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He turned around in time to see a curtain of blonde hair disappearing out the kitchen door.

8

Since dinner had come to an abrupt and early end, Alison offered to drop Cordelia off at the cottage.

She went straight to her room and called Liz.

“Hey, girl! How’d it—oh my god, Cordie, what happened?”

Cordelia sank onto her bed. Her hands shook as she reached for her broken camera, holding it against her stomach, her thumb pressed to her father’s print.

“I’m so … so … homesick,” she sobbed. “I’m lonely and it rains all the time and I have no camera and I made a total fool of myself at dinner and … I miss you, Liz, I miss everyone, it wasn’t supposed to feel like this, I’m trying to do what Dad would want, I’m trying to enjoy the day, but I … I can’t …”

And then she dissolved into tears. When she was finally able to take a few deep breaths, she wiped her eyes and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Cord. Don’t apologize. It’s only natural that you’d be homesick. Remember when we were reading about culture shock?”

Cordelia nodded.

“This’ll pass,” Liz said gently.

“Will it?” she said. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Liz chewed on her lower lip for a second. “Can I say something you might not love to hear?”

Cordelia sighed. “Sure.”

“You’re holding on so tight. I want you to know … it’s okay. It’s okay to let go a little bit. Of your dad, of your work, of all the things you think define you.”

“What if I forget him?” Cordelia whispered.

“That will never happen.”

“What if I never sell a photograph again? What if I can’t be a photographer anymore?”

“Also never going to happen. Selling your photos isn’t what makes you a photographer, babes. That’s as much a part of you as your love of packaged ramen or your weird obsession with murder shows.”

Cordelia let out a shaky laugh and stared down at the camera. This trip was meant to push her forward in life, but nothing seemed to be going the way she’d planned. When she looked up, Liz had a guilty expression on her face.

“What?” Cordelia asked warily. “Is there another thing you need to tell me that I won’t like?”

Liz half smiled. “No. I’m feeling bad. I shouldn’t have—I’m really sorry if I was pushing you with the whole vicarious sex thing. There’s no pressure for you to do anything there you don’t want to do. I didn’t mean to stick my nose in.”

Cordelia gave a watery chuckle. “I don’t think we need to worry about me having sex.” She gestured to her face—puffy, red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” Liz said. “Inside and out. Crying or not.”

“Thanks, but that’s not even what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

Cordelia fiddled with her belt buckle. “I’m too scared to feel those feelings. Like I’ve sealed myself up in wax and even one small crack will make me crumble.”

“Oh, Cordie, no. You’re still hurting, that’s all. Don’t push yourself. But don’t cut yourself off from everything either. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Baby steps. Taking the space and time to be you. Isn’t that what this trip was supposed to be about?”

Cordelia sniffed. “Yeah. I mean, I guess. Who even knows anymore.”

“What happened at dinner?” Liz asked.