Page 35 of The Image of You

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Not too long for your taste?”

“I love the waves and how silky it feels.” She made another pass with her hand.

I smiled. “I love how it feels when you do that.”

I squeezed her close, and we sat silently for a moment, lost in memories. I enjoyed the gentle, repeated caresses of her fingers through my hair. Her touch soothed and relaxed me.

“What happened to you after your parents died?”

“I went to live with my uncle and his family.”

“Were they good to you?”

I let my head fall back with a long exhale of air. “They tried. Uncle Jack was my father’s brother. They were as different as night and day. Their life was the complete opposite of what I was used to. I was so out of my element. I had to stay in one place, attend school—I had a schedule like their other kids. I didn’t cope well, and I was angry. I was angry at my parents for dying. For leaving me alone. I was angry at my uncle for not being like my father. I hated everything and everyone.”

“What happened?”

“My uncle gave me my mother’s equipment and enrolled me in some photography classes. It was the lifeline I needed. I started working in a photography shop part time, and it helped settle me down. As long as I kept up my grades, my uncle gave me a lot of freedom. He knew I didn’t fit in, and he tried to make my life as easy as he could. I owe him a lot.”

“Do you still see them?”

“I left when I was seventeen. But I went on good terms. I visit on occasion, attend family weddings, that sort of thing. Every year, I send the entire family on a two-week vacation to the destination of their choice.” I grinned. “They like Florida. They go there a lot.”

“Not what your first choice would be?”

“Not in my top ten. But they love it, and they enjoy resorts. If it makes them happy, then I’m fine with it. They’re good people. Quiet, steady. They have their life, and I have mine. But I’m fond of them, and they did the best they could with me.”

“I guess you don’t use your mother’s cameras anymore?”

“I do on occasion. I like the old-school way at times. I have a place I can still get film, and I use the closet over there—” I indicated the door with a tilt of my head “—as a darkroom, and I develop the images myself, but I don’t do it a lot.”

“You have a lot of equipment.” She ran a finger over one of the large monitors on the desk.

“I do all my own work. I don’t trust others with my images, unless I have to send the files back in a hurry.”

“Smart and talented. The more I get to know you, the more you amaze me.”

“You amaze me, Nightingale. I just told you more about myself than I have ever told anyone. I never talk about my past.”

“You never sit around after a day of chasing storms and spill your guts?”

I snickered at her words. “No, we’re usually too tired after braiding each other’s hair.”

She chuckled, then became serious. “I’m glad you feel you can. You can talk to me about anything.”

I kissed her hard. “Good. Tell me more about you.”

“What about me?’

“Tell me your hopes. Your fears. Your secrets,” I added, lifting her hand to my mouth and kissing it.

“I hope to be a good nurse. I hate thunderstorms and spiders. I’m terrified of snakes. I love chocolate, and I keep some in my purse all the time. My locker at work too.”

“More,” I said.