Chapter 26

When the fan kicked in and the gentle whirring filled the room, I groggily opened my eyes and stared into the darkness before me. I closed my eyes again and turned slowly onto my side, curling up and slipping my hand under the pillow. I lay there for a moment, listening to the whirring as I tried to drift back to sleep.

Then I sighed and kicked the covers off. After having been refusing to get up for several hours, I was still thirsty and finally ready to give in and go the kitchen. I sleepily sat up in the bed and peered at the bright alarm clock on the bedside table.

Two A.M., a time excellent for sleeping.

I glared at the clock for a moment before turning away and setting my bare feet down on the cold hardwood floor. I winced as the cold jolted through my feet, and then I got up and slowly walked out of the bedroom into the hallway, trailing my hand on the wall so I would know where I was.

I left the lights off as I walked cautiously through the living room and into the kitchen, feeling my way in the darkness as I firmly decided I would get my drink without the help of any light.

That is, until I tripped over something in the kitchen and stumbled forward, slamming my hands down onto the cabinet to catch myself.

I gasped and froze, frantically wondering what was on the floor. I stepped forward and reached out for the oven, fingering for the nightlight. I clicked it on and held up my hand to shield my eyes as the bright blue light penetrated the condo.

I groaned and turned away from the oven to see the brown cardboard box sitting nonchalantly on the floor. I stared at it for a moment as it suddenly occurred to me how long I had left it sitting there in the midst of the kitchen.

Lowering my hand to my side, I stepped forward and quietly crouched down beside it, reaching out and slowly moving the flaps aside. I reached my hand inside and pulled out the first National Geographic magazine, looking somberly down at it as I realized the only time I had looked at them had been when I first received them, when Barbara gave them to me during the little end-of-tour celebration. I sat beside the box, pulling it closer toward me. In the blue glow of the oven light, I pulled out the magazines and sat them on my lap, feeling their cold covers through my pajama pants.

Forgetting about the glass of water and the time, I opened the cover and lightly touched the picture of a cityscape, running my fingers along the tops of the skyscrapers.

I flipped a few pages and looked down at the snow falling on a wide open plain, the snow glowing blue in the oven light.

"Wow," I breathed, tracing the path of the snow with my fingertips and smiling softly in wonder. One day I'd flip open one of these magazines and find my own pictures inside, my own breathtaking images printed within the pages. People would get to see the beauty that I've been seeing, that I'd been capturing, and I'd share the scenes with peoples who would appreciate them like I did. People would feel the excitement, the wonder that I had experienced getting the picture, and they'd get to have the image for themselves. Beauty that they never knew was there would be held in their hands!

I pulled the magazine to my chest, pressing the pages against myself and closing my eyes as I imagined spending every day capturing landscapes with my camera. Soon, in August, I could return to Harrison and pick up my new assignment, being a photographer for National Geographic. This job was only going to be for a year, and I wouldn't be here much longer.

Here?

I opened my eyes suddenly and turned to look around me, remembering suddenly where I was. I dropped the magazine from my chest and closed it, setting it on the floor and standing up quickly.

The space around me contorted and shifted, and I stared wide-eyed into the room as if I had been suddenly placed there without warning. The blue light gave the room an eerie glow, and the shadows cast on the walls loomed around me in the dim space. It suddenly seemed new, but it had a distinct, unsettling familiarity about it, and my stomach twisted as I remembered the first time I had ever entered the condo.

I slowly moved forward, walking over the cold floor in my bare feet onto the living room carpet, and I moved uneasily to the door, pressing my back to the cool wood as I looked at the condo stretched out in front of me.

I remembered the despair within me as I had first entered this space, several months ago, when everything had seemed pressing and unfriendly. I remembered the anger upon arriving at the first place of my new life, the place where the idea of Il Volo became a reality and my dreams were choked and pulled away from me. I pressed backwards against the door as the walls seemed to close in, a new unkindness settling into the space. The furniture was in the same place they had been months before, and I suddenly saw Valerie's suitcase in the corner, binders of photos on the kitchen table, posters hung up on the wall, Valerie's coat hung on the hook beside mine.

