Snapshot Page 22

  “Keep pushing. It’s just the shoulders. You’re going to feel more pressure.” The doctor nodded. “And we’re out.”

  Relief. A tiny cry filled the space. Just over thirteen hours of labor.

  “It’s a girl. Congratulations, Mom and Dad, you have a baby girl.”

  They plopped the tiny, filthy human on my stomach. The nurse wiped her down as she screamed and cried until her tiny little face turned purple. Tell me about it, little one. I feel the same. I reached out and touched her skin. She was so ugly and beautiful at the same time. I couldn’t understand it.

  Xander just stared at her with this awestruck look, like they had laid the secret to life on my lap.

  “So, Mr. Dobransky, what shall we name our girl?”

  “We already talked about this, Catherine.”

  “I think it’s cute that y’all still get a kick out of the name thing,” Rachel said. “But seriously, what’re you callin’ this cherub?”

  “Madison Rose—” I replied.

  “Lane Rose—” Xander said at the same time.

  She rocked back with a belly laugh. “Well, sounds like you got at least one part figured out. What is it with you guys and names?”

  I knew he wanted to name the baby after his sister, but it just didn’t feel right to me. And naming a kid was a big deal. I’d have to say that name a million times at least. It should feel right.

  “Nurse Keenan will be taking the baby back for her tests and measurements now,” the doctor interrupted. “Dad, you can go with the baby. Mom, we still have work to do. I’m going to need you to push again.”

  “Again?”

  “This one’ll be easy. It’s just the afterbirth. Ready? And push…”

  After we were done, I dozed off. Giving birth was exhausting work. Rachel shuffled around helping the nurses put the place back in order for visitors, and Xander had left with the baby. I couldn’t keep my eyes open for another second.

  When I woke, a nurse was nudging me awake. I couldn’t have really fallen asleep; it felt like I’d just closed my eyes. But almost everyone was gone from the room.

  Rachel still sat in a chair, flipping through channels on the TV with the sound on mute.

  Xander stood behind the nurse, holding a grunting baby. His face was the picture of fatherly joy.

  “She’s ready for her first meal, Mama,” the nurse whispered.

  I nodded and adjusted, welcoming the baby in my arms. The nurse showed me how to get her to latch on, and once everything was situated, she left the room.

  Rachel turned from the TV. “How about you combine them, Cat?”

  “Combine what?” I asked.

  Rachel shifted in her chair, facing us. “The names. Madison and Lane. You could name her Madelaine?”

  My eyebrows climbed in surprise. I looked over to Xander with a shrug. He nodded.

  “I like it.” Xander stroked the baby’s fuzzy head.

  I smiled at the little chubby-cheeked angel. “Me too. Do you like it, Madelaine Rose Dobransky?”

  Looking at that face, I knew I would do anything for this tiny human. I would kill for her. I would die for her. I would do anything to protect her and to give her the life I never had. And it was funny how that worked. That little bit of DNA in common would make you go so far, would change your perspective of the entire world. But it did. All it took was finding out she existed and everything changed for me: my past, my present, and my future. I would never be the same.

  And I owed it all to the man standing next to me. The man who changed my world. The man I loved. And it all started with a camera and a dead body.

  I set the pen down on the legal pad and stretch my hand. The spaces in between each tiny bone seem to ache from the effort of writing everything down. Of course, I left out the sexy parts, but I couldn’t help but let my mind wander. They were great memories.

  The house has been quiet as I write my thoughts on paper. Xander took Maddie outside to the garage with him while he worked on his car. They do that every time he goes out there. She is a daddy’s girl to the core. She’ll climb in there with him, handing him the correct tools when he asks for them. It’s unbelievably cute.

  Looking out the window, I realize how late it has gotten. People will be arriving soon, and I haven’t done a thing to prepare for it. But this had to be done. I don’t know everything, or anything really. I just know that time is a finite resource. That it can slip from your grasp before you even realize it.

