Page 64 of This Love
When I got my license back, we drove to Houston for weekends with my father and Tina and my half sisters.
We added to my scrapbook, new photos and stories. I thought hard about what would work to get my attention if this happened again. I left the warnings about my mother, but made sure Tucker was represented early and often in the pages.
Maybe getting my life back would simply always be hard no matter what we did. But I wanted to shore everything up while the feeling of loss and fear were still close, to remember what helped me and what didn’t.
I hadn’t been to Mount Bonnell, even though I’d seen photos from there in my old albums.
As Thanksgiving approached, Tucker suggested we have a picnic at the top of the massive staircase that overlooked the river snaking through the city.
“This is a lot of exercise,” I huffed as we climbed the stone steps.
“One hundred and six stairs,” Tucker said. “You used to practically run up them.”
“Really?” My thighs ached. I guessed old Ava was more active. “A person could go right into a seizure from this level of exertion.”
That stopped Tucker cold. “Maybe we shouldn’t go up.”
“No, no.” I passed him on his step. “Have I ever had a seizure from working out?”
“No.” He hurried to catch up.
“There you go. Did I used to jog or something?” Dang, this was hard.
“No. You rushed around more. I think you’ll feel more in shape when you do more outdoor shoots.”
That made sense.
When we made it to the top, several people stood by a stone wall. We approached it as well.
Down below, houses clustered into neighborhoods. The water sparkled as it wound its way through. Homes way fancier than ours stood on the shore, jutting out with perfectly manicured lawns, and, inexplicably, swimming pools.
“Why do they have pools when the lake is right there?” I asked Tucker.
“Beats me. I’ve never been a rich person.” Tucker took my hand. “Come on.”
We went off to the left of the overlook and walked down a rocky trail through the brush.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Here,” he said. A small clearing had a concrete table and benches. “For our picnic.”
He shrugged off the backpack and unloaded containers of fruit and potato salad and ham and cheese sandwiches.
The water bottles were icy from being partially frozen. I stood on top of the table so I could see the city. “It’s a different view from here.”
“We can walk along the other side after we eat. There are lots of great spots for photographs.”
“Oh!” I had totally forgotten I had my camera, overwhelmed by the view.
We sat on the table while we ate so we could see above the scrubby brush. The wind was high up here, sending my hair flying. I tucked it into the collar of my sweatshirt.
“Why does the food taste so much better here?” I asked Tucker, having gobbled my sandwich and a good portion of the potato salad.
“The exercise, I think,” he said. “Maybe the great outdoors whets your appetite.”
I stood on the table again, this time with my camera. “I feel like I could take a thousand photos and never capture what it’s like to be up here.”
He stuffed the leftovers into his pack and climbed up beside me as I snapped shot after shot. “There are some things we can’t capture with images alone, not even video with sound.”
