Page 37 of Grown-Up Second Chance

I waved the compliment away with my hand. I’d learned not to take photography seriously.

“No, stop,” he said. “Look at that. It’s interesting.” He’d found a picture I’d taken of lime green lichen on a protruding rock amid a bubbling morass. “And the one before was beautiful.”

I stared at the photo of a small patch of clear baby blue water, steam misting over the crusty surface around it.

“I kind of like that one, too,” I confessed. “I just wish …”

“What?”

How could I explain the feel of a traditional camera in my hand, the weight of the body, the natural fit of my fingers around it, the off-center feel of a long lens? I’d taken some courses in college with a camera I rented from the department. I’d intended to get one once I had a well-paying job, but I’d put it off.

“I don’t know how to explain it to you,” I said.

“Try me.”

“When I have a camera in my hand … well, this is going to sound bizarre … but it’s as if I see things differently. I’m aware of light and shadow, contrast. I want to learn how to sharpen the image I see in my head. I want to learn about f-stops and ISO and shutter speeds. I want a really long lens so I can take pictures of the birds that only look like black dots through a phone.” I stopped. It already seemed over the top.

“Do you have a camera like that?” Joe asked.

All of a sudden, my throat closed and tears beckoned. Even though I’d wanted one all my life I’d let it go, thinking there was something more important. If I only sacrificed myself enough, my marriage would be happy again, and God would bless me with a child.

Instead I only had ashes.

Unable to speak, I shook my head.

Instead of asking why I didn’t, Joe took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.

“Everything okay?” Liz asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“I think we’re all tired,” Joe said. “Maybe it’s time to finish up and head home.”

“That sounds good,” Liz said. “I want to get up early and get into the studio. I’m bursting with ideas.”

“I’m ready,” Kathleen said, pushing herself up from the chair. “I feel like the kid in the Far Side comic who asked to be excused because his brain was full.”

“There’s a lot to see here,” Joe agreed, collecting our glasses. “You’re smart to take it in small bits.”

There were murmurs of agreement as we gathered our things. As soon as Joe returned from taking the glasses back to the bar, we ambled out the front door and into the evening air. Ahead Venus was just rising above the horizon, and at the edge of the parking lot, the large rack of a bull elk was visible over the car roofs.

Nature’s serenity eased the tension inside me. I glanced over at Joe who smiled at me and nodded.

It was a beautiful evening.

Chapter Twelve

Somehow, before he’d gone back to his RV the night before, Joe had conned me into fly fishing lessons. And there was no other word for it. I’d thought he was having a friendly conversation as I drove home, but no. Pretty soon he was talking about the joys of fishing, how quiet and peaceful it was. How it gave him a chance to slow down and enjoy the world beyond him.

And then I found myself nodding my head. Sure, I told him, sounds lovely.

Then poof! I was committed to meeting him at four the next afternoon for my first fly fishing lesson.

Even my lack of a pole or any other equipment wasn’t a deterrent.

At three-thirty I walked over to Joe’s trailer, steeling myself against the torture to come.

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