“How so?”
“Before I ever took a photo of anyone, I’d take the time to get to know them—asking them about their childhood dreams, their cherished memories, the people they loved most,” Claudia said. “And then, as they were talking, I’d start clicking the shutter.”
“So you were kind of tapping into their inner essence.”
“Precisely. Engaging people helps them let their guard down and be vulnerable. To feel, to express themselves. And that’s what photography is all about—making people feel seen. Of course, we look at people every day, but we rarely stop to really see them for who they are.”
“That makes sense.”
I wondered what it would mean for someone to see me for who I really was. I worked hard to tuck away my emotions so that they didn’t encroach on others—so that my clients could feel seen and understood. Except for Grandpa and Leo, I’d never let anyone in enough to do the same for me.
“The saddest part, my darling,” Claudia said, freeing the gold bracelet that had been catching her cardigan sleeve, “is that most of us are guilty of that with our loved ones. We get stuck in a routine and we look at them as we’ve always looked at them, without seeing them for the person they’ve become or the person they strive to be. What a terrible thing to do to someone you love.”
“I never really thought of it that way.” Had I done that to Grandpa? Maybe he was different from the man who constantly occupied my memories. I hadn’t really considered who he was outside the role of my caretaker and teacher.
“It’s liberating to open yourself up and be truly seen by someone else,” Claudia said. “Not everyone gets to experience that in life.”
“But it sounds like perhaps you have?”
Claudia watched the raindrops pelt against the window. “A very long time ago.” She patted my hand. “And I pray it happens to you too—but the lesson I hope you’ll learn, that I didn’t, is not to let go of the person who offers that to you just because you don’t want to take a risk.”
Selma bustled back into the kitchen, ten minutes before expected. I reflexively put my hand on my pocket, hoping none of the powdered sugar had lingered on the table as evidence.
“Time for your meds, Claudia.” She was holding a small plastic cup of pills. “I’ll even let you take them with peanut butter this time.”
“And what if I wanted them with raspberry jam?” Claudia countered.
Selma sighed, impatient. “Peanut butter at least has some protein. Raspberry jam is all sugar.”
The women looked at each other defiantly, neither willing to back down. To avoid having to adjudicate (and to hide my guilt about being an accomplice to Claudia’s sugar intake) I busied myself flicking through the images on the camera. I was quite pleased with my progress—maybe there was value to this charade with Claudia after all.
The brief standoff ended when Selma surrendered. “Fine. You can have one teaspoon of jam and one of peanut butter.”
“I suppose that’s a fair compromise,” Claudia conceded haughtily.
After delivering the meds shrouded in breakfast spreads, Selma bustled out of the room again.
Claudia leaned toward me. “I actually like peanut butter better. But it’s just so entertaining to push her buttons.”
“She’s just trying to do her job.” I felt compelled to defend Selma again. Home health aides were saddled with extremely unpleasant tasks that I was glad not to have to partake in, especially as a client’s body began to shut down.
“Oh, you’re so pure of heart.” Claudia chuckled. “I’m just trying to have some fun before I go.”
Waiting a beat, I kept my tone neutral. “Go where?”
The deep Yves Saint Laurent red gathered in wrinkled rivulets around Claudia’s lips. “Because you’re so pure of heart, sweet Clover, I’m going to free you from having to participate in this pretense.”
Sweat prickled my underarms. “Pretense?”
“I know I’m dying,” Claudia said calmly. “And I also know my family thinks that I’m blissfully unaware of that fact.”
“What do you mean?” My instinct was to feign ignorance.
“My son instructed the doctor not to tell me the diagnosis—highly unethical, of course, but my boy does have questionable morals at times. I suspected I wasn’t being given the whole story and called the hospital myself.”
I silently fumed at Sebastian for leaving me to deal with this. I had no choice but to come clean now.
“I’m sorry, Claudia.”
“Oh, you’re the least to blame.” She nodded at the door where Selma had recently exited. “And I do appreciate Sebastian’s efforts to provide me with some stimulating company separate from those in charge of my health. I’ve very much enjoyed your visits.”
“So have I.” But I still felt complicit in the betrayal.
“The question is,” Claudia said, catching my eye, “are you really just a friend of his with a budding interest in photography?”
I squirmed. “Well, I am interested in photography. But no, not exactly.”
“I thought as much,” Claudia said, pleased with herself. “And?”
“I’m … a death doula.”
Her wiry brows bounced. “A death doula,” she said as if trying on the words for the first time. “Now, that was not among the many theories I had about your identity. I must say this turn of events is quite intriguing.”
“I’m grateful you see it that way,” I said, still ashamed. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth sooner.”
“What’s done is done,” she said, waving her hand as if shooing a fly. “Now, tell me what it is you’re here to do, if not to learn about photography.”
“Um, well, like you said, I’m here to keep you company, but also to help you work through any loose ends that you might want to tie up in the time you have left. And also just to talk about it—when you’re ready.”
Claudia laughed half-heartedly. “My grandson likely informed you that our family has never been amenable to discussing death. It’s just ‘not the done thing,’ as they say.” She brushed a wisp of gray hair from her temple. “And though I disagree with their making the decision on my behalf, I understand their intentions. We WASPs tend to express love in somewhat odd ways.”
“That’s very gracious of you. Is there anything you’d like to chat about or ask me?” I asked gently. “For the record, no topic is off the table.”
“Thank you, darling. Today, let’s just finish our photography lesson. You’re showing some promise—it’s a shame you won’t be pursuing it.”
“You never know; maybe you’ve inspired me.” I paused before picking up the camera. “But first, I have to ask—do you even want me to keep coming?”
“Of course I do,” Claudia said. “You’re the most interesting thing to happen to me in years. I’m not letting that go so easily.”
I wanted to feel relieved, but somehow I felt like I was already more personally entangled with her family than I should be.
25
With the click of Claudia’s front door behind me, resentment kindled in my chest. Instinct told me to push it away—to mute my emotions for the benefit of others just like I always did. But as I strode toward the subway, I couldn’t stop it from bubbling up to the surface. Leaning into the feeling was liberating and strangely addictive.
Sebastian hadn’t just asked me to lie to Claudia. He’d also left me to deal with any fallout of that lie being exposed. All I’d wanted to do was help Claudia and instead I was unwillingly caught up in their family’s secrets. I fumbled in my coat pocket for my phone. This exchange couldn’t happen via text. I sucked in a lungful of brisk evening air, letting its chill calm me.
Sebastian picked up on the first ring.
“Clover, hey!” His chipper tone was immediately grating. “How’d things go with Grandma?”
I took another deep breath, willing my voice to hold steady. “She knows.”
A pause. “Knows? What do you mean?”
“That we’ve been lying to her.”