Secrets in a Still Life

by Kari Ganske

  "I heard you were back in town," Missy said with a plaster smile. Then her mean, snake eyes glinted, her lips curled into a smirk. "Actually, I read it in the paper. Front page, impressive. I guess you'll have to pay to replace that monumental sign. Are you still taking those little pictures?"

  I snorted. Little did Missy know that one of those little pictures could earn me a few thousand dollars if someone bought the rights to it.

  "Yes. I am," I said proudly. Using my photography career against me was the wrong move; it was one of the only things I was proud of.

  Operative word being was.

  I left my face blank to hide my discomfort and said, "Maybe you saw my spread in Nature magazine last month? The one about the ecosystem in the rain forests of Brazil?"

  Missy's smug smile faltered, but only a little. "Can't say that I did. I'm too busy with my children and husband. Do you have kids?"

  "Not unless you count my fish." I thought Rick and I were headed that way—marriage, kids, the white-picket fence—but he apparently had other plans.

  Plans that didn't involve me.

  Plans that did involve a big-breasted, toothy-grinned, barely legal journalist at his office.

  Missy gave me a fake sympathetic look and made sure to flash her huge diamond ring in my eyeline. "That's too bad. Children really are life's greatest gift. Just look at my two precious angels."

  Missy opened a gold, heart-shaped locket that hung around her neck, shoving it in my face. Since Kelly's scissors were still snip-snipping around my head, I couldn't even move away. The photo on the left, small and grainy, seemed to show two smiling children—a girl and a boy. Missy's thumb covered the other side which I assumed held a picture of her husband.

  "Yup. Those are kids," I said, unable to help my snark. Thank goodness my mother was out of earshot.

  Missy snapped the locket closed and harrumphed. "Better hurry and snag a husband quick. You're not getting any younger, you know."

  "We're the same age, Missy," I reminded her, but she'd already moved away.

  "Did I tell you Michael Junior is the starting pitcher for his little league team this year?" she asked her companion, her voice loud enough to carry through the entire salon. I thought I saw the girl beside Missy roll her eyes but couldn't be sure from the angle. I'd absolutely be rolling my eyes if I had to listen to Missy blather on all day.

  "Easy to do when your father is the coach," Kelly murmured. "I don't often speak ill of children, but Missy's are as snobby and spoiled as she is. No fault of theirs; they only know what they're taught. Poor things. I can't believe I was friends with her once."

  "Not anymore?" I asked, my opinion of adult Kelly improving some.

  Kelly looked around to make sure Missy moved out of earshot. She dropped her voice as she said, "She and I co-own this salon. It was a mistake from day one, but she had the capital I needed to buy it from the previous owner. Unfortunately, she still thinks that makes her the boss. It's been five years, and I've more than made up for that initial contribution. But you know Missy. She works as little as possible and takes all the credit. Even tricked me into naming the salon after her."

  "Sounds about Missy," I said. "Zero work, full credit. I remember her doing the same thing with group projects in high school."

  "Yeah, not all of us matured after that milestone. I've tried to buy her out numerous times, but she won't budge. My stupid fault for trusting her back in the day," Kelly said as she snipped away at my hair. I hoped her anger didn't manifest on my head.

  Kelly continued her rant. "The stupid part is she doesn't even have to work. Her husband has enough money for both of them."

  "Who'd she end up marrying?" I asked.

  If Missy still lived in this small town, chances were she'd met her husband here. Which meant I knew him too. I chanced a glance in Missy's direction. The shampoo girl had joined Missy and her friend behind the counter. Who'd want to marry her?

  "Mike Vandenburg," Kelly answered. "He graduated my year."

  "Oh, I remember him. Wasn't he the one Missy dated right before she went to study abroad?" I asked. Rumor had it she cheated on Linc with Mike. Among others.

  "Study abroad, my butt. I have it on good authority that she went to fat camp. Remember how she packed on the pounds sophomore year?" Kelly asked with a chuckle.

  "I honestly didn't pay that much attention to her. I tried to avoid your group as much as possible."

