Stella looked at the ridge across from her.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”
“I know.”
“She gave Bea something amazing. She remembered Bea sitting at the foot of her bed at six years old. She just doesn’t do that for everyone.”
The line was silent.
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything.”
“I did, actually. Sixteen years of something.”
Stella pulled her jacket tighter against the morning cold. “That’s different.”
“Is it?”
She thought about it, sitting on the rock with the light going gold below her. “Yeah. It is. You didn’t know I existed for two years and then you showed up and you’ve been showing up every day since. Sam knew I was coming and she didn’t introduce me at all.”
“She didn’t even say your name?”
“She didn’t even say my name, Dad.”
Tyler made a sound that wasn’t a word.
“I’m okay,” Stella said. “I really am. This is Bea’s trip. I came because I wanted to and I’m glad I came.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah. Because now I know.” She picked up her camera and looked through the viewfinder at the light, the gold going white at the edges. “And knowing is better than wondering.”
“That’s very Australian of you.”
“It’s just true, Dad.”
He laughed—she could hear his ears going pink from the next state over.
“Text me tonight,” he said.
“I will.”
“And Stella?”
“Yeah?”
“Your photos are good. They’re better than good. And she should have lit up.”
Stella stood up and brushed the red dirt off her jeans.
She held the phone against her ear and didn’t say anything for a second because her throat had decided to do something she hadn’t authorized.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Go take pictures.”
“Going.”
She hung up and sat on the rock for another few minutes. The light had moved past gold into the flat bright morning that would last until afternoon. She raised the camera and took three frames—the last of the color, the shadow line, the wide open space between the walls where the light poured through.
