Lindsey pointed toward the fishermen. “Tell me what you see. And then tell me how you’re going to tell their story. Pretend you’re working for a PR firm that wants something subtle, but evocative, to sell their rubber boots. And then pretend you’re doing a story for National Geographic on global warming.”
“Cool.”
Chapter 8
An hour later, with both of them soaked to the skin, Lindsey scrolled through the images on Rebecca’s camera, sat back on her heels, and proclaimed, “Well, now we know. You definitely don’t suck. You have an artist’s instinct for zeroing in on where the focus should be, and you’re creative at finding new ways to tell an old story.”
Rebecca grinned. “Thanks—I think.”
“You said something about teachers. Where have you gone to school?”
“I took a class last summer at the community college before my regular classes started at UC Santa Cruz. It was really retro. The guy who taught it seemed to think the only way to become a real photographer was to start with film. We spent the first half learning how to operate old film cameras and take black-and-white pictures. The second half we learned how to process the film. Did you know the chemicals they used to use were toxic? I’m surprised all those early photographers lived as long as they did.
“I thought the class was a waste of time, but my mom and dad wouldn’t let me drop it. They have this thing about making their kids see things through once we start them.”
Rebecca’s cell phone played a short piano riff. She looked as if she was going to ignore it, then gave in. “It’s probably my mom. I’m supposed to work at the nursery this afternoon.” She glanced at the screen. “Yeah, she’s looking for me.” She sent a return text, not bothering to look at the phone.
“That’s pretty impressive,” Lindsey said, thinking of the number of times that particular skill would have been useful on the road.
Rebecca shrugged. “It was something I taught myself in high school. I was the only one of my friends who never had her phone confiscated.” She backed away from the cameras, which were still on the tripods, and brushed the sand off her sweatpants.
“I know it’s really pushy,” Rebecca said, “but is there any way we could do this again? I can arrange my schedule at the nursery to fit yours.” When Lindsey didn’t immediately answer, Rebecca added, “If you’ve got something going this week, I don’t mind waiting until you’re free. School doesn’t start again for a couple of weeks, and even then I have holes in my schedule I could work around.”
“I don’t know,” Lindsey said.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“It’s not what you think. I don’t know if I’ll still be here.”
Rebecca frowned. “I thought you were staying all of January.”
“Something’s come up.” Why not just say what it was? “Matthew and I lost a good friend in Syria, and we’re going back east to her funeral.”
Rebecca was hit with a spark of understanding. “Oh, wow—I’m sorry. I saw the story on the news. It’s really sad what happened to them. Are you going to be taking her place after the funeral?”
“No one can take her place. She was a special woman who got caught up in an ugly war and died trying to tell the world what was happening.”
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “Grace is always telling me I’m skinny because food can’t get past the foot in my mouth.” Her cell phone went off again.
“Don’t worry about it.” Lindsey had planned to stay on the beach a little longer, but realized Rebecca wasn’t going to leave until she did. She picked up Matthew’s tripod and slung it over her shoulder, not bothering to detach the camera or collapse the legs. He was as fanatical about sand getting trapped in the locking rings as he was about his coffee and preferred doing the cleanup work himself. Heading for the stairs, she said, “If I’m still around tomorrow, how about same time same place?”
“Are you serious?” Rebecca said. “I’d go anywhere—anytime—for another morning like this.” She spontaneously hugged Lindsey, nearly dislodging the tripod. “Oh my God,” Rebecca moaned, “I promise you that I’m not usually such a klutz.”
Out of nowhere, an image of Sittina appeared in Lindsey’s mind, crowding out where she was and who she was with. For a breath-stealing moment, she tried to reconcile a world where two young women could lead such different lives. Neither could have truly understood the life of the other—they had everything and yet nothing in common. It would have been impossible for Sittina to imagine a kitchen with food for the taking, a place where fruits and vegetables were tossed in the garbage because they were less than perfect and where leftovers were scraped into a disposal. Rebecca would have been horrified at the thought of chasing vultures from a lion kill to rescue scraps of putrefied meat.
“What kind of nursery?” Lindsey asked. The area between Santa Cruz and Monterey was known as the salad bowl of the world, with growing conditions perfect for crops as wide-ranging as artichokes and strawberries.
“Orchids.”
“A perfect place for a lesson on macro mode—if I’m still here.”
They were at the top of the stairs when Rebecca turned to Lindsey. “This is going to sound totally selfish, but even my mom and dad take vacations and they’re the hardest-working people I know.” After another quick hug, this one more careful, Rebecca gave a little wave, held her camera and tripod with both hands, and took off at a run.
Lindsey lost sight of her in the fog, but could hear her open the door to her house and call out that she was home. For the second time that day she thought about her parents and how casually she took for granted that they too would always be there to welcome her home.
