She's Up to No Good(71)

“He is.”

Mrs. Gardner shook her head. “Never understood the fuss myself. But don’t you fret too much. Things have a way of working themselves out the way they’re supposed to. Give him some time to make something of himself, and your folks’ll come around yet.”

“I thought so too. But I’m not so sure now.”

“Then make them. Haven’t you ever heard that old expression? Easier to ask forgiveness than permission. You don’t strike me as the permission type anyway.”

Evelyn looked at this weathered woman, who knew more of her secrets than her family did without having ever exchanged more than a passing greeting. “You were married, weren’t you?”

“Near on forty years, before he died.”

“Is it worth it? If you have to give up your whole family?”

For the rest of her life, Evelyn would remember the kindness in Mrs. Gardner’s eyes as she replied. “That question doesn’t depend on the marriage—it depends on you, child. And I think you already know the answer. If you were going to run off, you wouldn’t be here.” She looked out toward the sea. “Give your pa time. He’s a good man. Proud, but they all are, men. If your young man is worthy, your daddy will see that. And your ma’ll fall in line.” She gestured with her walking stick. “Now come away from those rocks and walk an old woman home.”





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO





The lights were on, though a Closed sign hung in the door, the words Fonseca Photography stenciled on it. I tried the door, but it was locked, so I rapped lightly.

Joe came from the back, Jax bounding behind him, and unlocked it for me.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Jax nudged my hand with her head, and I scratched her ears, her tongue lolling happily. I inclined my head toward the Closed sign. “You’ve got to lock the door too?”

“People just wander in if the lights are on.”

“I kind of forgot you actually had like . . . a job.”

He grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. “To be fair, I don’t work a nine-to-five or anything. I have an assistant who runs the shop.”

“Give me the tour?”

“It’s not much of a tour.” He gestured around him. It was one large room with white walls and framed photos in a mix of black and white and color. Toward the back there was a rather austere table with several portfolios on it, and a couple of doors in the back corner.

“Is it all your work?”

“Right now it is. I do guest shows sometimes though.”

I began at the wall closest to us and moved around the room. There were a lot of local scenes that I recognized, including some of the castle. “I’m guessing you didn’t jump if you had your camera with you.”

“Nah. I went out with a boat that day. I didn’t want to worry about the tides or timing.”

“You have a boat?”

“A small one. Mostly for things like that.”

I shook my head slightly, examining the next picture, which was of the Gloucester fisherman statue, and pondering what a different world he lived in. I was sure there were schools and teachers and people here who lived similarly to how I did—or how I had before I moved back home. But I had never lived near the water or thought about a job where you could just hop in a boat and find something that looked appealing.

It wasn’t all scenery though. He had shots from weddings, including one of a flower girl pouting in her poufy dress that I couldn’t help but smile at, and several of Jax that emanated happiness. Then an older man, silhouetted against the water, and I knew before I looked at the title card that it was Tony. I studied him for a moment. “You look a little like him.”

“A little.” He shrugged. “We have the same nose. But so does everyone in our family.”

“At least it’s a nice nose.” I bit the inside of my cheek, but he didn’t say anything.

When we got closer to one of the two doors, he turned to me. “I wanted to ask you something. But it’s okay to say no. I won’t be weird about it.”

A nervous anticipation tingled in my stomach. This was where it was going to get weird. Saying that meant it would. Oh no. What was he about to ask?

“Okay.”

He led me through one of the doors into a workroom, with a large table covered in framing supplies in the center, a computer desk with two oversized monitors along one wall, and another table along the back wall with a massive printer and paper cutter.

The center of the worktable held a framed, poster-sized print, and as I walked closer, I recognized it as the picture of me in the woods. Everything in it was black and white, except for me. I looked up at him, confused.

“I wanted to display it—if you’re okay with that.” I stared at the image. The color contrast against the black and white made me look like a time traveler in my hiking clothes. But there was a sense that I belonged there too. When I didn’t reply, he kept talking. “If not, you can just have this one. If you want it. I mean, I can print another one for you, too, if you’re okay with me showing it.”

I was suddenly very aware of him standing just behind me, at my shoulder. We weren’t touching, but I could feel him there all the same, just like I could feel my chest rising and falling with the effort to keep breathing. I heard my grandmother’s words in my head, about a man not keeping a picture like that of someone unless he felt something for her.