  "Can't blame you. We were awful. Missy hasn't changed. In fact, it's gotten worse since Mike became acting mayor. She struts around like the first lady. But between you, me, and this hair dryer, he's as worthless as she is. He has a job at Daddy Vandenburg's seafood distribution company, but it’s only an excuse for an allowance."

  "Sounds like a great family," I scoffed.

  We lapsed into silence as Kelly blew out my hair. I observed the room in the mirror. My photographer's eye homed in on the light bouncing off the colored-product bottles, so I framed shots in my mind since I couldn't do it with my camera.

  Next, I moved to the people; my real interest. My mother sat on the edge of her seat at the manicure station—poised for action, never really still. Her mouth moved as fast as her free hand. The manicurist gently took the newly polished flailing appendage and placed it back under the dryer. It stayed there for all of three seconds before my mother continued the story she told.

  Behind the counter, Missy droned on about her kids, not really talking to anyone in particular, just liking the sound of her own voice. The two girls with her had given up on trying to look interested. The shampoo girl twirled a piece of hair, chomped gum, and scrolled through her phone. Occasionally, she'd give a little nod to acknowledge Missy's words, but Missy might as well have been talking to a brick wall. The epitome of the generation gap, I thought. If I were to shoot this moment, I'd use Missy's back as foreground and focus on the half-closed eyelids of the girl. I'd wait until the girl blew a bubble, or maybe just as it popped, to snap the photo.

  "All done," Kelly said a few moments later. I wrenched my eyes away from the scene at the counter and ran my fingers through my newly cut and styled hair.

  "Nice job!" I said, genuinely surprised. My hair actually had a little volume and some shape. No small feat given its thinness. Stupid Polish genes.

  "Hope you don't mind. I added some layers. It's easy to maintain and gives you some movement and style."

  "I love it," I said and meant it. "Thanks, Kelly. Hey, who's that girl with Missy? The one who shampooed my hair," I asked as Kelly removed my apron.

  The girl's expression had changed slightly from dismissal to annoyance as Missy continued to talk. Something about her seemed familiar.

  "That's Jodie. Missy's little sister."

  "That's Jodie?" I asked in disbelief. The last time I saw the kid was when Jodie was a toddler. Nothing like a grown child to personify the passage of time. I really had been gone a long time.

  "Yup. All grown-up and annoyed at the world. Like all teenage girls," Kelly said. "She works here sometimes whenever she can be bothered. Which isn't very often." She gestured with the scissors toward the counter. "As you can see."

  "She must be what? Eighteen?"

  "A little over twenty actually," Kelly said.

  "Shoot. Time flies," I murmured. As I met Mom at the counter to pay, I gave the girl another cursory glance. I could see the resemblance now that I stood closer. Jodie looked a lot like teenaged Missy. I nodded in her direction when she caught me staring.

  "Careful driving home, Alex," Missy called, sarcasm dripping from her honeyed voice as Mom and I walked out the door. "There are a couple more signs still left standing in town."

  I closed the door on her laugh.

  I got almost to the car before my embarrassment turned fully into anger and annoyance. Who did Missy think she was? We were supposed to be adults.

  I turned on the scuffed heel of my boot and marched back toward the building.

  "Alex! What are you doing?"
Mom called a little desperately. I ignored her. I'd handled vipers in the Sahara and a troop of monkeys in the jungle. Surely, I could handle Missy Poledark.

  When I pushed through the door, I heard Missy's loud, clear voice saying, "... never live this one down. She should just pack up and go back to the jungles of Brazil or whatever. She'd fit in there better anyway. I mean, did you see her boots?"

  I cleared my throat and glared. Missy looked startled for a half second, then glared right back at me like a mongoose looks at a mouse. Well, this mouse wasn't going down quietly any longer.

  "If you have something to say to me, Missy, why don't you say it to my face. Like an adult. Instead of spreading gossip and rumors behind my back. I don't know if you realize it, but high school ended a long time ago."

  Missy stood up. She had me beat by a few inches. I didn't back down though, simply crossed my arms and waited. The rest of the salon slipped into silence. Jodie raised an amused eyebrow.

