Photo Op

by Coleman, Lynn A.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” Dena scanned down the row of photos on the light box.

  “Well, thanks again, and if you need some help again, don’t hesitate to call.”

  Dena thought for a moment. Perhaps she could use Jamie as a subcontractor. “Jamie, maybe we could work out a deal. I’ve recently purchased property up north, and I want to oversee some renovations.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dena continued. “What I’m thinking is perhaps you could do some subcontracting for me.”

  “I’m all ears. What do you have in mind?”

  “At this point, I’m just brainstorming. Why don’t we schedule a meeting after I return from Savannah?”

  “Sounds great. Call me; I’m flexible.”

  Dena ended her conversation with Jamie and began to dream. I wonder if I could operate out of Squabbin Bay if I hired several freelancers.

  On the other hand, if I went down to one overseas assignment a month, I could still work my own business without having to balance other people’s schedules. Or I could increase my workload in order to make certain my subs have enough work. Of course the danger there is if someone couldn’t make it, I’d have to fill in. And do I really want all those headaches?

  Dena stretched the kinks out of her neck. She had a six-hour drive ahead of her to think and pray on this. Right now she needed to finish her office work in order to get on the road at a decent hour.

  ❧

  Dena turned the key off. The engine quit. Her body continued to vibrate. She opened the door and took in a refreshing breath of salt air. Grabbing her overnight bag from the front passenger seat, she headed to the kitchen door. Inside, she found Wayne had put a fresh bouquet of brightly colored wildflowers. A note lay on the table.

  Hope you had a good trip. There’s some fresh

  fruit in the fridge, and I cooked and cleaned the

  lobster for you. I’m looking forward to your special

  omelet and, most importantly, your company.

  Your friend,

  Wayne

  The note glided back down to the table. She went to the refrigerator and checked out the supplies. Fresh strawberries and whipped cream were arranged on a small plate and a simple one-word note lay across the top. Enjoy.

  Dena pulled out the small platter, reached for a strawberry, and dipped it into the bowl of whipped cream. “Yum,” she moaned. “I like your style, Wayne.”

  ❧

  The sun rose over the horizon as Wayne left the harbor and headed for the inlet where he kept his pots. The salt air invigorated him. He glanced up at Dena’s cottage. The house stood dark, but her car was in the driveway. A smile rose on his face, then he set his mind back on his work. The sooner he got it done, the sooner he’d be able to spend some time with Dena. It still boggled his mind that she was willing to drive six hours one way just to spend a few moments with him.

  He pulled up the trap and discovered another empty pot. Oddly, he’d gotten excited when his catch increased the last haul. But today he found the same old pattern, a lobster here and a lobster there. Half were too small, and he had to throw them back.

  He dumped the last pot over the side and caught a glimpse of Dena’s cottage from the corner of his eye. A warm glow emanated from a single light in the kitchen window. Wayne checked his wristwatch. Seven o’clock. At least she got some sleep.

  Popping the throttle into gear, he sped back to the harbor. The boat sliced through the waves and made headway through the gentle surf. Lord, I don’t understand this lobstering problem. Why is someone stealing from us small-time guys? The large companies aren’t noticing a drop at all. Did Dena actually see the poacher? I’m okay financially, but old Ben Costa and others will be hurting this winter if they don’t have a good season. Of course, You know all about that, Lord. But I suspect it doesn’t hurt to remind You every now and again.

  Wayne continued his prayers as he docked his boat. Then his prayers shifted toward Dena. Lord, only You know what’s happening between the two of us. Father, I admit I’m attracted to her; it’s just that I’d given up on finding someone special in my life years ago. Why now?

  Wayne clapped the mud from his shoes on the exterior of the truck’s door frame and climbed into the cab. He headed home to clean up.

