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.“What are you sitting out here for? Are you going to see Milo?”“Nope.”She bends down so we’re eye level.“Why? That’s where I’m headed.Come with me.”“No.”“Why not?”“I’ve got plans.”“With who?”“Doesn’t matter.They’re my plans, not yours.” That was unnecessarily bitchy, despite the part of me that enjoyed it.I turn to her and try to look as earnest as possible.“I’m in a fight with Milo, so it’s probably best if I keep my distance right now.Go without me.”“What did you fight about?” She sounds genuinely surprised.“It’s between me and Milo.” I force a smile at her.“Don’t worry about it.It’s not a big deal.Just go, Missy.”“Okay,” she says uncertainly.She straightens and makes her way to Fuller’s.Her heels are clacking against the pavement as she goes.That’s ridiculous.I stare at the tennis shoes on my feet.Who wears heels when they don’t have to? And then the clacking stops and she turns back to me.“It’s too bad, though.I like it when you hang around with us.”When I hang around with them.I wave my hand and say really loudly, “Bye, Missy!”She goes.Finally.About ten more minutes pass.When I spot the station wagon making its way up the street, I hear my name again.“Hey, Eddie!” I get to my feet.Milo is standing outside Fuller’s.Half-outside, half-inside.He’s holding the door open.“Eddie! Hey!”“What do you want?” I call to him.The station wagon pulls up beside me.I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans.“We’re in a fight?”“Yeah.”“Good to know,” he calls.I round the station wagon and open the door.Milo frowns.“Who’s that?”I wave at him and I get in the car.My heart is beating fast.I turn to Culler and I smile at him, but that feels instantly weird.This is not a happy trip.But Culler smiles back at me.He has nice teeth.Today he is wearing a black T-shirt.Black jeans.Ray-Bans.I wish I could see his eyes.“Fuck me,” I say suddenly, and his smile vanishes and my face turns red.“I mean—I forgot the studio key.I have to give it back.Maggie asked.”“It’s okay,” Culler says, pulling away from the curb.“I have a key.” He glances at me.“Your dad made me a copy.We’ll leave it for them and you can keep his.You shouldn’t have to give something like that up.”I don’t know what to say.It’s such a nice thing for him to offer.But horrible.It never occurred to me to want to keep my father’s key, but now it seems like the most obvious thing in the world.It meant something to him; it should mean something to me.“Thank you for driving me down,” I say.“Thank you for letting me drive you,” he says.“Thought the last time I’d see that studio was the week before he died.I wouldn’t have felt right going in there with him gone.”With him gone.These are sad words.“You worked in the studio?” I ask.“I watched him work in the studio.I would bring my stuff down to show him.My darkroom is digital.It’s all set up at my place—”“Where do you live in Haverfield?” I interrupt.“Do you live alone?”Culler laughs.“You don’t know anything about me, do you?”I blush.“Sorry—”“It’s okay.”But it’s not okay.I can’t reconcile this gap in knowledge.That there is someone out there who maybe misses my dad as much as I do, and I never heard about him.Or maybe I did and I just didn’t pay attention.Dad, mentioning some student—the first student he’d ever taken on—at some point, and Culler’s name going over me, because it wasn’t important because it didn’t affect all the stupid little things I was doing every day.And now, here he is.Culler Evans.I don’t know anything about Culler Evans.And Culler Evans makes me realize how little I know about my father.“I should’ve asked him.” I can’t breathe around the idea that there are all these things I don’t know and I never thought to ask, will never get to ask.Who do I get those missing pieces from and will they ever be as good, or as whole, if they come from someone who isn’t him? “How he felt about his photography and everything—why didn’t I…”“Don’t sweat it,” Culler says.“That’s how kids are with their parents.It’s natural.My dad’s a surgeon and that’s about all I can tell you.The man’s saved people’s lives.I think he’s in a book about something he did.…” Culler laughs.“I just proved my point, didn’t I? It’s like what I said to you—you’ll never understand the scope of your dad’s career because he’s your dad.”“That doesn’t make me feel better.”Culler pauses.“Don’t let it get you down.I know just about everything you don’t and I worked with him.I’m just as … lost about this whole thing as you are.”I feel so bad for that, a total jerk, but I don’t know what to say to make it better.At first I want to tell him that maybe between the two of us, we’ll come up with something, but that almost seems too forward and I’m not sure I believe it.Instead, I ask, “How did you end up becoming his student?”“I e-mailed him, believe it or not.”“How did you get his e-mail address?”He smiles.“I’m not telling you or you’ll think I’m a stalker.”“How about a determined fan?”“I’ll take that.I live in this apartment in Haverfield,” Culler says.Haverfield is halfway between Branford and Delaney.“And your dad was my idol.His work was incredible.The way he arrived on the scene—he just wanted to share his art.That was it.And he did.And then the way he left, when he started feeling compromised, he just cut through the bullshit and went.”“Yeah,” I say.“And it drove me crazy that he was close, so I got his e-mail and I e-mailed him and I told him he was the reason I wanted to be a photographer.I offered to assist him for free if I could learn from him.I have an online portfolio, so he checked it out.He said he liked my artist’s statement and agreed to take me on as a student.”“What’s your artist’s statement?” I ask
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