Page 66 of Snapshot

“Did Jacob implement any of this?”

“No, he never got the chance. And anyway, it wasn’t a real plan, just a way to get me into a good college.”

Dottie’s eyes snap to mine, and she surveys my face. “But this business plan is very good. You wrote this when you were eighteen?”

I nod. “Just about.”

“Do you know how many pitches and business plans come across my desk? All from professionals who never once think to include ethical business practices, checks and balance systems, and giving back to the community in their five-year plans. You wrote this based on how the business could better society instead of simply how the business could drive revenue. That takes maturity far beyond your years, Lennox. Very impressive. I have a feeling you were a natural in your business ethics classes?”

I feel the flicker of shame I always do when this topic comes up. “I never ended up going to school. My scholarship wasn’t enough, and my student loans got messed up. I… I couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh, that’s such a shame,” Dottie says. “It’s impossible to afford school for many students these days. It wasn’t like that in my generation.”

I shrug like it doesn’t bother me. “All for the best. I probably would’ve failed out. Numbers and statistics aren’t my strength. I’ve heard those pesky things are necessary in business school.” I shoot her a playful wink.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been in business for a very long time. Numbers aren’t what you need to be a successful leader,” Dottie says, setting the box down.

“What is it, then?”

“Heart and resilience,” Dottie answers. “And you, Lennox, seem to have both.”

I turn to Dex and lift my brows. “Hear that? I think your grandma likes me.”

Dottie chuckles as she continues to sift through the box. Dex reaches over and pats my knee. “I think you won her over. Clever.”

It wasn’t strategic. I was just interested to learn Jacob had friends. He was such a warm spirit, yet a lone wolf. It didn’tmake sense to me. I was relieved there were people who cared enough to seek him out eventually. Even if it was long overdue.

“These are incredible,” Dottie says, holding up each picture and article. Some of the images are crystal clear. Underwater photos of giant sea turtles and manta rays. There are a few news articles about ocean anomalies that Jacob witnessed. Rare marine life sightings, environmental movements to protect the ocean, and mass community cleanups of oil spills and garbage dumping. Jacob always volunteered when he could.

As she nears the bottom half of the box, the pictures become poorer quality, faded, and in desperate need of restoration. Evidence of the antiquated photography equipment used at the time.

“He lived a really full life,” Dottie murmurs. “What was he like? Happy? Was he in love?”

“I only knew him for about three years before he passed away. From what I know, he was never married. No children,” I answer.

Dottie’s eyes are down, scanning images slowly, like she’s savoring them. “Marriage doesn’t always mean happy…or in love.”

I hold out my hands. “Actually, may I see the box? I might know…”

Setting the box on the table, I remove the photos and clippings in small chunks, laying them out on the coffee table.I think it’s at the bottom.“Ah, here,” I say, finding the image that’s paperclipped to a folded-up piece of paper. I carefully detach the flimsy half-picture of a woman sitting on a dock. Her back is turned, so all you can see is her feminine silhouette and long, dark hair hanging in a thick braid down her back. “Be careful, it’s delicate,” I say, handing the photo to Dottie. “My cousin Finn has access to the photo lab at UNLV, and he said he could restore it. But it'd be so much better if we had the other half.”

“Maybe it’s in there,” Dex says, leaning forward, starting to gently lay out the images one by one.

“No, I’ve looked. I think it’s withher.Daisy.”

“What did you say?” Dottie asks in an urgent whisper. “Who?”

“Daisy.” I hold up the square, folded note in my hand. “That’s what I nicknamed her. I don’t know her real name. He wrote this letter for her. Or maybe it’s a poem. I’m not sure. But I always imagined this was his long-lost sweetheart. I asked him about it once, but he told me Daisy died. You should’ve seen the look on his face. I couldn’t pull at that thread. Seems like it would’ve broken him.”

Tears fill her eyes as she scours the photo. “Will you read it? My eyes are not so good without my reading glasses.” I hardly believe that. She read the tiny print of the business plan just fine. It seems like Dottie needs my help, though. So, I unfold the note and read her the short poem:

Daisies, daisies, daisies,

They follow me into the ocean. They haunt my sweetest dreams.

My heart is detached from my body, lying in a field of white flowers.

A long, full life is a curse.

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