Page 6 of Find Me in California

“Ship them back.” He’ll put in a UPS pickup order first thing on Monday.

He reseals a box and moves to the next one he opened.

“I thought she was being evicted.”

“Yeah, so?” He casts Dave a sidelong glance.

“Dude.” Dave gives him a pathetic look. Matt knows he’s being selfish. In his defense, his attitude isn’t any different from hers toward him.

“Whatever she’s gotten herself into isn’t my problem.”

Dave snags the tape from him. “This is your grandmother.”

“Give it back.”

“Your flesh and blood.”

Matt holds out his hand, waving his fingers for the tape.

“Not until you talk to me,” Dave says.

Elizabeth is the last person he wants to talk about.

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Matt grabs for the tape.

Dave moves out of reach. “She’s old, you freak.”

Matt grunts with annoyance. Hands on hips, he stares at Dave, his expression flat. “What do you want?”

“A bedtime story. Whatever this is”—Dave waves the tape at the boxes—“it’s fucking with your head.”

Matt’s head is already a lost cause, and so might be his plans for working tonight. His migraine is now full blown, making him edgy and irritable. Not an ideal state for editing photos. He can’t let his attitude bleed over into his work, especially with this job. He wasn’t at the auto show for onlyRoad & Track. It was his first assignment with Ford shooting their concept car for an upcoming marketing campaign.

“Spill,” Dave says, folding his arms and tucking the tape under his bicep. His posture signals that he won’t back down until Matt relents.

People have described Dave as bullheaded. Matt prefers “determined and persistent.” It’s why Matt agreed to partner with him. They met in New York in their early twenties, when they worked ungodly hours freelancing and trying to make names for themselves. Dave is a skilled photographer in his own right, but something about Matt’s style landed his photos on more magazine covers and featured articles.

But Matt’s work record wasn’t perfect. He’d been in such demand at one point that he started missing jobs, running late or not showing up at all because he couldn’t manage his schedule. And Matt learned he could fall quicker than he’d risen. He gained a reputation of being unreliable, and the good offers, the lucrative ones that helped him maintain a living wage, dried up. He was back to seeking assignments like a rookie. Like Dave, whose photography lacked Matt’s X factor. Dave treated photography more like a hobby, and he had a second hourly wage job as a staffing assistant to make ends meet. But he knew how to manage his assignments and pitch his skills.

One night over old-fashioneds at a dive bar with sticky tabletops in lower-end Manhattan, Dave and Matt came to an agreement. With Dave’s business savvy and Matt’s prowess behind the lens, they’d make a formidable team. And they have. When Dave tired of the big city, he moved back to his hometown of Santa Fe, and Matt, weary of crowds and noise, followed.

Matt drags his hands down his face and blows air into his palms. “I was sent to live with Elizabeth after my parents died. Never met the woman until a neighbor put me on a plane for Burbank.”

“Mom’s or dad’s side?”

“Mom’s. My dad’s parents died before he married my mom.”

“What happened between you and your grandmother?”

Matt keeps his tone neutral so he doesn’t feed into the memories. “She blamed me for my mom’s death, so she didn’t want anything todo with me. She took me in but ignored me.” He lived in her house, but not with her.

Dave’s face falls open. “Shit. Dude. What a—” He presses his lips tight.

Matt shakes his head. “Don’t say it.” He doesn’t need to hear what he already knows about her.

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

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