Beneath the Night Tree Read Online Free PDF Page B

again.
    Click-click-click-click-click.
    “Come on, Angelica,” I coaxed, drawing out every syllable of the older girl’s name. “You look so pretty in your dress. Aren’t you having fun?”
    “No.”
    “Carlye’s having fun.”
    “She’s two. I’m four .”
    Simon blew another long string, then leaned on one elbow and peered around the jubilant toddler who was blocking his view. Angelica, the sulky preschooler whose almost-comical scowl threatened to ruin my attempt at portraiture, was standing with her arms crossed, her expression so sour that Simon couldn’t stop himself from laughing. But a lightning-fast look from me wiped the smile off his face. He dipped his wand with a dutiful flick of his wrist and whispered more bubbles to life.
    “Are you too old to play with bubbles?” I asked, twisting the camera in my hands to change the angle of the shot. Off center, at a slant, with the parchment blue sky framing the soft halo of their child-fine hair. Click-click-click. “You can’t be too old to play with bubbles. Look at Simon. He’s ten and he still plays with bubbles.”
    Simon snorted and broke the perfect film of liquid that would have been another deployment of soapy orbs.
    I turned from the viewfinder long enough to toss my brother a playful wink. “You’re never too old to play with bubbles, right, Si?”
    He fixed me with a vicious glare, but instead of distressing me, he made me laugh. Angelica, who was watching the exchange, let the corner of her lip pull up into the slightest of smirks, a little edge of indication that she was, despite her every effort to convince us otherwise, having fun.
    Simon caught her look and scowled at me, making sure that he was so caught up in our mock battle that he let his hand tip just enough to spill a fine drizzle of liquid in his own lap. “Look what you made me do!” he cried, his voice lush with artificial horror.
    Angelica giggled.
    Click-click-click-click.
    “Keep ’em coming,” I muttered between my teeth, loving Simon for his selflessness, for his willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty to help me out.
    He obliged, filling the air around the girls and veiling a grin when Angelica reached out a tentative finger to see if her skin would pop the glossy membrane or hold it. It popped.
    Click-click-click.
    “Perfect. I think we’re done here.” I lowered the heavy camera and stood up from a crouch amid the audible crack and moan of knee joints. I pressed a fist to the small of my back. “You girls are gorgeous. But you’re a little too short. Oh, my back!” I hunched over and ambled toward them with a Quasimodo limp. “I’m too old! I can’t bend like that anymore!”
    Carlye squealed in delight and ran from me, straight into the arms of her mother, who was crossing the lawn with her daughters’ extra outfits in hand. Francesca smiled a bland, tight-lipped smile and smoothed Carlye’s dark curls. “Did you get some good ones?” she asked.
    I nodded. “Your girls are beautiful. It’s hard to take a bad photo of them.”
    It was exactly what Francesca wanted to hear. She tipped her chin in acceptance and held out her free hand for Angelica. “Come on, sugar,” she called. “You have dance in less than an hour. We’ve got to get you in your leotard and to the studio.”
    “I don’t want to go to dance!”
    “You have to. Daddy and I paid good money for your ballet lessons.”
    “I’m hungry!” the little girl whined.
    “I have a sandwich for you in the car.”
    “I don’t want a sandwich!”
    “Too bad.”
    Angelica screamed her protest and stomped off in the direction of their waiting car.
    The entire exchange made me feel tense and uncomfortable, and I tried to busy myself with the camera so that I didn’t have to acknowledge that I had ears and could hear every word Francesca muttered. I peeked at Simon from under my lashes and realized that the situation was awkward for him, too. “Hey, Simon,” I called, “could