  I tuck the card under my legal pad as I hear the doorknob turn. A little head of mahogany waves peeks in the gap between the door and the frame, and the second those big brown eyes find mine, she smiles.

  “Mommy!” Maddie streaks across the room, diving into my arms and knocking me back on the bed. “Daddy wanted me to tell you that Aunt Rachel and Tia Tia are here.”

  “They are?” I smile.

  I can’t help it. She makes me smile every day.

  “Uh-huh. So are Lucky and Dusty. We’re gonna go play in the woods.”

  “Okay, don’t get too dirty.” I kiss her forehead and wipe a smudge of grease off her chin. “Or go so far that you can’t hear us when we call. You have a party tonight.”

  “Are we having chocolate cake?”

  I chuckle. “Yes, we are. I’m going to go make it as soon as I finish this up.”

  “What ya doin’?” She leans over, looking at the folded sheaf of papers on top of the notepad.

  I smile and set her back on the floor. “I’m writing a letter.”

  Her face twists into a frown. “To who?”

  “To you. But you don’t get to read it until you get bigger.” I wink at her.

  “I am older.” She stands taller, thumping her chest with a fist. “I’m five now.” She splays her hand, holding it up in demonstration.

  “I know, baby girl. But this is for when you get to be my age.”

  Her brows lower, and she chews on her bottom lip. “So I have to be twenty-eight to read it?”

  “Something like that.” I smile and hug her, smoothing my hand over her head.

  “Maddie, come on.” Evan’s voice calls down the hall, just before he appears in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Aunt Kitty.”

  “Hey there, Ev. You two be good. And take care of my girl.”

  “Always.” He stands a little taller with a wide smile on his face.

  “Come on, Dusty.” Maddie grabs his hand. “I’ll race you. Last one to the clubhouse is a rotten egg.”

  He nudges her side with his elbow. “You know that’ll be Nic.”

  “Hey, I heard that!” Nic yells from the living room. “Just for that, I’m getting a head start. Eat my dust, Dusty.”

  The door slams behind them as they leave. I can still hear their screams of joy and laughter as they race off into the woods, taunting each other. And it seems so perfect, like nothing bad could ever happen. I almost believe it, but then this showed up this morning.

  I pull the greeting card out from under the notepad.

  I saw Xander’s face as he was opening the mail with Maddie. The second he laid eyes on it, an expression of panic filled his features. It was fleeting, only lasting for a few fractions of a second before he schooled his features. I asked him about it, and he looked at me, confused, before shaking it off.

  “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine.” He smiled and kissed me.

  I knew right then that he was lying. And it wasn’t the first time he had lied to me. But it had been years since that. We’d moved past that, or so I thought.

  I didn’t know what to make of it, but something about it seemed familiar. I cross the room and open my closet door, flicking on the light. There’s a file box at the top labeled Maddie’s Memories. I pull it down and walk back to the bed. Tossing the lid to the side, I search through the contents, looking for one specific item.

  When I find it, I take a deep breath and open it. It’s a greeting card from the day she was born. And like the one on my nightstand, it has an image of
a hummingbird on the front, and inside, it’s signed with a large, sloppy X with a little hook on the end, over a smaller circle. I didn’t think anything of it back then. I never saw his face when he first looked at it.

  I don’t know what it means or if it means anything. But I know my husband. He will protect us at all costs. Even if it means hiding the truth from us. So I want Maddie to know. I want her to know everything that I do, because a day may come where she needs it. And who knows if I will be around to tell her. My mama sure wasn’t.

  I set the other card on the notepad and return Maddie’s box to the closet. Grabbing a shoe box, I put the items inside: my letter to her, along with the two cards. Then I hide it. I bury it under my shoes. It’ll be there if she ever needs it.

  Everyone has to pay for their sins sooner or later. I never paid for mine. Xander hasn’t paid for his. But I can’t help the gnawing feeling inside that she may have to pay that price for us.

