“You are.” I work to keep the strain out of my voice as her astute observation triggers that darkness in me.
“You okay?” Lexie studies my expression with a concerned look.
“Yeah, of course.” I put on a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be? Great view and a beautiful boating companion.”
“You are smooth.” She smiles back, and I notice she’s no longer gripping her seat. Instead, she seems to take in the vastness of the water as the lights from the pier grow more distant. The moon hangs like a giant pearl, and the stars are diamonds reflected in shimmering waves of midnight blue. “It’s stunning out here,” she says in awe. “A different vantage point from the shore.”
Her words have me shoving the unrequited thirst for justice back into that dark corner of my mind. I stop rowing and let the boat drift. I just want to be here soaking in this moment with Lexie. Still and quiet. Silence is underrated. Most people rush to fill the space. But it feels comfortable with her. It feels right.
After a while, when she gains confidence, she lifts her camera. “It’s like being in the middle of a beautiful pieceof artwork.” Her voice is reverent, her hands moving fluidly, adjusting her camera for the right angle.
Without interrupting, I watch her completely absorbed in her task. The joy and play of emotion on her face tug at my heart. When she lowers the camera, her eyes sparkle with excitement.
“I can’t wait to get these developed.”
“I can’t wait either.”
“Why?” She glances across at me. “You can see this view any time.”
“Not in the same way you do,” I explain. “Through your photos, I see more than just the image—I see how you felt when you captured it. That’s a powerful thing, Blue. You have a real gift.”
“That’s such a lovely compliment,” she says with modesty. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. Don’t ever doubt your talent. You should share your photos online.”
“Stop it.” She brushes me off. “I can’t even imagine that.”
“That’s fear talking.”
“And a healthy dose of reality. I still have so much to learn.”
“Artists don’t stop learning or honing their craft. But they still put their work out there.”
“I’m not an artist.”
“You are. You just don’t realize it yet.”
“It’s nice to have my own personal fan club of one. But I think you’re overstating.”
And I think she’s underestimating herself. “That’s how I started, by sharing my music on social media. It’s a great way to build a fan base and test response. I’ve sold several songs to indie artists. Had to hire an agent to field inquiries. I never expected that.”
“You’re amazing, Chaz.”
“So are you, Lex. Try it; you’ll see that I’m right. People are going to love your work.”
“You’re a great hype man.”
“I believe in you.”
“That means a lot. I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Sure.” I let it go for now and start rowing back as the temperature dips toward freezing. “How about we warm up at the café with an after-hours special?”
“Ah, the Kahlúa,” she recalls.
“That’s the one.” I send her a wink that I know, even though I can’t see it in the dark, makes her blush.
We return to the beach, and I secure my boat and life vests.