Wasn’t it a birthright for all children? Wasn’t home the one place that you could, that you should, be able to count on? If so, where did that leave Sittina and all the other children of the world lost in refugee camps who had no one to welcome them when they rolled out their ragged pieces of cardboard to sleep on each night?
Chapter 9
Matthew greeted Lindsey at the door. Relieving her of the tripod and camera, he automatically started cleaning both.
“How was your run?” she asked, giving him a quick kiss.
“Interesting. I took a wrong turn somewhere and wound up at this great doughnut shop. I must have looked pretty pathetic because the owner gave me a cup of coffee and a doughnut on credit.”
“Why didn’t you call me? I would have—” She thought about what she’d been about to say. “I probably should do something about getting a new phone.”
“What happened to yours?”
“I buried it.”
He cocked a questioning eyebrow. “And you did this because . . .”
“I got up to get a drink of water last night and heard it vibrating. There were fifteen messages from David. He’s not going to let go, because he thinks he can wear me down. Why wouldn’t he? I’ve played Pinocchio to his Geppetto for five years.”
Matthew grinned. “And now you want to be a real little boy?”
“Okay, so it wasn’t a great metaphor.”
“You could always dig it up and take it in to have the number changed.”
She shook her head.
“I’ll bite—why can’t you?”
“Because I smashed it before I buried it.”
“I see we have to add littering to your growing list of petty crimes.”
She put her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“You missed.”
But he didn’t. He captured her mouth in a kiss that took her to a place she longed to be—safe and warm, where the problems they faced were mere bubbles that rode the waves to shore and then disappeared. In this place there was no pain or longing or sorrow, only love.
He swept her up in his joyful passion. It was where she wanted to be, but she had to stop pretending that what separated them could be buried because it was inconvenient, or even damaging. But not yet. “I need you to know that
I’m working hard on walking away from my job, but it’s more complicated than simply turning my back. It’s even more than recognizing that there are kids in school now who will graduate with cameras in their hands and go to war-torn countries and send back pictures better than anything I ever did. I have unfinished business with some of it that I can’t turn my back on, that I can’t walk away from.
“Remember the girl I told you I met in the Congo? I let her in, Matthew, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“She was the reason you stayed there as long as you did?”
Lindsey nodded. “When I tell you about her, you’ll understand.”
“Long story?”
“Kinda.”
“Then you should probably change into something dry, don’t you think?”
He was the only person she could lean on without feeling weak, the only one she had ever shared her most intimate dreams and ambitions and fears with and not felt vulnerable. How had she convinced herself it was okay not to tell him what she was going through? She’d been so stupid.
Before he let her go, he asked, “Are you okay?”
She looked deep into his eyes and knew with absolute certainty that he would be as alone without her as she would be without him. “I will be.”
She started toward the bedroom. “I’ll make us coffee as soon as I’m changed.”
“I’ll do it.”
Self-preservation—she could always count on it where Matthew and coffee were concerned. She smiled.
For almost three hours, Lindsey sat cross-legged, tucked into the corner of the sofa, drinking Matthew’s coffee and telling the rest of Sittina’s story. At first she fought to find words with more meaning than the ones she’d used the first time she’d told Matthew about Sittina, and then she gave up and got her laptop to let her pictures tell the story. He winced when she showed him the photograph of Sittina hiding in a bush, her back to the other children, methodically chewing the small portion of the energy bar that Lindsey had given her into a mash and slowly feeding it off the tip of her finger to a six-month-old boy whose brother had died earlier that day.
Sittina hadn’t complained or cried, not even when she talked about her mother and little sister and how they died. One night when she and Lindsey were on lion watch together, she talked about the dream she’d had of being a doctor who traveled from village to village taking care of children. It was beyond Sittina’s capability to imagine anyone ever taking care of her again, not even her grandmother, who had been lost to the family for over a year.
“I may know someone who can pull some strings, at least to help us find Sittina’s grandmother,” Matthew said. “I did a piece on Roger Grayson’s work with the Raise Your Hand Foundation a couple of years ago, and we’ve stayed in touch. He’s one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met, and he loves challenges.”
Her heart swelled at how easily he’d said “us,” immediately and automatically assuming that whatever burden she carried was his to carry too. “This isn’t just a challenge. Finding anyone in one of those camps is like looking for a wildebeest with a chipped hoof in the middle of migration. There are over thirty thousand refugees in Gihembe alone. A quarter of them are children. Finding Sittina could be as hard as finding her grandmother.”
“So we don’t try?”
She put her hand over her heart as if she could contain the powerful swell of emotion his words created. “Will you marry me?” she asked, almost as surprised as he was.
“I thought—” He studied her. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“After all these years? Why now?”
“Because it’s the only way I know to tell you how much I love you. There are no words to express how I feel.”
“You don’t have to—”
She stopped him. “And it’s something I want, more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life. I met a girl today who told me my husband was an awesome photographer. Only half of that was true. I want it all.”