  "You're right. High school was a long time ago, but it looks like you never grew out of your awkward stage."

  "And it looks like you never grew out of your mean-girl stage. I've heard that bullies put other people down because they themselves are insecure. It's a shame you have such low self-esteem," I shot back. I could feel the heat rising on my neck and prayed I didn't go totally blotchy until I made it outside. Confrontation gave me hives.

  Missy gave a little laugh of surprise. "Me? Insecure? What would I have to be insecure about? My husband is the mayor, in case you haven't heard."

  "So?"

  "So? That's like the most important job in town!"

  Now it was my turn to chuckle. "I'm sorry. Did you just say that being the acting mayor of Small-Town, USA is the most important job? Puh-lease."

  Missy scowled for real now. "His position holds a lot of power in this town. He has the ear of the judge and the chief of police. So, someone who recently had an unfortunate run-in with the law should be careful who they are insulting."

  I cocked my head. "Are you threatening me?"

  She shrugged. "I'm just stating a fact."

  "I swear if you use your husband's title to interfere in my life all because of a high school grudge, I'll—" I faltered. What could I possibly threaten Missy with?

  "You'll what?" A look of triumph flashed in Missy's eyes.

  "Just keep my name out of your mouth from now on," I said, hating to let the bully win. I gave Missy one last glare and stormed out of the salon.

  At least I had the last word.

  Chapter 5

  "Like she has any room to judge anyone else," Mom said as she hate-scrubbed the kitchen counter later that afternoon.

  "Are you still rambling about Missy?" I asked. My mother had been huffing under her breath about Missy ever since we got home. "I hardly think she's worth the time."

  "You forget how small towns work," she said, pointing her rag at me for emphasis. "She'll have bad-mouthed you all over by now. And like it or not, she has clout in town because of her husband's family."

  "I don't care. You shouldn't either." I waved away my mother's protest before she could form the words. "I know, I know. Easier said than done. Plus, I haven't lived here in a long time. I don't have to answer to my book club or bowling league or cooking club or the Ladies' Auxiliary."

  Mom clamped her mouth shut since I indeed took the words out of her mouth. Instead, she nodded in agreement and found something else to scrub. I felt my own anxiety ratcheting up just watching her frenzied pace. I needed some quiet. I needed some alone time.

  I needed to find my own place, pronto. That would be priority one tomorrow. Today, I wanted to shoot. The usual tug of my camera had failed me since I'd been back in town. I chalked that up to the stifling, claustrophobic feeling I got from being here. But now, finally, the will to pick up my trusty, old friend had returned.

  "I'm going to the reservoir. Don't wait for me for dinner," I said and scooted out of the room before my mother could protest. I grabbed my gear bag from the bedroom where it had been sitting, neglected, since my return earlier that week. Quickly, I checked the battery, memory card, and lenses before stuffing my wallet and car keys into the side pocket and sneaking out the front door.

  I stopped short in the empty driveway. Where the heck was my car? The crunch of metal against wood sounded in my consciousness, and I remembered the poor thing was still in the shop. For all of four seconds, I contemplated asking my mother to borrow the family car. But that would require going back into the house and potentially getting another lecture. Or worse, she might ask to come with me. I love my mother, but there would be no quiet if she came. I didn't think Connie Lightwood understood the word "quiet."

  The forecast promised no chance for rain, so I could walk. I set off through the backyard path well worn by countless feet, including mine, throughout the decades. One of the first built in modern Piney Ridge, my parents' neighborhood sat on the edge of the pine forest surrounding the reservoir. The hike was harder than sticking to the sidewalks, but I really didn't want to run into anyone else in town at the moment.

  The sun hung low in the sky as evening neared, creating interesting patterns through the trees and across the path. I'd almost forgotten how peaceful this little slice of wilderness was. Living in New York for the last dozen-plus years had me accustomed to horns, sirens, shouts, and sizzles. In Piney Ridge, birds chirping and leaves rustling serenaded me. As I neared the reservoir, gentle waves lapping the rocky shore joined the natural symphony.

