Free Only Ever You by Rebecca Drake Page B

frustration. In a way David was right—every photo shoot she did for charity reminded her—but what he didn’t understand, what she couldn’t talk to him about, was that she didn’t need to be reminded. Ethan was always there, a constant presence, not like picking at a scab at all, really, because the wound had never healed.
    After a moment David sighed and said, “I don’t want to argue, it’s your choice. But please, at least call my mother and ask, okay? I’d do it myself, but I can’t break away, especially now.”
    “Especially now” had been going on for months. If the latest case reached a successful conclusion then he would certainly be promoted before the end of the year. This was according to Andrew, who as a partner himself couldn’t explicitly say anything, but had been encouraging David to think positively about his future with Adams Kendrick. “Come on,” David said, his tone softening. “How often do we get to go out in the middle of the week? It could be fun.”
    *   *   *
    “Of course I’ll watch Sophia!” To the average listener, Elaine Lassiter’s voice sounded nothing more than warm, gracious—the perfect mother-in-law and grandmother. Friendly and outgoing, a charmer just like her son, and once, long ago, she’d charmed Jill, too. “Do you want me to pick her up from day care?”
    “No thanks, I can get her from preschool.” Jill emphasized the last word, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.
    “I’m sure she’d love to go home early—it must be so hard on her to sit in day care all day.”
    “She only does the extended option three days a week.”
    “Well, I don’t know how you career girls do it.” Elaine’s voice was light, her laugh a melody. “I’m sure it must be hard leaving your child every day.”
    “Sorry, Elaine, hitting traffic—I’ll see you at six. Thanks!” Jill pushed the off button with force, pretending it was Elaine’s face. “Annoying witch!” That woman always made her feel bad no matter how many times Jill tried to tell herself not to listen, that what her mother-in-law said didn’t matter.
    She must have done something in a past life to have not one, but two difficult mothers. The letter from her own mother had gone into a box at home unread, but it was undoubtedly just like every other letter she sent; they arrived at regular intervals: “Dear Jill, life has been hectic with the move, but this new job looks exciting. Things are a little tight right now, with the economy the way it is and moving expenses, but soon I’ll be making enough to finally buy that dream home we always talked about. After so many years, I can say that I’ve finally found my bliss.…”
    Things had always been tight; her mother always chasing rainbows in search of her “bliss.” Jill couldn’t recall a time in her childhood when they’d ever completely settled down. No sooner did they move to one place than her mother was announcing that she knew, just knew, that the life she really wanted was in another city or state. She blew through careers and relationships like tissue paper, working as an artist, a secretary, and eventually in health care, leaving lovers behind without any visible sign of discomfort. Jill’s father had been a musician or a science teacher or maybe the door-to-door salesman who’d once given her mother a ride from Indiana to Pennsylvania. It was only when Jill reached adulthood that she’d stopped to ponder that her mother’s only real attachment was to her.
    A bright spot amid all the dim memories: a neighbor who felt sorry for her, giving Jill a Polaroid camera as a good-bye gift. She’d suggested that Jill use it to document the move and she could still remember aiming out the window of the unair-conditioned cab of a U-Haul snapping scenes during a long drive South. She’d fallen in love with photography, and her passion, unlike her mother’s, had been lasting.
    She’d fled that chaotic life for college, staying on