My breathing was heavy, and my stomach twisted in fear and pain as the room loomed around me, reflecting the despair of the first time I had walked through that door. I was empty inside and alone in the room, and my breath was loud in the space before me.

I opened my mouth and screamed, and the piercing sound shocked me and shook me into reality.

I whirled around and slammed my hand over the light switch, flicking it on and instantly flooding the ghastly room with a warm brightness.

All the despair and fear evaporated, and I turned around and surveyed the room again, bracing myself for what I would feel. It was just a room, still and silent and unmoving. I saw the Il Volo T-shirt draped over the arm of the chair, the Il Volo poster on the wall, and my camera and laptop on the table containing the footage for the documentary, with the notepad of scribbled timeframes beside it. A jolt of excitement filled me when I remembered the boys and my projects. All the strangeness evaporated, and the mood was warm and comforting as I remembered my current life. I wasn't alone anymore, and I had the boys and all of my projects with me every day. I was not a scorned landscape photographer. I was Il Volo's photographer, and proud of it!

I sighed a long sigh in relief, sinking down against the wall beside the front door and resting my head in my hands. Everything was okay. There was no despair, no fear, only joy and ambition and my life with the boys.

I loved working for them. Life was good with them. I looked around the room at all my things, and my eyes fell on the magazines on the floor in the kitchen, sending a jolt of realization through me.

But then…what about August? What happens when I have to leave them? What happens when it's time to give up all of this? I suddenly felt afraid again, and I looked frantically around to see if there was anything else that could bring me out of the uneasiness.

There was a pounding knock on the door, and I gasped and then clamped my hand over my mouth.

"Tamzin!?" Ignazio called, and the terror in his voice made me instantly jump up and yank open the door. He stood on the porch in a white T-shirt and long plaid pajama pants, and the fear in his eyes and the way he clenched his fists rooted me to the spot. "Tamzin!" he cried, reaching out and taking my arms. "What's wrong!? I heard you scream!"

I turned my head quickly to the window, remembering that I had opened it earlier when I was sorting through the footage for the documentary.

"Everything's okay," I assured him, calming myself at the same time.

He looked behind him and then stepped forward quickly, shutting the door behind him and then pulling me tightly into his arms.

"Thank God," he breathed, holding me to him, "I thought you were hurt or something."

He was warm and his shirt was soft, and I stood still and let him hold me, my mind still racing.

He stepped back and looked at me questioningly, taking my face in his hands.

"You look flushed. What did happen?"

I shook my head, stepping back from him and rubbing my face with my hands.

"I'm so sorry, Ignazio. I got up to get some water, and…the room…!"

"The room?"

"I don't know, it was scary and dark and, and- I just got scared! I don't know what happened! It just…changed! I just found the magazines in the kitchen and everything…oh, I don't know!"

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay," he said soothingly, pulling me back toward him for another comforting hug.

"It must have been the magazines," I said into his shoulder, "They just got me thinking…"

"You're just tired, Tamzin," he said, taking my head in his hands and making me look at him. "You've been filming us every day for a long while now, and it's just tired you out."

"Maybe you're right," I said, wrapping my arms around him and letting him cuddle me and kiss the top of my head. "It was so strange. I need to go back to bed."

"Yes, you do," he said, and I looked up and saw him yawning.

"I'm sorry," I said, reaching up and touching his cheek, "I didn't mean to scare you or wake you up at two in the morning, especially when you're in the middle of recording an album. Do you think anyone else heard me?"

"I guess not, or they'd be here by now."

He smiled groggily and kissed the top of my head.

"I'm just glad you're okay. Oh…I was so terrified. My heart is still jumping around like crazy!"

I looked up at him, and he kissed me softly and sweetly.

I turned and looked at the magazines on the kitchen floor. They were just magazines now, and I stepped away from Ignazio and approached them cautiously. I bent and picked one up, and then another, and I gathered them up and put them back in their box. Then I picked up the box and looked around the condo.

"I'll just pick these up before I go to bed," I said to Ignazio, and he watched as I carried the box to the closet in the living room and placed it inside, shutting the door and casting it into darkness.

Then I turned back to Ignazio, gazing at him standing before me, and he smiled amusedly at me.