  Showered and dressed, he smelled like a new man. He grabbed the small gift bag sitting on his counter. Its fancy bow evidenced that he hadn’t wrapped the item himself, but he hoped she’d appreciate the small gesture. He hesitated with the bag in midair. Have I gone overboard, Lord? The fruit, the groceries, the prepared lobster? No, I was simply taking advantage of going to the grocery store for her and picking up some perishable items. It’s not my fault that the strawberries were in season. He paled. What if she’s allergic to strawberries?

  Knock it off, Kearns. If she is, she is. You didn’t know, and you simply struck out.

  His truck bounced down the various roads as he wove his way toward Dena’s cottage. He swerved to avoid a large pothole and turned down the long driveway to Dena’s. The ocean came into view as it melded with the rich blue sky. Lord, I do love this view.

  He shifted his gaze to the back door of the cottage. On the other hand, I enjoy that one just as much. He cut the engine and jumped out the driver’s door. “Hi.”

  ❧

  Dena couldn’t believe she’d opened the door before Wayne had even parked the truck. “Hi,” she returned his greeting. Her palms began to sweat. She rubbed them on her jeans. “Thanks for the food.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He ambled up to her with his left hand behind his back and a great smile on his face. Lord, he’s handsome. Help me keep my feet on the ground. “Come in.” She stepped back and gave him room to pass. She caught a glimpse of something purple, she thought.

  He glanced at the small table. She’d arranged it with two simple place settings and crystal stemmed glasses. The cottage didn’t offer much in the way of fancy dishes. “I haven’t started the omelets yet. I didn’t want them to dry out.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks for the strawberries; they were delicious.”

  His grin broadened. It doesn’t take much to please this man, she mused. On the other hand, he’d gone out of his way to create a fine feast. “There’s a few left if you’d like some,” she offered.

  “I’d love them.”

  Dena went to the refrigerator and pulled out the small tray. Instantly, he reached for one.

  “You’re not used to waiting so long to eat, are you?”

  “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. I’ve been up for three hours already.”

  “I’m so sorry. Let me cook those omelets.”

  “Dena.” He reached for her wrist. The heat of his hand around her wrist radiated up her arm. “I’m fine. I can survive for a while longer.”

  A rush of longing to be wrapped in his arms coursed through her. Where’d that come from, Lord? She stepped back. He released his hold. “I don’t mind, and to tell you the truth, I’ve nibbled on a piece or two of the lobster. There are fresh muffins in the basket under the linen napkin.”

  “I thought I smelled something good when I walked in—blueberry?”

  “Yes, good nose.” She turned her back to him and faced the small stove. “So, how was the lobstering this morning?” A pleasant conversation flowed between them as she made their breakfast.

  When the omelets were done, she spun around with the hot frying pan. On the table at one of the place settings sat a shimmery purple gift bag with white and lavender tissue paper neatly sticking out. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, just a little something for you.” He winked.

  Who is this man? And how does he know the little things that say “special” to me? “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Absolutely nothing. It’s just something to remind you of Maine while you travel to Savannah. At least I hope you’ll take him to Savannah.”

  She slid th
e omelets out of the pan and onto their respective plates. “Can I open it now?” She placed the warm pan on the counter.

  Wayne grabbed a pot holder and stuck it under the pan. “Sure.”

  Feeling like a giddy schoolgirl, she reached into the tissue paper and felt something soft, furry. “A stuffed animal.”

  “You must be horrible at Christmastime.”

  “Oh, hush.” She pulled out the small stuffed animal. “A puffin. He’s adorable.” The bird was native to Maine; its brightly colored beak made it quite recognizable. Years ago, she’d done a photo shoot on the aquatic bird for a national magazine.

  Wayne pulled out his chair and sat down beside her. “I’m glad you like it.”

  She looked down at her plate. “We’d better eat while it’s warm.”

  Wayne reached for her hand. “Let’s pray.”

  Dena felt a rush of embarrassment warm her cheeks, and bowed her head.

