Page 53 of It's One of Us

“Good to know some things never change,” he says, snapping on his safety belt.

“What?”

“You flirted your way out of that ticket when you got pulled over the first time, remember?”

“I was not flirting,” she says with dignity. “I’d just gotten my braces off, and I couldn’t stop smiling.”

“That cop is probably still blinded. The wattage was epic.”

They laugh, and the ride to her place is filled with little remembrances and jokes and a few fallow moments, two siblings who love each other desperately but don’t keep in close touch finding their footing again.

Lindsey’s house is a massive white brick-and-stone Tudor with a charcoal roof. He is shocked to see all the new architecture parading through the established neighborhoods. The updated French country designs are so unlike the sweet little one-story brick bungalows that used to line these streets.

When he remarks on this, she replies, “Yeah, styles have definitely changed. It’s like this all over town.” She looks at him dubiously, dragging his gear from her trunk. “Can I carry anything for you?”

“I got it.” He’s used to hauling his life around with him. He’s the ultimate turtle.

Inside, the design is modern aesthetic, so contemporary that it almost has no personality at all. “You could shoot a magazine cover in here,” he remarks, staring at a low sofa that looks like a large gray cube in front of an acrylic coffee table with a clear teardrop vase sprouting a single stem of cherry blossoms. “How do you sit on that thing?”

She laughs. “I don’t. It just looks cool. The law is messy. I like things clean and tidy. Besides, I don’t need much.”

He nods to his bags. “I get it. I’ll remember to pick up my socks.”

Unsaid between them:Olivia did it for me. Perry recognizes Olivia’s signature piece, the long marble island with the waterfall edge. Not that he follows her work. He hasn’t looked at her website, with its portfolios and blog updates, in at least six months. He has a bone to pick with her photographer, anyway. He shoots everything overexposed so it looks blindingly bright, which, in Perry’s not so humble opinion, makes everything look just a touch cold.

Maybe the new Oliviaiscold. This room is downright frigid. The Olivia he knew was terra-cotta and macrame. The new Olivia is thick Carrara and sea glass. She is impenetrable. Unknowable. Everything in her work is too perfect. Seeing one of her tableaus in person, he understands how much she’s changed.

It all feels lonely.

And this from a man who spends a lot of time alone.

Lindsey gets him settled in her guest room which—shocking—has an all-white marble en suite complemented by black leathered-granite countertops and towels. He hits the loo, then meets Lindsey back in the kitchen. She is standing in front of the open Sub-Zero. It’s clear she lives here alone by the meager contents of the fridge. He’s never asked why she doesn’t have a significant other. He knows what it’s like being married to your work.

“I’ve got beer, wine, tea. Water? Coffee? Scotch in the cabinet by your knee, though I have no idea what kind. I still hate the stuff.”

“Tea is fine. I need some caffeine. I’m on fumes.”

She fills the kettle. “What time is it wherever you came from? Was it Italy? Or were you in London?”

He glances at his watch. “I’ve been on location in Italy for the past month. It’s seven hours ahead. I’d just be sitting down for dinner now.”

“At nine o’clock?”

“Oh yeah. We eat late there.”

“When’s your shoot?”

“Next month. I have some time. I don’t have to be back until the thirteenth.”

“Are you going to go bonkers, being in one place for so long?”

“It’s not the time spent, it’s the company kept. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

The phone starts to ring. Lindsey looks startled for a moment. “That’s my phone.”

“I gathered. Might you be answering it?”

“No, I mean that’s my house phone. It’s only for the alarm system. No one ever calls here. I’m sure it’s just a spam caller or something.”