  Piney Ridge may not have as robust and diverse ecosystem as the Brazilian rain forest or the interesting ever-changing hustle and bustle of New York, but it definitely held its own charm and beauty. I set about capturing that beauty with my camera. Although I preferred to photograph people or animals—expressive eyes, emotions, energy—it couldn't hurt to expand my stock photography portfolio. Who knew when I would get picked up for another commercial shoot after Rick lied about me in all the important circles? I needed to have steady, supplemental income. Especially if I had to pay for the stupid Welcome sign.

  A group of cardinals flitting about a nearby bush caught my attention. I snapped on my longer lens so I could capture them without getting any closer. The sun backlit them, creating small sunbursts in between the birds and branches. I closed the aperture to really make those sunbursts more prominent in camera. Although that would cause more of the photograph to be in focus, the light was the actual star of this shoot, so the sacrifice was worth it. The playful birds acted as supporting characters to add some movement and interest. I could always blur the background in post-processing if I felt it necessary.

  When I got a few different angles, I moved my attention to a different part of the path near the water, switching my lens to a shorter length. Uncaring if anyone saw me, I lay down on my belly on the damp stones of the shore to get some eye-level shots of the water hitting the shoreline. I adjusted focal points for different perspectives—some with the rocks in focus, some with the water, one of a lone feather left by a passing duck or goose.

  On impulse, I stacked a few rocks in a tower and took pictures of that from ground level and from above. For whatever reason, these types of shots did really well in stock photography. Something about representing balance and stability—two things I knew very little about in my own life of late. Maybe I could garner some through photographic osmosis?

  When I had to up the ISO to let in more light, I knew it was time to head back to my parents' house. I still had to walk all the way back, and the light was fading quickly. I replaced my expensive lens with a smaller, lighter one and hung the camera around my neck for the walk home. If it bumped into something, replacing that glass wouldn't break my depleting bank account like other lenses in my collection.

  I marveled again at how less peopley this forest was from Central Park. I'd barely run into anyone while out here this evening. A young boy throwing a ball in the reservoir for a joyous golden retriever. A man about my age walking along th
e path with a book tucked under his arm. A teenager running along the path. I felt a twang of jealousy at the teen's energy and motivation. Maybe I should start running?

  Maybe elephants would learn to tap dance. I snorted at myself. Missy may be Mistress of Mean, but she was right about one thing—I tended toward awkward, not graceful. I'd once tripped over the small kitchen rug in front of the sink, sending spaghetti flying around the room and sticking to every surface. No, running was probably out of the realm of possibilities for me; I'd likely sprain an ankle on the second step.

  I realized, as the reference to Missy filled my head, I hadn't thought of her, or my obnoxious ex, for the hours I'd spent in the woods with my camera. Creating pictures never failed to lift my spirits and remind me that the world was bigger and brighter than any one person or any one moment. I'd been in stickier situations than this and managed a way out of them. Hitting a sign with my car was only a small blip in my timeline. The gossip train in Piney Ridge may be fast and sometimes vicious, but it was also hungry. Soon enough something else would happen to pull attention away from me.

  Seeing a light on in the kitchen of my childhood home, I sneaked in the side door and tiptoed up toward my room. If my mother caught me, I'd get guilted into helping with dinner. I really wanted to curl up in bed with my laptop and a cup of tea to scroll through the images I took today. Tonight, the tea would have to wait. I couldn't risk a trip to the kitchen.

  One of my favorite parts of photography was culling the photos after the shoot. Did my vision come to fruition through the lens? Was I able to capture a memorable or important moment? Did I make a connection with my subject?

  The pictures revealed themselves in the downloading and editing process. Not quite the same thrill as the days of film, but still a thrill, nonetheless. And, bonus, I didn't lose as many nose hairs from all the darkroom chemicals. Sometimes creative editing can enhance a so-so picture and bring it to life. As a photojournalist, I usually did very little to alter the photos I created while on location. However, these personal shots for stock photography or my own portfolio allowed me to play to my heart's content.