  “Father,” Wayne led, “we thank You for this meal, and we ask Your guidance in our conversation and Your direction for our growing friendship. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  “Amen.” Dena glanced up at Wayne. With each passing moment, she found more and more she liked about this man. The fact that he wanted the Lord to guide their budding relationship was a major plus in her book.

  He cut his omelet with his fork and took a large bite. “Mmm,” he moaned.

  Dena smiled. She knew her own abilities to cook, and cook well, but it brought a certain satisfaction to hear Wayne appreciate it.

  “This is wonderful. I’ve never had an omelet with this kind of sauce before. What is it?”

  “Basically, it’s a hollandaise sauce like you’d use with eggs Benedict. But I always felt it went well with lobster omelets.”

  “Well, I’ve never had it this way, and it’s great.” Wayne forked another morsel of his omelet.

  “Thank you.” Dena sampled her own cooking and cherished the wonderful New England flavor of this dish. “Do you have any questions regarding the darkroom plans?”

  “Nope,” he mumbled with his mouth full. He finished swallowing, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and continued. “I didn’t see anything there that didn’t make sense. I’m thinking you might want to section off that plumbing from the house, so if you’re going to be gone for long periods of time in the winter or won’t be using the darkroom, we could drain it so the pipes won’t freeze. It will save on the heating bill not to have to heat that area of the house.”

  “Interesting. Let me mull that over.”

  “Okay. Oh, I spoke with Jess, and she loves the idea of staying with you while she searches for an apartment in the city.”

  “Great. It will give us a chance to get to know one another.”

  Wayne placed his fork on his plate and wiped his mouth once again. “Dena, I love the fact that you’ve gone out of your way so we can spend some time together but…” He paused.

  Her heart raced. Had she done the right thing coming up, or had it been a mistake? It felt right at the time. How were they going to develop a relationship if they didn’t spend time together?

  “What I mean is, I’m flattered. I don’t understand what’s happening between us, but I don’t want it to stop. I don’t understand how we can have much of a relationship with you living in Boston and me in Maine but—”

  “I know,” Dena interrupted. “It doesn’t make sense. It’s driving me crazy, too. That’s why I wanted to come up—to spend some time with you in person. Not on the phone, not about business—just some one-on-one time to get to know each other. Do you have e-mail?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We can write while I’m away. Wayne, as you know, I’m going to be on the road most of the summer. My schedule is very full. It’s normal, I guess. I’m committed. I can’t get out of the various photo shoots. But my schedule isn’t nearly so full in the fall.”

  “Are you always this busy?”

  “I guess. I haven’t really thought about it. Since the kids have been grown, I’ve kept busy taking assignments I didn’t feel free to take when they were younger.”

  “I think I understand. I’m pretty busy with the two jobs, but a man has to do what a man has to do. Jess went to college and I needed to pay for it.”

  “I helped all three of mine get through college. They’re all married now. It’s amazing how fast children grow.”

  “Yup. I remember the first day Jess went off to kindergarten. I couldn’t concentrate on anything that day. Now she’s graduated from college and has a serious boyfriend, who I finally got to meet for all of thirty seconds at her graduation. I don’t trust the guy, but Jess keeps saying I need to trust her and her decisions.”

  “Of course you do. But that doesn’t stop you from getting down on your knees and praying for the Lord to remove those blinders on you, or both of you, whatever is the case. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been known to make a wrong assumption on my children’s behalf every now and again.”

  Wayne chuckled. “Who hasn’t?”

  “True.”

  “Dena, I like you, but can a relationship between us really work?”

  Eight

  Over the next four weeks, Wayne found himself asking that same question over and over again. Dena had traveled to Savannah and was now across the ocean in Africa somewhere. Each night they exchanged e-mails. Jess had moved into Dena’s condo, and he found himself visiting Boston twice in a month. He booted up his computer and set a tall glass of iced tea beside the keyboard. The air was thick with humidity. An evening breeze from the east helped cool the house. Upstairs in his bedroom, he had one small air conditioner that fit inside the window frame. The rest of the house was outfitted with ceiling fans.

