“But you were gone for a lot longer than two seconds.”
He takes a sip of bubbly and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “On my way back, I ran into Dan Combs.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, boy.”
“No, it was fine. Not what I wanted to hear, but it’s something to consider. He suggested ways I could make money from my nature photos. But it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said I should look into diversifying my skills to land partnerships for camp sites or national parks with my landscape photography. Or maybe look into content creation.”
“Content creation? Like, for social media? But you don’t even use social media.”
He laughs. “I know, right? I told him as much. For the last two years, he said the content I’ve sent him impacts audiences on social media and YouTube travel blogs, but not in mainstream magazines or ads. He also said that my photos lend themselvesto storytelling and won’t work for the bigger clients I’ve had. I already knew that. I have no desire to work in mainstream media anymore.”
“Content creation,” I repeat. I’m dumbfounded that this Mr. Combs man would reduce Adam and his amazing talent to an Instagram post.
“Exactly. I’d simply be a creator, producing and posting my own content online. Maybe even land a sponsorship or something. He basically said that if I want to stay in mainstream media, I’d need to somehow incorporate high fashion into it. I have no desire to go that route again, especially if it means moving back to California. We kind of left it up in the air. He was apologetic and didn’t want to take up any more of my time here at the wedding, talking business. I’ll keep in touch with him just in case he runs across any clients looking for photos of majestic mountains or small-town creeks.” His quiet chuckle is unconvincing.
I’m speechless, reeling at Adam’s extraordinary talent reduced to unseen social media posts. Tightness clamps my chest. He’s too talented for that. What if he reconsiders and decides he needs to move back to California for work? My stomach twists with dread as I frown.
“Keri? I know what you’re thinking.”
“You do?”
He nods and cups my cheek. “You think I’m going to leave you in Heartsboro.”
“It sure sounds like it.”
“Nope. Not in a million years.”
“But even if you run with Dan’s idea, you’d still have to travel and go on more road trips to get your nature shots. Heartsboro is charming and all, but there’s only so many photos you can take of one place.”
He shakes his head, his entire face changing when he smiles at me. “You don’t get it, Keri. I wouldn’t have to leave you. Because you’d be coming with me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Adam
I’m absolutely stunned by the dramatically transformed landscape. What was once a dense, shaded forest journey on the hike to Feather Falls now reveals a stark, recovering ecosystem since the devastating fires that swept through this area two years ago. Despite the destruction, I’m happy to see that the Forest Service has completed trail restoration with rebuilt bridges and new observation platforms for visitors. Still, it’s another gut-punch to my soul.
A film reel of my past plays in my mind. I hike deliberately, focused on my breath and holding back emotion. The last time I walked this trail was just before Evie’s eighth birthday. Mia wanted me to take our daughter to see the waterfall while she decorated the house and baked a cake.
I remember packing a picnic and plenty of water, grateful for the shade of the Plumas National Forest. I also remember Evie’s many questions.
“Daddy, how tall is the waterfall?”
“It’s six hundred and eighty feet, sweetheart.”
“Can people jump in, like a high dive at a swimming pool?”
“No, baby. It’s very dangerous this high up the mountain. That’s why they have safety fencing at all the viewpoints, to remind people to stay back from the edge.”
“Hmmm. Daddy?”
“Yes, pumpkin.”
“Do fish jump off the waterfall, or do they know to turn around before it’s too late?”
