“Probably not. But I’m not common. I’m very good at what I do.”
A few minutes earlier, I would have rolled my eyes, but I find myself studying Charlie, trying to determine whether there’s something more to him than dimples and triceps.
“I imagine you are,” Nan says, then gestures to me. “Alice is a photographer.”
“I’ve heard,” he says, looking at me with a delighted quirk of his brow.
“She’s very gifted. One of her photos has been selected for a big exhibition later this year. What’s the show called, Alice?”
“In (Her) Camera,” I tell her. “My friend owns the gallery,” I say to Charlie.
“Don’t downplay it, Alice. It’s a stunning shot. Haunting.”
Haunting. Yes.
It’s a portrait of a woman, staring directly into the camera, chin tilted up. From a distance Aanya looks like a typical executive. Blazer. Bland chin-length blowout. But when you step closer, you can see the creases of her eye makeup, the flakes of mascara beneath her eyes, the exhaustion in her gaze. She looks defeated. She was the CEO of a major telecom, and I shot her fora magazine profile. Three days later, Aanya was ousted in a corporate coup. It’s without question a powerful image, but there were other photos she and I liked far better—ones where the lighting isn’t so harsh, where she looks tired but determined, that felt truer to who she is. I tried to convince the photo editor to choose one of them, but he selected an image that suited the story the magazine wanted to tell.
Maybe that’s why it bothers me so much. Someone else decided how Aanya showed up in the world. Or maybe it’s because I didn’t argue my case with the photo editor hard enough.
Elyse loves the portrait. She looks at Aanya and sees strength and resilience. I see my own weakness.
Including it in the show makes a statement about who I am as a photographer. The portrait is good; great even. But it doesn’t feel like me. In truth, I’m not sure whatmefeels like anymore. Aside from the photos I snapped on the island earlier today, I don’t remember when I shot just for myself, without worrying about acing an assignment.
“When is the show, Alice? I don’t think you mentioned,” Nan says now.
“It runs from August until the end of the year.”
“You’ll have to go back for the opening,” she says. “I wouldn’t mind a few days here on my own.”
“It’s not a big deal, Nan. I don’t want to leave you.” Which is only part of the truth. I’m happy to have an excuse not to see the photo in the gallery.
Nan narrows her eyes. “I’m not a child.”
I feel Charlie looking between us. “I know,” I say quietly. “That’s not it.”
“You can’t blame Alice for not wanting to leave the lake in August,” Charlie says. I glance at him, grateful. He lifts histeacup in my direction before turning to Nan. “You know, I think I remember you from when I was growing up. You and your husband visited a lot, right?”
It’s an elite distraction. Nan lights up like a Christmas tree. “We came every summer. John and Joyce were our closest friends.”
Charlie squints. “John said it’s been a long time since you’ve been back. He asked me to let him know how you’re doing—said you haven’t spoken in a long time.”
I whip my head in Nan’s direction. I didn’t know that.
“People change.” She keeps her eyes set on Charlie as he sips his tea. He hasn’t touched the cake. “Now tell me, what are you doing to keep yourself busy this summer? I imagine a man like you would get bored quickly.”
“I don’t really believe in boredom,” he says. “I know a lot of people in Barry’s Bay. I’ve got my boat. The Jet Ski. I have some projects to do around here for John. And I’m building a tree house.”
“A tree house? Do you have children?” Nan asks.
Charlie shakes his head. “My brother and sister-in-law are expecting their first in October, two days before my birthday.” His voice has gone soft. “I’m throwing them a big party next month. My take on a baby shower. The tree house is my gift.” His voice catches, and he blinks, caught off guard by his emotions.
I jump in quickly, trying to ease what’s just come up for him. “What newborn baby doesn’t love climbing ladders?”
“Alice,” Nan chides. “It’s a nice thought.”
But Charlie looks at me, like I somehow knew he would, eyes glimmering as if he’s ready to play. “I thought I’d stick a bassinet inside, so the baby doesn’t disturb my sleep. I might need some help getting it up there, though. You game?”
“I’m in. We should add a rocking chair, too. That way your brother and sister-in-law will be comfortable.”
