Sarah should have felt relieved that Paul had escaped Trish, a woman defined by her impatience for emotional mess and love of beige home décor, but instead Sarah felt a deepening concern for her cousin. She suspected his decision to stay home had less to do with his father’s health and more to do with his mother’s tendency to be the drama queen, the needy center of every problem. Sarah worried that sweet, hilarious Paul had traded one controlling woman for another, playing the role of peacemaker between his ailing father and his verbally abusive mom.
She herself rarely went home to Newfoundland except for an obligatory visit with her mother at Christmas, but she made a point of flying back more often when Paul returned, partly just to check on him. He always seemed profoundly grateful to see her, but it saddened her to realize that he had given up on acting entirely.
“I didn’t have the It Factor,” he told her one day over coffee in downtown St. John’s. “The It Factor being money, connections, and insane amounts of luck. I have to find something else to do that won’t make me want to kill myself.”
“What about teaching?” she suggested. “You’d have a captive audience.”
“Can you imagine?” he said. “My poor students.”
“You’re nerdy enough, that’s all I’m saying.”
Strangely, Sarah had experienced exactly the opposite of Paul when it came to her own artistic career: herExistential Innocencebaby series—the one that she had half-jokingly announced to Ren—had turned into a massive, runaway success.
It had begun with that initial photo of Alejandro that she had snapped on her last day with Ren. She later re-staged the photo with a different baby, only this time with a plan for a photo-edited collage. At the center of the photo was a curious, awkward baby, arms spread wide in confusion, dressed in a pale cream onesie…and around him, Sarah had added a spiraling image of the Milky Way, trails of light representing shifts in time and space: a baby as a representation of existential doubt, the inner lost child within. Then she had taken photos of Anya’s toddler daughter pondering a mountain range like a romantic poet, and photos of her roommate Winnie’s nephew staring into a fish tank where the large, murky eye of some strange leviathan creature stared back.
HerExistential Innocenceseries became a minor hit at the Kristman Gallery, but it had led to an even more unexpected outcome: commissions. Various wealthy people got in contact with her after her show to ask if she would do portraits of their own babies and toddlers against strange, moody backgrounds. Surprised by the request but needing the money, she agreed, with the caveat that she retained artistic control over each photo. So she had spent the last couple of years creating photo collages of people’s babies: babies who appeared to be lost in the forest; babies sitting on bales of hay contemplating broken farm equipment; babies who perched in old-fashioned, rusty baby carriages in abandoned factories, their eyes wide. The photos were faintly pessimistic but never depressing, lightly ironic but never unkind, and they had become a must-have for nurseries among some of the wealthier families in Toronto, and then Ottawa, and then New York City.
After her first year of photo commissions, she had been able to quit her magazine job, and now she only booked the occasional headshot session as a favor to a friend. Instead, Sarah was doing exactly what her mother had once deemed impossible: making a living entirely as a photographer, doing art she enjoyed, and earning enough to live well. She could even take the occasional trip to Europe.
The money had changed other things for her, too. She had gotten into better shape and had made peace with her looks, finally realizing that her appearance was workable and attractive, if not dazzling. She wore red lipstick and put her curly ringlets, highlighted a pale blond, into messy up-dos. The inner doubt that had haunted her from years of childhood bullying felt less constant now. Another boyfriend came and went, and she felt fine with it.
So when Paul called her one August to announce that he was back with Trish and getting married in Las Vegas, she was surprised, but the cost of a last-minute trip would not be a burden.
“How did this happen?” He hadn’t even mentioned that they were back together.
“Trish came to visit a friend who was offering her a job in St. John’s, and we realized we had never gotten over each other. So we decided to go to Vegas and just do it.”
“Why Las Vegas?”
“It’s somewhere we can do it quickly. We don’t want a big thing. We just want to be together.”
The words made her heart melt into a soft little puddle, and she didn’t even like Trish.
“I’ve always liked the American Southwest,” he continued, “although I won’t have time to explore it on this trip.”
“So you’re moving back to Toronto?” Sarah tried not to sound like a hopeful little kid.
“No. She’s living in St. John’s right now, helping her friend start a media company. She’s always wanted to travel, so she’s excited about Newfoundland.”
Sarah didn’t bother to tell Paul that Newfoundland was the last place you should go if you wanted to travel. The island province was not without its charms, but it was emphatically the end of the line, the last stop on the travel train. You could fly from St. John’s to Toronto, Montreal, or Halifax, but that was about it. It was a terminal destination.
But he sounded happy, and Sarah tried to sound happy for him. “This is wonderful news,” she said, doing her best to mean it.
“Will you be there? Will you come celebrate with us?”
“Of course.”
“It’s going to be small. Probably fifteen people and Trish’s parents. Ren’s still out there so he can come, too.”
Sarah’s breath caught, but she managed to control her voice. “That’s good to hear. I miss Ren.”
That part was true. When Ren had first moved to New Mexico, he had done as promised: sending her a friendly text every few weeks, almost as often as when they were living in Toronto. She had replied in kind, sending him updates on her baby photo series.
Then one day, two years after he moved to Nevada, he had sent her a quick text with a photo of the desert at night with an astonishing Milky Way arcing above:Desert outside Vegas.
Stunning, Sarah wrote back.
He replied:Everyone who comes to Vegas should be required to go out in the desert to experience nature.
