting in front of Ryder, she drew me to her with her small, capable hands, and I braced myself for inspection. “Oh, darling.” I could smell the Parisian perfume Mandy and I used to put on our wrists when she wasn’t home. She sighed, backing up and studying me, and I felt that hope rise in me, that she would say something nice, that she would approve, but she said, “Santa Fe is still making an art hippie out of you.”
    â€œNic did that to me a long time ago,” I said quietly.
    She ignored this. “At least that hot desert hasn’t ruined