  If you enjoyed Snapshot, you won't want to miss Maddie Dobransky's epic tale, The Falling Small Duet. Check it out here.

  Welcome to the Back of Book Shit, aka the BoBS. This is the part of the book where I blather on about shit that relates to the story and the thought process behind developing it. If you are new to my books, like this is the first of my books you have ever read, you’re probably wondering about that ending. Well, there’s good news for you. Little Maddie Dobransky has her own series, the Falling Small Duet, and you can totally go one-click that bitch here.

  The whole concept for this book was born out of a conversation with my editor about just how complex the Seven Hummingbirds storyline is. I told her that it was ridiculously massive and had this whole complicated backstory behind everything. And setting out to write the Seven Hummingbirds, I knew I had to stop and give a peek at what is to come.

  Every character of mine is like a real person. I’m sure most authors feel that way, but for me, these people feel real. I know all their histories, their ancestors, and to be honest, I think I know them better than I know myself. So when Sandra asked if I actually knew where the Seven Hummingbirds series was heading, I was like “Hell yeah. Hold for a moment, I got this.”

  But even then, there are things this backstory in my head is missing. I knew that Rosie was a photographer that never followed through with that dream. It’s how Maddie got her photography knowledge when she compared Dex’s art to a famous photograph at the beginning of False Start. I knew Xander was a Czech spy. But I didn’t know how they met until I was scrolling through stock photos one day and came across a woman crouched down in the middle of a field taking a picture of the landscape. The area she was standing looked an awful lot like central Texas. But I didn’t see her car. I was looking at it, wondering how she got there. How did she arrive at that exact spot? What would she do if someone nefarious was out there with her? What would happen if she stumbled upon a killer? What if she fell in love with that killer?

  The rest, they say, is history.

  Also, the fact that Rosie is Mexican and Xander is Czech comes from my own genetic makeup. I am a Czech Mex. I’ve never known quite where I fit in with the whole politically correct racial identity thing. I just consider myself American and a Texan. And I tend to write characters that just don’t identify with racial stereotypes. I write from my point of view, the way I see the world, and the people I’ve met and know. And I’ve known a lot of ethnically diverse people.

  Back when I was in college, I was the personal assistant to the head of the international studies department. As such, I became the unofficial student ambassador to all the foreign exchange students. And as a consummate people watcher, I found their cultures and customs ridiculously fascinating. I loved it when they pointed out things that I did that weren’t as mundane as I thought. But the ultimate lesson learned from that experience is that no one fits into a mold. Everyone is different and unique. We just have to learn to see ourselves that way and stop expecting others to fit into categories too.

  And fuck if it isn’t fun researching curse words in other languages.

  Finding out that the Velvet Revolution just happened to be in the same year as Maddie was conceived, felt kismet. It wasn’t planned prior to writing this book, but it was such a perfect piece to the puzzle that I’m not sure I could have written this story as realistically without it. And those are the moments writers live for. Those tiny moments of magic that make us feel like the world is conspiring with us to plot the story.

  This book, however, was about so much more for me. Starting out as a new author and only putting out series after series is a rough path to take. I’m pretty realistic though. I know readers don’t want to get invested when I haven’t proven that I’ll be around long enough to finish it. And some of that sketchiness is because I haven’t proven to readers that I have what it takes to deliver an awesome ending. It’s going to be at least nine books into my career before I can deliver the massive happily-ever-after we all want. It’s coming, and I hope you will find it as amazing as I do. And I hope the end of this book brings you some measure of confidence in that promise.

  Writing this book was also an adventure in self-discovery. I began to realize that between my first book Providence (which I don’t have plans to publish right now), the Duet, and this book, that there’s a certain style unique to me. From the way you slowly get to know characters, the awkward funny moments, strong men that aren’t threatened by a strong female, the fact that every story has to carry a psychological theme, to just the fact that I’m so addicted to and in love with expanded world stories. Plus the fact that this book is considered dark. The fact that people labeled the Duet dark. Believe me when I say that it is an utter surprise to me that I write dark books.

