The Nearness of You

by Dorothy Garlock

  Marjorie held the image at a distance, letting her eyes find their focus, then she smiled. “Lily Denton,” she said, nodding at the same time. “I can see why this picture has such a hold on your attention.”

  “I met her yesterday,” Boone explained as he leaned against one of the porch’s posts. “She didn’t want me to take her picture but I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Do you know her father’s the mayor?”

  “I do,” he said, then chuckled. “He sure likes to hear himself talk.”

  “If a person got paid by the word, Morris would be a millionaire,” Marjorie agreed, then paused to take a long drink of her coffee. “Still, he’s a good man. He cares an awful lot about this town and his daughter. It couldn’t have been easy raisin’ Lily on his own,” she said, then handed back the picture.

  As Boone took it, he echoed her words as a question. “On his own?”

  “Lily’s mother died when she was little. Her heart just gave out one day. Sad set of circumstances.”

  Boone didn’t know how to answer. His relationship with his own parents was complicated, but they had been a constant presence in his life while growing up. It was hard to imagine what it would’ve been like without either of them.

  “Lily’s caught your eye, hasn’t she?” Marjorie asked.

  “She has,” he answered.

  “I reckon it makes sense, a city fella comin’ to a little town like this, figures he might as well have himself some fun while he’s here.”

  “It’s not like that,” Boone replied defensively, the words coming out a little harder than he had intended.

  “So what is it, then?” the older woman prodded.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “All I can say for certain is that I liked what time I had with her and want more. A chance to know her better.”

  Marjorie was silent for a while as she drank her coffee and continued to scratch Daisy’s head. As he waited, Boone started to wonder if what she had implied—that he was just looking for some fun with a local girl—had been a test to see what sort of man he was. If so, he hoped that he’d passed.

  “Do you reckon Lily would be happy to see you?” Marjorie finally asked.

  “I do,” Boone answered truthfully.

  “Then you’re right. You should go talk to her again.”

  “Problem is, I don’t know where she lives. I could look it up in the phone book but it might be awkward to just drop by out of the blue.”

  “You don’t want to go there anyway,” Marjorie said.

  “Why not?” Boone asked.

  “Because the only word that better describes Morris Denton than talkative is overprotective,” the older woman explained. “I don’t care if you are some fancy picture-taker from New York City, if you show up at his door lookin’ to court his daughter, Morris is more likely to run you off with his gun than let you talk to Lily.”

  “Well, if not there, then where do I find her?”

  “Go to the library,” Marjorie explained. “That’s where she works.”

  “Lily’s a librarian?” Boone asked.

  The older woman nodded, then went back to her coffee.

  Just like that, Boone knew what he had to do. He’d go to the library that very morning. He wouldn’t be able to wait any longer than that. Maybe he was imagining that there was something between them. Or maybe he wasn’t…

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Thank you,” Boone said, then started down the porch steps.

  “Hold on there,” Marjorie stopped him. “The reason I told you those things was ’cause I’ve got the impression you’re the sort of young man who wouldn’t take advantage.” She paused, staring intently at him. “I’d hate to be proven wrong about that.”

  He shook his head. “You won’t be.”

  “For your sake, I hope you’re right,” she said. “I may be old, but that doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous with a frying pan in my hand.”

  Boone might have chuckled in response, but deep down, he knew that Marjorie wasn’t kidding.

  From the moment Lily had walked away from Boone Tatum, she’d done little else but think about the Life magazine photographer. She had thought about his handsome looks while halfheartedly listening to Ethel’s endless complaints. Walking home from the library, she’d remembered the sound of his voice, how he had shouted her name. Sitting at the dinner table while Morris talked about his interview as if he was going to be featured on the cover, Lily had had to tamp down the urge to ask her father about the man who’d taken his picture. Then later, as midnight came and went on the clock beside her bed, she’d replayed their conversation over and over again, parsing every word until sleep finally came.

  But in the end, Lily knew that it had all been a waste of time.

  Standing behind the front desk of the library as late-morning sunlight streamed through the windows, Lily understood that she was never going to see Boone again. While he had made one heck of a first impression on her, he wouldn’t be making a second. He’d be back to his life in New York City in a couple of days, if he hadn’t left already. He probably wouldn’t give her photograph more than a quick glance. It would end up in the bottom of a desk drawer or trash can, most likely.

  All of which was fine, really. She had plenty of other things to think about. There was whatever it was between her and Garrett, what would happen when people finally did notice that Jane was gone, her father, and of course Ethel. Boone Tatum had been a distraction, someone who had stumbled into her life and just as quickly left it. She could dream all she wanted, but in the end, it was just—

  And that was when he came through the library door, a camera bag slung over his shoulder. Boone looked around and spotted her, a bright smile creasing his handsome face.

  “Hi, Lily,” he greeted her.

  “Hello, Boone…” she managed, still not quite believing he was there.