"That's a good place for them?" he remarked questioningly, and I smiled.

"To be fair, the middle of the kitchen wasn't a good place either. Now they're out of the way."

I fell silent, looking at him, and then I stepped away from the closet and hurried toward him, back into his arms. He held me tightly, unquestioningly, and he gently rubbed my back and fingered my hair. He kissed the top of my head, and I sighed happily and buried my face in his shoulder.

August was a long way away. No point in worrying about what would happen now.

I stayed still against Ignazio, feeling his arms around me and the rise and fall of his chest.

"You're alright now?" he asked after the long silence, and I looked up and nodded.

"Thank you. I'll go to bed now."

He nodded, and then pulled back and smiled.

"I'll stay here tonight, okay, Tamzin? I'll sleep on the couch and make sure you're okay."

"No, Ignazio, you don't have to stay."

"I want to, if you'll let me."

I buried my face in his shoulder again, and he hugged me.

"Okay. Stay."

"So why did you get up again?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, and then pulled back form him and went to the kitchen. I finally got my glass of water and drank it as I watched Ignazio go to the window and close it, and then take off his tennis shoes and sit groggily on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands.

I put my glass in the sink and went to him as he rested a pillow on the arm of the couch and stretched out. I knelt beside the couch and kissed him, as he reached for my face and kissed me tenderly back.

"Goodnight, Tamzin. I love you."

"I love you too, Ignazio."

I got up and went to the light switch, but when I turned it off and saw the room bathed in the glow of the oven light, I stiffened and reached back toward the light.

"What's wrong?" Ignazio asked, watching me, and I looked over at him through the darkness.

"Nothing," I said after a moment, and then smiled when the room stayed still and normal in the blue glow. "Nothing, Ignazio. Everything's okay. Should I leave the oven light on for you?"

"Yes, please."

I nodded, and then stepped away from the light switch and walked across the room, back down the hallway and into my bedroom, where I quietly closed the door behind me and felt my way through the darkness to my bed. I slipped under the covers and pulled them to my chest, curling up on my side and closing my eyes.

I smiled, knowing that Ignazio was just outside the room on the couch. His presence comforted me, and I quickly forgot about the strangeness of the early morning, accepting that August was too far away to worry about now and giving in to sleep.

Once the boys got into the recording process, we were on a roll. Every day they came in and were immediately ready to work. The listened, they were obedient, and they sang their hearts out while I filmed. They were agreeable and friendly and laid-back, and the recording process went smoothly. Every day I was content to sit to sit and watch them, and the thrill of putting together the documentary never went away.

On breaks and after the recording sessions were done, the boys were loud and playful and silly, and they played with the microphone and joked around with each other and the producers. They sang silly songs and made me stop recording to play around with them, and we had lots of fun together. The four of us went out to eat or would gather at one of their condos just to be together and play around, and I was only alone when I left them to go back to my condo, except when Ignazio would come with me.

He was very sweet to me, and was always observant of my moods, though I was constantly happy throughout the recording process. He loved to see me get wild and excited about my project, and then he would capture me or chase me or dance with me. He loved when I laughed for no reason other than being happy, and when he could he took me to dinner or out for a walk-just the two of us. We were constantly together, and he was always singing or joking around or playing with me or one of the other boys.

As I was preoccupied with the boys and my project, the box of magazines stayed in the hall closet, and I only ever saw it when I went in there to get something. I was too busy to go out and take landscapes, and that was fine with me. I had other things to work on, and I was constantly badgering Michele on his plans for Il Volo after the album was completed.

One day as he was driving the four of us to dinner after a day of recording he got frustrated with me and told me that instead of worrying about what would come next, I should go and sketch out a cover design for the album. I immediately gasped and sat up straight, my eyes wide open as I leaned forward from the backseat.

"Really!?" I asked, exhilarated, and he laughed.

"Of course, Tamzin! You're the photographer, aren't you?"

"Yes! I am!"

I clenched my fists and hugged my camera to my chest in excitement, and when I laughed happily the boys turned to me and laughed too, enjoying my exhilaration.

I started dreaming and scheming of what the new cover could be, and the endless possibilities made me dizzy with excitement. I was determined to find the best image, and I stayed up late in the condo feverishly sketching and crumpling designs.