  The Fourth of July was days away, and the summer heat seemed awfully warm for this time of year. Wayne took a swig of his iced tea, wiped his brow, and clicked on his e-mail. Disappointment filled him as he looked at an empty e-mail box. Where’s Dena’s e-mail?

  He rolled his chair back and walked over to the front window that looked out on the small fishing harbor below. He glanced at his watch. Eight thirty, which would put it at one thirty in the morning where Dena was. Either the e-mail got lost in cyberspace, held up in a cyber highway traffic jam, or she hadn’t been able to send him one. She did say there would be times when she’d be out of contact.

  Turning back to the computer, he marched over to it and sat back down. His fingers froze for a moment over the keyboard. He tapped out a brief message.

  Hi, I’m assuming you were unable to connect. I trust all is well. I missed not seeing a letter from you tonight. Know that I’m thinking and praying for you.

  Love,

  Wayne

  He reread what he wrote. He’d never signed an e-mail to her with “love” in it before. His right forefinger stood poised over the Delete key. Did he love her? Well, in one sense he did. But would she interpret that as romantic love?

  He deleted the comma and paused. Gnawing his lower lip, he positioned his finger over another key and retyped his salutation.

  In Christian Love,

  Wayne

  Letting out a slow breath, he thought about that statement. It was true. It was honest. He could send this. But… He hesitated.

  Somehow, it seemed too formal, too distant. They were becoming good friends. They found they could talk with one another on a variety of subjects.

  Wayne hit the Delete key and removed the salutation. Then he typed another.

  Love,

  Your friend, Wayne

  He rolled his chair back and stared at the computer screen. Yes, that one fits. Grabbing the mouse with his right hand, he clicked the Send icon.

  Was he really ready to take this relationship to the next level? In some ways, it had seemed so natural to type “love.” He did love her, but there were so many obstacles in their relationship. Her life’s work took her around the world. His left him stuck within a thirty-mile radius.

  He got up and strode ove
r to the front window and looked at the lights surrounding the harbor. She would be here for a week around the Fourth of July. They could discuss whether to go further with this relationship or stop it before either one of them went too far. He had to be pragmatic about this. He loved Maine. He loved his life. He loved lobstering. How could Dena Russell ever fit into such a small world?

  She couldn’t, he reasoned.

  “Lord, how can we compromise here?”

  A stray thought hit him. Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, old man?

  The phone rang. Wayne shook off his foolish thoughts and answered. “Hello?”

  ❧

  Dena stretched her stiff body, trying not to disturb her traveling companion on the airplane seat beside her. The plane was making its final approach into Logan airport. The trip to Côte-d’Ivoire had been truncated due to internal uprisings in the government there.

  Strangely, she’d been pleased to learn she was going home sooner than anticipated. The first order of business is a bath. She’d left the bush in a hurry and had taken the first morning flight out of the country, from Abidjan, finally arriving in Paris. Normally, she would have taken a room there and unwound before returning home. But instead of her normal layover, she took the next flight back to Boston.

  Dena swallowed and eased the pressure building up in her ears. She’d learned to bring cough drops to help with the process. They seemed to work better than chewing gum. The plane banked and headed for the one runway at Logan that made those who had never before flown into that airport feel certain the plane was going to crash into Boston Harbor.

  She rolled her shoulders. Seven hours from Paris was a long flight, but not as long as some she’d taken over the years. “Home,” she muttered. My own shower and bed in less than an hour.

  The plane’s wheels skidded on the tarmac, and the engines roared as they reversed to slow the large jet. Once they were stopped at the gate, a single chime sounded, and the cabin burst into activity. Dena grabbed her two carry-ons, which contained her photography equipment and a change of underwear, should her baggage get lost. She would not allow her cameras, film, and equipment out of her possession. And with all the new scanning equipment since 9/11, no film was safe—which made going digital a huge advantage. However, being in the bush with no electricity for two weeks made digital impractical at the same time.