for all your hard work. The house looks beautiful.”
Marie blushed. “It wasn’t me. You have worked so hard.” With that, she left, quietly closing the door behind her.
For several heartbeats, Anna stared at the closed door. She knew she should move, walk forward, walk out and greet the magazine crew, yet she lingered. Slowly, she made her way to the full-length mirror in her bedroom and gave her appearance one final check.
Her straight-legged black trousers and lace blouse with mandarin collar and ruffle trim was stylish without being stuffy. Instead of her usual French twist, she opted for a softer look, loosely gathering her dark blonde hair at the nape of her neck. A few strands floated free.
Like her house, she was picture-perfect. True, she wasn’t a girl of twenty any longer, but at thirty-four, Anna prided herself on her appearance. A strict diet and even stricter exercise schedule kept her body toned and trimmed. Her skin was still as smooth and as soft as ever. But that perfection did not come without effort. Careful planning, excessive preparation, and dedicated endurance—that was her mantra. Anything could be accomplished if you worked hard enough and long enough.
Knowing she couldn’t stall any longer, she left the bedroom and made her way down the hall, stopping at her son’s door. She knocked once, waited a handful of seconds, then entered. Just as she suspected, he was sitting on his bed, earphones in, listening to his iPod. Even from across the room, she could hear the music. “Cody?”
He didn’t answer.
Crossing the room, she gave his sneakered foot a gentle shake, fighting to keep the frown from her face. How many times had she asked him not to wear his shoes in the house? But she knew if she said something, they’d end up in an argument. And that was the last thing she wanted today. She couldn’t stop the frown from forming when she once more caught sight of his blue hair. “Cody?” she said again, this time pulling out one of his earphones. The music blared louder.
He shot her a look. “What?”
“Please turn your music down.”
He took forever to comply.
“The camera crew is here.”
“So?”
“They’re ready for us.”
“So?” he said again.
She counted to ten. “It’s time for us to head downstairs.”
“No.” He reached for the sketch pad next to him and flipped it open.
“Cody—”
“I told you, I’m not doing it.”
“Come on, Cody. It’ll be fun. It’s not every day your house gets picked to be in a magazine.” She heard the imploring note in her voice and stopped. She’d read enough parenting books to know that pleading would get her nowhere. She started again. “The camera crew would like our family in a few of the pictures—”
“Family. Right. Dad’s not here.”
“You know he can’t be. We’ve been over this a dozen times. He’s working.”
“He’s gone .”
“I know it seems that way, honey, but Doctors Without Borders is an amazing organization, and your father—”
“Whatever,” he mumbled before putting his earphones back in.
Anna stood there, staring down at her son. They’d had this same discussion more times than she could count, and each time, it ended the same way: with him shutting her out just as clearly as if he’d slammed a door in her face. Part of her wanted to force him out of that bed and make him come downstairs with her. But what good would that do? He would only continue to be sullen and angry, and wouldn’t that just make for a lovely family—minus one dad—photo in a magazine read by millions? The best she could hope for was that when the camera crew made it to his room, he would be in a better mood.
“All right, Cody,” she said, as if this had been her intention all along. “But be ready when the camera crew and I come up here in a little while.”
She left without waiting for a response. Lately, she found that to be easier. She didn’t know how many more whatever s and fine s she