“A ceremony isn’t going to change anything between us, Lindsey.”
“Why are you fighting me on this? I thought you wanted to get married.”
“Maybe I don’t trust that two or three or ten months into it you won’t change your mind. And then where would that leave me?”
Lindsey handed him her laptop. A picture of Sittina in profile, staring at a shallow, open grave where the baby she’d fed her rations was about to be laid, filled the screen. “What I know is that I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me.”
He stared at Sittina’s picture a long time before he said, “Grab your camera.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to see if you can survive two weeks of taking pictures of the otters that hang around Elkhorn Slough.”
“Piece of cake. I love otters. Give me five minutes for a shower and I’ll . . . unless you’d like to join me. Then I’ll need ten.”
He laughed. “I’m not that fast.”
“I was counting on it.” It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that he hadn’t responded to her proposal, but she decided to let it go. Pushing for an answer before he was ready could get her the wrong one.
Lindsey’s initial impression of Elkhorn Slough was less than wonderful. She’d expected something more sanctuary-like. Instead, when they pulled into the harbor at Moss Landing, where they were renting a kayak, the active harbor and massive power plant made the site seem almost industrial. Twin exhaust stacks, just short of two hundred feet tall, dominated the landscape.
Opposite the power plant were two large marine research vessels from the Monterey Bay Research Institute, and next to them were commercial fishing boats. Rows of privately owned skiffs and aluminum boats were moored next to million-dollar yachts and a pontoon boat. The harbor was a bouquet of fish and salt, a cacophony of gulls and seals, and an eclectic assortment of people who loved the sea.
She absorbed the ambiance while she waited for Matthew to make the arrangements for the kayak, then spotted a glass-covered board filled with tourist information about the slough. She was drawn to trivia the way she was drawn to a really good book—compulsively absorbing both.
She studied the map first and saw immediately that the harbor was only the cork in the bottle. The far-reaching slough extended seven miles inland. Outside of San Francisco Bay, Elkhorn Slough was the largest tract of tidal salt marsh in California. Over seven hundred varieties of plants and animals lived inside the marine reserve, and it was considered critical habitat for several species of migrating birds.
Matthew came up behind her. “Have enough ‘did you know?’ details to get us through the day?”
She was an information junkie. Obscure bits of information were like fine Belgian chocolates to her—morsels that could be savored selfishly but were more fully enjoyed when shared. “This place where we are isn’t part of the sanctuary. It’s called Moss Landing.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and waved a piece of paper in the air. “I know. I picked up a map.”
He guided them across the parking lot. “I’ll bet you don’t know this one,” she said. “When a female otter is hunting, there are some male otters that have learned to kidnap her baby while she’s underwater. They make her pay a ransom of the food she just brought up before they’ll give the baby back.”
“Seems a little coldhearted and lazy.”
“It’s why we’ll see moms with pups off by themselves. Imagine how exhausting it would be for the female to try to feed one of those big males plus her pup.”
“Plus herself.”
Lindsey couldn’t imagine anyone not finding this kind of information as fascinating as she did. “Did you know otters are considered among the world’s best mothers?”
“Plainly the males fall short in the dad division,” Matthew said, pointing to a ramp.
“Not only that, they bite the female’s nose during mating, sometimes pretty viciously.”
“The ugly side of cuteness.”
Matthew tossed her a life jacket when they arrived at the kayak. “Front or back?”
“Front—I’m the student, after all.”
Matthew laughed out loud. “As if.”
“And while we’re on the subject of students, remind me to tell you later about my morning.” Sitting on the dock, she slid into the kayak, then held it steady while Matthew got in. “I met the next-door neighbor’s daughter.”
“Grace?”
“No, the older one, Rebecca. She’s the one I told you about who thinks you’re the world’s best wildlife photographer.”
“Smart girl.” He pushed them away from the dock and turned the kayak south, headed for the entrance to the slough. Sea lions were everywhere, using the seawall and fishing docks to rest as they sought shelter from their main predators, orcas and white sharks. Others waited in the water for a prime spot to clear, heads bobbing like glass fishing floats.
She ignored him. “This isn’t about her, it’s about me.”
“Ahh . . . I didn’t catch that part.”
“I discovered something I never knew about myself. I like teaching.” She raised her arm to point to a raft of otters fifty-strong.
“It’s a bachelor party,” Matthew said. “The guys hang out together in large groups while the females and their pups usually gather in smaller rafts.”
“Do you suppose they’re trading information on effective kidnapping methods?”
“Could be, but I doubt it. My guess would be they’re bragging about how many noses they’ve bitten lately.” He let the kayak drift closer while he slowly lowered his camera to just above water height. “Now tell me about this teaching thing.”
“I could see myself being a mentor.” Lindsey focused her camera on a brown pelican coming in for a landing.
“Really? Do you think you have the patience for something like that?”
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