A Distance Within Reach

Chapter 2: The Return

Kai Morrison hated New York in October.

He stood outside JFK's Terminal 4, watching yellow cabs weave through traffic like choreographed chaos, and felt the familiar tightness in his chest. The air smelled bad, exhaust and hot dogs and too many people crammed into too little space. Nothing like the crisp mountain air of Nepal he'd left eighteen hours ago.

His phone buzzed for the tenth time. His mother, probably or his father's assistant, confirming he'd actually gotten on the plane. As if he'd bail on his father's sixtieth birthday party after explicitly promising to be there.

Though he'd considered it.

Kai shouldered his worn canvas bag, the only luggage he ever traveled with, and headed for the taxi line. His camera bag pressed against his ribs, a comforting weight. Inside was his Leica M10, the camera that had been with him through seventeen countries in three years. The camera that had captured a Tibetan monk's smile, a Moroccan sunset, a child's laughter in a Vietnamese market.

The camera that still had Sarah's old strap wrapped around it, frayed at the edges but impossible to replace.

"Where to?" the cab driver asked as Kai slid into the backseat.

Kai rattled off his parents' address on the Upper East Side. The driver nodded and pulled into traffic.

Through the window, the city unfolded in its relentless glory. Buildings climbing toward the sky, people moving with purpose, everything permanent and solid and utterly foreign to the life Kai had built. A life of movement, of capturing moments and moving on before they could trap him.

His phone buzzed again. This time he looked.

Mom: Please tell me you're in the air and not on some mountain without cell service.

He typed back: Landed. On my way, see you in an hour.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Mom: Your father will be so happy. We both are. And Kai, please try to stay for more than 48 hours this time?

Guilt twisted in his stomach. Last Christmas, he'd stayed for exactly one day before claiming an urgent assignment in Iceland. The year before, he'd missed Thanksgiving entirely, sending an expensive bottle of wine and a card from Singapore.

Kai: I'll try.

It was the best he could offer.

The cabbie took the Midtown Tunnel, and Kai watched the city crystallize around him. He'd grown up here, in penthouses and private schools, summer homes in the Hamptons and skiing in Aspen. The Morrison family name meant something in New York, old money, and older connections, the kind of pedigree that opened doors before you even knocked.

Kai had spent the last three years running from all of it.

His phone rang. This time, it was Marco, his photographer friend and occasional partner in adventure.

"Tell me you didn't chicken out," Marco said without preamble.

"I'm in a cab heading to my parents' place right now."

"Wow. Hell actually froze over, how does it feel being back in civilization?"

Kai watched a woman in a power suit jaywalking while shouting into her phone. "Overwhelming."

Marco laughed. "You've been living in tents and hostels for too long, hermano, a little luxury won't kill you."

"The luxury isn't the problem."

"Right, it's the memories." Marco's voice softened. "How you holding up?"

Kai's hand went automatically to the camera strap. Sarah had given it to him on their first anniversary, brown leather with their initials stitched inside. For capturing our adventures. She'd said.

They were supposed to have a lifetime of adventures.

They'd gotten eighteen months.

"I'm fine," Kai said, the same lie he'd been telling for three years.

"You're a terrible liar. But okay, listen, I'm in the city next week shooting a campaign. Want to grab a drink?"

"I'll be gone by then."

"Of course you will." Marco sighed. "Your dad's firm still trying to recruit you?"

"Probably. That's what the birthday party is really about, reminding me what I'm 'throwing away' by galivanting around the world."

"Architecture photography pays better than what we do."

"Architecture photography means staying in one place."

"And that's still a dealbreaker?"

Kai looked out at the city, all those permanent structures built to last generations. "Yeah, it is."

They talked for a few more minutes before Marco had to go. Kai pocketed his phone and tried to shake the restlessness crawling under his skin.

The cab pulled up to his parents' building, a prewar beauty with a doorman who'd known Kai since he was in diapers.

"Mr. Morrison! Good to see you, sir." Thomas held the door with a genuine smile.

"Good to see you too, Thomas. How's your daughter? Columbia, right?"

"Just started her sophomore year. Architecture program. She's loving it."

Something flickered in Thomas's expression, pity, maybe, or just sadness. Everyone who'd known Sarah knew she'd been an architect. Everyone who'd known them knew they'd been planning to get married right after she finished her master's degree.

Everyone knew the drunk driver who'd hit her car had stolen all of that.

"That's wonderful," Kai said, meaning it. "Tell her congratulations."

The elevator to the penthouse felt smaller than he remembered or maybe he'd just gotten used to open spaces, endless skies, horizons that stretched forever.

His mother opened the door before he could knock. Isabelle Morrison, elegant in cream cashmere, pulled him into a hug that smelled like Chanel No. 5 and home.

"You came," she said, and he heard the relief in her voice.

"I promised, didn't I?"

She pulled back, studying his face. "You look thin, are you eating?"

"Mom..."

"And you need a haircut, the party's Saturday; we could get you an appointment..."

"Mom." He kissed her cheek. "I'm fine, I promise."

His father appeared in the hallway, tall and distinguished, gray at the temples but still commanding. Richard Morrison had built an architecture empire on vision and ruthlessness, and even at sixty, he showed no signs of slowing down.

"Kai." His father's handshake was firm, professional. "Good flight?"

"Long, but fine."

"Come in, we have dinner waiting." Richard gestured toward the dining room. "Your mother insisted on your favorites."

The apartment was exactly as Kai remembered, tasteful art, designer furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. A museum of success, beautiful and cold.

Over dinner, his mother's lasagna and garlic bread, they made small talk. His mother asked about Nepal. His father mentioned the firm's latest projects. Nobody mentioned Sarah, or the fact that Kai looked like he'd been living out of a backpack for months.

Because he had been.

Finally, over tiramisu, his father cleared his throat. "I have a favor to ask."

Here it comes, Kai thought.

"The firm is pitching a major resort development next month. The client specifically requested photography and architectural integration, they want the visual campaign to be part of the design presentation." Richard set down his fork. "I'd like you to handle the photography."

Kai's stomach tightened. "Dad..."

"It's a three-week project. Well-paid. And you'd be working with one of our best junior architects. She's talented and driven, exactly the kind of person who makes this firm what it is."

"I'm not interested in corporate work."

"It's not corporate, it's creative and it would mean a lot to me." His father's expression remained neutral, but something flickered beneath. "Three weeks, Kai, is that too much to ask?"

His mother touched his hand. "You could stay in the guest room, have home-cooked meals, maybe visit some old friends?"

The walls felt like they were closing in. Three weeks in New York. Three weeks pretending he was fine, that he belonged here, that he could stand still without remembering everything he'd lost.

But his father was asking. Actually asking, not demanding.

"Who's the architect?" Kai heard himself say.

"Elena Hartley. Smart as hell, bit of a perfectionist. She's presenting for the Meridian Tower project on Friday, and if she gets it, " Richard smiled slightly. " She'll be unstoppable."

"And if I say no?"

His father met his eyes. "Then you say no, I won't pressure you. But I think you might surprise yourself, this could be good for you."

Kai doubted that. Nothing had been good for him in three years except constant motion and the next assignment.

But he looked at his mother's hopeful expression, his father's rare moment of vulnerability, and felt the word form before he could stop it.

"Three weeks," Kai said. "That's it. Then I have an assignment in Patagonia."

"Three weeks." His father extended his hand. "Deal."

As they shook, Kai couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just agreed to something far more complicated than a photography project.