I was pleased with the boys' progress on the album, and I was just as excited as they were when it all started to come together.

We all stayed for extended periods of time in the recording studio, engaging together in the felicitous state of making something great. I was ready to accompany the boys on whatever it was they wanted, coming in earlier, staying later, skipping lunch to stay and record some more. I never complained, and Ignazio marveled at the fact that I was just as into the recording process as they were. I worked as diligently as they did, taking notes on how things worked, and what to ask the boys and the producers when I would interview them later on.

I found myself humming the songs on the album as I worked alone in the condo, even though I had been hearing them over and over all day, and the air around me was constantly filled with music. I even dreamed about being in the studio with the boys, but I never grew bored with it. I felt privileged to be hearing the music before anyone else did, and I loved to post about the making of the album to excite the fans. I posted pictures of the boys in the studio online, and the boys posted clips of themselves playing around in the sound booth during breaks to draw the fans into the recording process.

I was so absorbed in the world of Il Volo, and loving every second of it.

I asked Michele for a blank CD case, and he laughed at the strange request and handed one over. In the evening every day for about a week, I sat on the porch holding the case, my blank canvas, and dreaming about what the cover would be. I had my epiphany on a Friday evening, while I was sitting quietly with Ignazio. I gasped when the image lit up my mind, startling Ignazio, and he followed me as I leaped up and sprinted inside, snatching up a paper and pen to sketch out the scene.

"Brilliant!" I cried as I drew furiously, and Ignazio laughed from where he stood in the doorway, watching me.

"What have you got?" he asked, and I threw the pen aside and ran to him, holding out the paper. "See, that's going to be the theatre you performed at in March, the one in San Diego! Remember it!? It'd be perfect to take the cover photo in!"

Ignazio looked up and smiled brightly at me, nodding in approval, and I grabbed the paper from him and sprinted out of the condo. "I have to show Michele!" I yelled behind me.

Michele loved my idea, and a few weeks later, when we were far into the recording process, we took a day off from the studio work to drive to San Diego to take the photos. I was restlessly excited in the car the whole way, bouncing my knees and holding my camera tightly, looking alertly around me and amusing Ignazio.

As soon as Michele slowed in front of the theatre, I leaped out of the car and hit the ground running for the building.

"Come on, come on!" I cried.

"We have to get the suits you wanted us to wear, Ms. Montgomery!" Ignazio teased, slowly emerging from the car with Piero and Gianluca as I bounded up the steps and into the theatre. For our photoshoot, it was bathed in a breathtaking warm orange glow, and the velvety looking red curtains rippled down to the smooth stage floor above the elegant steps. It was perfect, and I walked around the theatre admiring the splendor of it. As soon as the boys were changed, they came to the stage and I inspected them, adjusting their ties and approving the hair and light make-up. Then I gave them their positions and directed them on their appearance, and went about photographing them as Michele, Barbara, and the producers sat in the front row and observed me. I ran back and forth in front of the stage, jumping up and down the steps, crawling around the floor, and running up and down the aisles as I found the best angles for my shots.

The lights and the stage around the boys gave them a presence of authority, while their faces showed their gentleness and playfulness. My pictures were brilliant, and the orders that I yelled were accompanied by my own exhilarated laugher, and then the boys' laughter at me.

"She's quite active, isn't she?" one of the producers observed where I could hear him, and Michele laughed and agreed.

"Yes, she's something, all right. Very excitable and ambitious. She's the best photographer we've ever had. Her pictures are…breathtaking."

I took this as my cue to run up to them and hand over my camera to Michele.

"The pictures so far!" I said dramatically, my hands on my hips as I eagerly awaited their approval.

The producers stared in awe as they looked at the pictures, and then slowly looked up at me.

"I told you," Michele said to them, smiling knowingly, "They're perfect, Tamzin."

He held out my camera and didn't flinch when I grabbed it from him and turned to race back to the stage in a rush of excitement to finish the photos. My red high-tops flashed over the floor as I ran toward the boys, and when Piero and Gianluca laughed at something Ignazio said to them, I was more than happy to capture the joyful scene on film.