  Maybe I just have a fucked-up mind, but I always set out with the intention that I’m going to write a romantic comedy. It just never turns out that way. I mean, why the fuck doesn’t everyone find dead bodies, international spies, assassins, and lurking killers funny?

  The other thing that my lovely editor asked when inspiring me to write this was how I keep coming up with such unique characters and storylines. My answer: I have more baggage than a Transatlantic flight. If I give one issue to each character, then I can write for decades to come. And I do. Every one of my characters holds a piece of me. And yes, they are also inspired by other people I know, but in the way that those people relate to me. The common bond that made us friends, to begin with. That gateway that allowed me to understand them on a deeper level.

  Though, Rosie, out of all my characters is the closest I’ve ever written to myself. No, my mamma didn’t go to prison, but I too have always wanted to be a photographer. That bit about Ansel Adams and his black-and-white photos, why she wanted to take pictures, was almost like writing a journal entry. Though I’ve never sold a photo in my life, so I can’t assume the title, I’ve been toying around with cameras far longer than I’ve been writing.

  But this book was such a hard one to write for precisely that reason. Not because it was particularly complex or twisty. But because the heart of this book deals with depression. More specifically, situational depression—the kind that can’t be treated with pills and is most often unrecognized by the affected. It was hard because, as I was writing this, I realized the reason it was such a huge struggle was that I was depressed.

  Now, I know that it’s called situational depression, but it’s not something that can be pinpointed down to one reason. Often, it’s a perfect storm of factors that weigh on you every day and you don’t even recognize that it’s happening. You don’t see it until you’ve developed a pattern of destructive habits that halt your forward momentum. Even when it feels like you’re still making progress. It’s like finding out you’re on a treadmill when you thought you were on a trail in the woods. You think you’re running forward and making progress, but you’re really just running in place, moving inches forward to only be drug right back to where you started.

  That’s what happened to me with this bo
ok. I was still writing every day. I was still posting on social media. I was still selling books. I was handling my business. But every day it got harder and harder to do. And one day I woke up and realized that I didn’t even want to get out of bed. I felt like such a failure. I had promised this book to be delivered by a certain date and I missed it by four months. Four fucking months. And the larger that number grew the harder I was on myself for not getting it done.

  Plus, as anyone new to any career, you try to go in without expectations, but it’s just fucking human nature to create them. You see all the people who started at the same time as you and their paths are more fruitful… you start beating yourself up for all the things you did “wrong” and the reasons why you’re not where they’re at. Factor in my ongoing divorce and the struggles inherent in that venture, and you have all the right ingredients.

  And when it came down to it—when I finally realized what was going on. I realized it was my own expectations that were getting in the way of my progress. I expected things to be a certain way and when they didn’t live up to those expectations, I internalized them as failures.

  When I finally realized that all I needed to do was cast out those expectations, I wrote the rest of this book in six days. Six fucking days.

  I’ve learned my lesson though, and it’s this: Don’t fucking dwell on your differences, your hardship, your successes, or your failures. Just keep moving forward.

  Anyway, back to the backstory of this story…I’ve been there more than once with situational depression, so I knew that was what I was in for when it came to writing a character that has it. But even knowing the pitfalls, it was so fucking hard to do. Because she can’t realize why she feels a certain way, it has to be something that the reader can pick up through subtext. And if you ask my editor and betas, I’m the queen of subtext. The vast majority of my edits are clarifying shit that readers aren’t picking up on their own.

  This story was no different. The biggest issue was that people expected her to be a reliable narrator. That if she said she had no friends, then she didn’t, and when it turned out that she did, they were so confused. All this to say that I hope we fixed it. That I made it clear enough in the end.