  “You remembered my name,” he said as he leaned against the counter. “That must mean I made a strong impression on you.”

  “But not necessarily a good one,” Lily told him, her tone neutral.

  His gaze narrowed, looking at her closely, though his smile never wavered. “I’m not too worried,” he replied.

  Lily stood up straighter, trying not to let Boone’s self-assurance fluster her. There was something about the photographer’s confidence that was endearing and frustrating at the same time. “Was there something I can help you with?” she asked. “Did you come to check out a book?”

  Boone laughed loudly, as if she’d told a really funny joke. “Of course not,” he answered. “I came to see you.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I asked around.”

  “And here you are,” Lily said, fighting back the surprise she felt that he had been talking to people about her, trying to find out where she was. Once again finding her bearings, she folded her arms across her chest, trying to act defiant even if she wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Noticing her expression, Boone tilted his head and asked, “Don’t tell me you’re still mad that I took your picture.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  Boone shrugged. “I could apologize if you wanted me to, but I have to warn you, I wouldn’t mean it.”

  “Did you develop it?” Lily asked.

  This was one of the questions that had kept her up half the night. If he had, Lily wondered what she’d looked like, and especially what Boone had thought of it. A part of her was nervous, almost afraid to know the answer.

  “I did,” he replied, then paused. “Would you like to see it?”

  Lily nodded without hesitation.

  Boone pulled the photo from the inside pocket of his jacket, placed it on the counter, then slid it toward her. Lily picked it up and took in the image. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but what she saw in the picture surprised her. The expression on her face, a look that was hard to define, was one that Lily had never seen before. It was natur
al, authentic. And it was beautiful. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the photograph, half expecting it to change, shifting like smoke, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that it was her.

  “You can tear it up if you want.”

  Lily looked up and found Boone staring at her. “Excuse me?”

  “If you’re still bent out of shape at me for taking it, then rip it to pieces,” he explained. “That there is the only copy I developed. If you don’t like what you see or if it embarrasses you, have at it. It’s up to you.”

  Once again, Lily looked at the picture. It was true that she hadn’t wanted it taken and that it had upset her when Boone ignored her request.

  Still, it was hard to argue with the results.

  “No, you keep it,” Lily said, and handed it back.

  Boone took it, then chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Can I make a confession?” he asked, smiling slyly.

  “Of course.”

  “Even if you had ripped it up,” Boone explained, running a hand through his dark hair, “I would’ve just developed another copy from the negative.”

  Though a part of Lily was annoyed with Boone for misleading her, there was another that was flattered he wanted to keep hold of her picture so badly. “Do you like it?” she asked.

  “That I do. It’s got good lighting, the focus is just right, but it’s the subject that has really grabbed my attention,” Boone said, then raised his eyes from the photo to hers. “She’s a real beauty, that’s for sure. But…” he ended, letting that last word hang there between them, like bait on a line.

  “But what?” Lily asked, unable to resist the word’s lure.

  “But a picture isn’t enough. I want more,” he replied. “Come with me, right now. Let’s go get something to eat or take a walk. Anything, just so long as we’re together.”

  The photographer’s bluntness caught Lily off-guard. She wasn’t used to anyone, let alone a handsome man like Boone, talking to her in such a way and didn’t know how to react. “I…I can’t…” she managed, though the thought of spending some more time with him was tempting. “I’m not supposed to go to lunch for almost another hour and—”

  “Who cares about ‘supposed to’?” Boone interrupted. “Would you rather be here,” he asked, his arms spreading to indicate the library, “or out showing me the festival and having a little fun?”

  Put like that, Lily knew her answer. Still, it wasn’t that simple. But before she could respond, Ethel chose that moment to walk out from the stacks, her mouth pinched in a tight grimace, as if she’d just taken a bite of a particularly sour lemon.

  “If you’re done loafing around,” she groused at Lily, “I have a whole list of things that require your attention, starting with the—”

  “How do you do, ma’am?” Boone cut in before Ethel could say more, stepping between the two women and extending his hand. He introduced himself, then added, “I’m a photographer with Life magazine,” patting his camera bag for emphasis.

  “Oh, well, hello…” Ethel replied awkwardly, taking his offered hand.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this on such short notice, but I’m afraid Ms. Denton is going to have to come with me.”

  “She is? But…but whatever for…?”

  “There are some pictures that need to be taken for our upcoming story on the festival,” Boone explained, nodding gravely, as if he was talking about a matter of national security. “I’ll bring her back just as soon as we’re finished, though as to when that might be, I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure.”

  “But…but…” the older librarian stumbled, completely out of sorts.

  Boone turned back to Lily, flashing her a hint of a smile. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Lily had a choice to make. Boone was, in almost every way, a stranger, someone who came from the city, almost another world entirely. But there was no use in denying that he interested her. Still, if she left with him now, she’d be shirking work, a fact that Ethel would be sure to make her pay for ten times over. Yet in the end, maybe Boone was right. What harm could there be in having a little fun?

