Page 90 of The Irresistible Distraction

Adeline nods even as she takes out her phone and I start shouting, noting that Adeline’s not joining me. I’m turned away from her, focused on trying to appear as threatening as possible, but the coyotes don’t seem to be scared by me and my noisemaking abilities. I’m glancing back at Adeline, thinking that even if she’s not as loud, she can contribute something, when a blaring sound of pots and pans comes from her phone. The coyotes startle and I watch as my former mother-in-law smiles, perhaps the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her in years.

Because the adrenaline’s pumping, I’m not thinking clearly. I lean forward for a hug, which she allows. She pats my back a bit awkwardly before disentangling herself and smoothing her still flawless chignon.

Then she disconnects a tiny speaker she connected to her iPhone and is the picture of nonchalance as she tells me, “Arthur doesn’t enjoy hiking. This has been the most consistent way to scare off coyotes. I also carry pepper spray.”

I smile back at her, tentatively, wondering if this is some kind of relationship corner we’re turning, together. But then Adeline continues, in her normal, disdainful tone, “Are you telling me that after living your entire life in Lake Arrowhead, you don’t carry pepper spray?”

By the time we meet up with the rest of the group, Adeline and I have formed a tentative sort of truce. Uneasy, definitely uncomfortable and requiring I ignore the barely veiled barbs she throws out every dozen or so comments, almost as if by habit. It’s kind of tense when we accidentally make eye contact, but still . . . it’s better than before.

The second excursion is much safer—all wooden boardwalk and flat marshlands as we take pictures of ospreys and local wildlife. Because I’m not just thinking about the best shot to take, because I’m also considering what tourists might like, what might make not just a nice framed shot but also what would sell as a postcard, I allow myself to freely explore Sydney’s various dictates and take far more shots than I normally would in the same amount of time.

Then we stop for a late lunch that’s also a working one, with Sydney talking us through photography philosophies (that we need to work to remove distractions, to look for the image that speaks to us, even from a larger frame, that we should be mentally composing our pieces before taking even a single shot). There’s another, longer trip to an eagle habitat, during which I get some actually amazing shots (where I don’t even pause to stop and check because I’m too afraid of missing the next great image), of not just the nest but the startling variety of insects in the vicinity, from multicolored beetles, flies, and spiders to a glimpse of a bobcat.

Though we only stopped to capture shots of the eagle’s nest, the surrounding ecosystem is truly spectacular. Which, sadly, feels like a metaphor for my entire life.

That night, we enjoy a lecture-filled dinner where Sydney talks us through technical tips on focus stacking, having better control with our ISO ranges, and how to leverage natural lighting.

I’m so busy and enthralled by my day I barely have time to check my text messages, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this . . . on vacation. But even though I feel a smidge of anxiety when I realize just how long it’s been since I last checked my phone, the messages, when I read them, are all positive: selfies of Brody and Sebastian on their way to the campsite, a series of photos of them burning s’mores (which they couldn’t wait to make, even though it was only six at night, meaning it looked . . . like late afternoon, the sunlight an odd backdrop to their fire). Little snippets of plans the boys are already making for another playdate.

Though they would never call it a playdate.

I’m packing up, having gotten a little container for my leftovers, when Adeline offers to carpool back.

“You can leave your car here; I’ll pick you up again in the morning. Saves quite a bit of gas since it’s almost an hour back at this time of day.”

It feels . . . like a trap, the way I always regret letting them have Sebastian for a too-long stay and Sebastian comes back with all sorts of ideas about what he wants to do with his life (obviously law school or medical school, like his grandfather or father), which extracurriculars are the “good” ones (the team-based sports, or the ones where Seba might have a better chance to shine), and of course all the opinions on the fact that Sebastian’s already been allowed to skip so many grades.

The older Seba has gotten, the more Jesse and I have been on opposite ends of this conversation. Still, knowing how borderline unavoidable some of the longer conversations will be once Jesse moves back, I owe it to Sebastian to be civil . . . I think.

“Sharing a ride could be nice.” My voice is only a little strained.

Adeline’s car is an old Jaguar with leather seats, and I feel immediately self-conscious in my dirt-stained clothes, but Adeline doesn’t comment. She is, for once, as dirty as I am (and there are even some small strands of hair that have escaped her normally rigid chignon).

We’re about a third of the way back and I’m wondering if I can survive the silence when Adeline speaks. “This was not a cheap event.”

It’s not a question, and so I don’t answer. Thank you, Brody, for that particular lesson.

“I assume your—the man you’re seeing, gifted it to you.”

Still not a question, but it feels rude to continue ignoring her. “Photography’s been a hobby for years, but I’ve started considering it more seriously, recently.”

“I was always content with my role as Jesse’s mother. But I suppose things are different in your generation.”

I sigh. I need a bath and the ability to make better decisions: I should never have gotten in her car, letting Adeline taint an otherwise marvelous experience.

“If you have something to say . . .” Adeline’s voice is pure innocence, as if she can’t possibly imagine what’s setting me off.

“It’s rude and condescending, like everything else you’ve said to me this past decade.” I clap a hand over my mouth because I’m that surprised. My first thought is how Mama and Papa would have reacted, how they would have suggested I apologize. “That was ruder than I intended. I’m sorry.”

Adeline is silent for a long moment before she deigns to reply. “It’s this new man of yours, giving you a false sense of confidence.”

Still not a question. I bite the inside of my cheek, because if I speak again, I’ll have to apologize again.

“Is he a similarly bad influence on Sebastian, do you think?”

“Yes, I introduce only bad influences to Sebastian.” I take a deep breath. I can practically hear Mom’s gentle voice in my head, urging patience, acceptance, forbearance. “That was more sarcastic than I intended. I apologize.” Normally, I would stop talking here. In all my past interactions with Adeline, I’ve either been able to remain mute and meek. Today, however, I try again. “Brody’s far more extroverted than Seba or I, has already connected with some of the mothers, helped arrange playdates and, even now, he’s chaperoning Sebastian’s camping trip.”

“It’s probably easier for a man like Brody Huntington-Branca to gather phone numbers.”