being parents and some people aren’t. I don’t take it personally. I’d just rather not have a relationship with him.”
“And your mom?” I ask. “What was she like?”
I feel him deflate a little before he says, “I don’t remember her very well, but I don’t have any negative memories of her.” He wraps one of his legs around my ankle. “You know, I think that’s where my love for photography came from. After she died . . . I had nothing to remember her by. She hated the camera, so there are very few pictures of her. Not much video. It wasn’t long after that when I asked Gramps for my first camera. I’ve had it in his face ever since.”
“You could probably make an entire movie just of him.”
Miller laughs. “I could. I might. Even if it’s just something I do for myself.”
“So . . . what happens when he—”
“I’ll be okay,” he says with finality, like he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. I understand why. A father in prison, a dead mom, a grandpa with terminal cancer. I get it. I wouldn’t want to talk about it either.
We sit in silence for a while before Miller says, “Crap. I keep forgetting.” He pushes me forward a little and then jogs back to his truck. He comes back with his camera and a tripod, then sets it up several feet away from us.
He slips between me and the tree and resumes our position. “Don’t stare at it this time.”
I’m staring at it when he says that, so I look out at the water. “Maybe we should just cancel the project.”
“Why?”
“My mind is all over the place. I’ve been in a perpetual bad mood.”
“How bad do you want to be an actress, Clara?”
“It’s the only thing I want to be.”
“You’re in for a rude awakening if you think you’re gonna show up on set in a good mood every day.”
I exhale. “I hate it when you’re right.”
He laughs and kisses the side of my head. “You must really hate me, then.”
I shake my head gently. “Not even a little bit.”
It’s quiet again. Across the lake, there’s a man with two little boys. He’s teaching them how to fish. I watch him, wondering if he’s cheating on their mom.
Then I feel the anger return because now I feel like I’m going to be looking for the worst in people for the rest of my life.
I don’t want to talk about Aunt Jenny or my dad, or Mom and Jonah, but the words pour out of me anyway.
“The way Jonah talked today . . . he really did sound remorseful. Like maybe their kiss was an accident or a onetime thing. I want to ask her about it, but I’m scared she’ll be honest and tell me it’s way more than that. I kind of think it is because I know they went to a hotel not even a week after the accident.”
“How do you know that?”
“The app. Why else would they have been there if they weren’t already involved?”
“Either way, you need to talk to her about it. There’s really no way around it.”
“I know.” I blow out a rush of air. “You know, it doesn’t surprise me that Jonah would do something like that. He only moved back here and started dating Jenny because he got her pregnant. Not because they were madly in love. But my mother . . . her and Dad have been together since high school. It’s like she had absolutely no respect for my father.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe she and Jonah are just grieving.”
“That didn’t look like grief to me.”
“Maybe finding solace in each other helps with the grief.”
I don’t even want to think about that. It’s a weird way to grieve. “Well. Me skipping school helps with my grief. So thank you.”
“Anytime. Well, anytime except last period. I have a test, so I need to get back soon.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“You doing anything for your birthday tonight?”
I shrug. “It’s always been tradition to do family birthday dinners. But I guess that’s out. We barely have a family left.”
Miller’s arms tighten around me. It makes me miss my father’s hugs. Even Jonah’s hug today made me miss him. “Well, if your mom will let you, I’ll take you out.”
“I highly doubt she’s going to let me leave, and I might be too tired to fight her on it.”
“It makes me sad to think you might spend your birthday alone in your room.”