  “Let’s go,” she answered, then came out from behind the counter and walked with him toward the door.

  “Now, wait just a minute!” Ethel practically shouted, finally finding her voice. “I don’t care what magazine this is for, that’s no reason for—”

  But Lily never heard the rest. She and Boone were already gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  AFTER THEY LEFT the library, Lily and Boone walked through town. The late-morning sun felt warm on Lily’s bare skin, but the autumn air was still crisp enough to make her pull her jacket tight. As they went, she pointed out familiar places, businesses and the homes of friends, often adding little stories about what things had been like when she was growing up. For his part, Boone nodded along and even asked the occasional question. They weaved among the festival stalls, most of them just opening for the day. Lily greeted the people she knew, although there were plenty of faces she didn’t recognize, out-of-towners like the man at her side. Here and there, Boone spotted something he liked and pulled out his camera to snap a quick picture, though he never turned the lens in her direction. Eventually, they made their way to Fisher’s Diner, mostly empty at that hour, and snagged a table for a late breakfast or early lunch, depending on how one chose to look at it.

  “So is that lady you work with always like that?” Boone asked after they’d placed their order.

  “Ethel? Most days, yes,” Lily explained. “She’s one of those people who aren’t happy about anything. Since we’re the only two librarians, most of her grumpiness is directed at me. No matter what I do, it never seems to be good enough.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.”

  “It isn’t, but I try not to let her get to me, which is easier said than done,” she added with a chuckle. “Strange as this might sound, part of me pities her.”

  “Really?” Boone asked, looking genuinely surprised.

  “I can’t imagine going through life that angry. It seems like a waste. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to quit. I like books and helping people too much.”

  Boone leaned back in his seat. “You’re a better person that I am,” he said. “I wouldn’t be able to put up with someone nagging me all the time.”

  “Isn’t there anyone you don’t get along with at the magazine?” Lily asked.

  “Well, there’s Clive, the writer I got stuck with for this job,” Boone answered. “He sure can drive me up the wall, but that’s ’cause he’s new to this and doesn’t know the tip of a pencil from its eraser.”

  “There you go, then.”

  “It’s not the same. My job isn’t like yours.”

  “How so?”

  “For one thing, I’m always out in the field. Even my editor, a guy who, like Ethel, looks like he’s been there since they hung the sign out front, almost never leaves his office,” he explained. “Those people I do work with on assignments know enough to stay out of my way. The last thing I want is someone looking over my shoulder, telling me what pictures to take. Any writer worth his salt would say the same thing. Working that way has gotten me where I am.”

  “Are you a good photographer?” Lily asked.

  “I am,” he answered simply.

  “Modest, too, I see.”

  Boone looked at her with a wry smile. “Modesty is for people who don’t have anything to brag about.”

  “So you’re saying that you’re a braggart?”

  He chuckled easily. “The way I see things, if you can back up what you say, then it isn’t bragging. It’s just the facts.”

  Lily stared across the table at Boone. Here was his strong sense of confidence again. But it wasn’t as if he was crowing about himself or acting like a bigwig. He simply believed in himself. And Lily supposed that at least a measure of it had to be true; she didn’t figure they’d let just anybody take pictu
res for Life magazine.

  “I bet you’ve seen lots of exotic places,” she said.

  “Sure have,” he replied. “Paris, Tokyo, Cairo, San Francisco. If you know its name, I’ve probably been there.”

  “So if you usually go to fancy places like those, why are you here?”

  Boone’s smile faltered. “That there is a doozy of a story. The reason I’m in Hoover’s Crossing is because—”

  “Hooper’s,” Lily interrupted, correcting him.

  “What was that?”

  “It’s Hooper’s Crossing, not Hoover’s.”

  Boone laughed good-naturedly. “Sorry about that. I bet I’ve been saying it wrong for days. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken, but I still don’t have an answer.”

  He nodded. “The reason I’m here is because I’m being punished.”

  Lily listened as Boone laid out the whole story, from his attempt to take an early-morning picture of the New York City skyline, to his brawl with the longshoreman and subsequent time in a jail cell, to the ultimatum his editor had given, through his long drive north with Clive and Daisy as passengers.

  “Who’s Daisy?” Lily asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “She’s my dog, not my girlfriend,” he explained. “Everyone gets that wrong at first. Maybe I should’ve picked a different name.”

  Boone told her that he and Clive were letting a room at Marjorie Barlow’s place, his tale finally ending when he’d bumped into her the day before.

  “It still bugs me that I didn’t get that picture on the dock,” he added. “All those buildings in the morning sun. Would have been the cover, for sure.”

  Though Boone’s story had certainly been interesting, there was something about him, about the life he led, that nagged at Lily. He was a man used to excitement, to adventure. He wasn’t meant to spend much time in a place like Hooper’s Crossing, little more than a dot on a map.