A Walk Along the Beach(23)
More and more, I was learning what it meant when Sean said he was a freelance photographer.
“Thus far, my assignments pay the bills, but there’s a lot of hustle that goes along with this career. The thing I’ve learned is that when I do what I enjoy, then the money will follow. It didn’t come easy. It involved a lot of sweat equity, but there’s nothing else I’d rather do.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “In the early days, I’d stand on the sidewalk in front of Bean There and hand out samples of my drinks and home-baked goods to any poor unsuspecting soul who happened to walk by.”
“It takes effort and ingenuity to build a business. Good for you.”
It was certainly stepping outside my comfort zone, but I didn’t mention that. “Success came slowly and involved a lot of sleepless nights, but looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Briefly taking his eyes off the road, Sean smiled. “Me, neither.”
The five hours it took for us to arrive in Toppenish flew by. Normally I’m an introvert, quiet and reserved. Sean had a way of drawing me into conversation. We talked in spurts. The silence was relaxed and comfortable. I learned more about his family and shared stories of my own. I told him about losing our mother and how our father had struggled in the aftermath of her death. His sympathetic look told me he had read between the lines and understood Dad’s struggle with alcoholism.
When we arrived in Toppenish, we ate lunch in an authentic Mexican place that seemed to be doing a robust business. The building looked like it was weeks from being condemned, but the parking lot was full. The food was a different story. We ate like kings and queens. Bandit was tethered to the table where we ate al fresco. Bandit lapped down an entire bowl of water and the dry dog food Sean brought along.
It was at the restaurant that I learned Sean spoke fluent Spanish. The man was full of surprises. On the server’s recommendation, I ordered a tamale with asparagus and it was oh, so good. Sean had chicken enchiladas. The salsa was spicy and delicious.
As we sat in the sunshine, I couldn’t help but notice the painted murals that covered the sides of every building in town for as far as I could see.
“There are seventy-five here,” Sean explained between bites of his enchiladas. He gave me a brief history of how they had come into being. What I found fascinating was that the town had decided to paint murals in a day, involving a dozen or more artists until they had completed all seventy-five with historical themes, a reminder of the history of the community.
As soon as we were done with our food, Sean retrieved his cameras from the car. I held on to Bandit’s leash while Sean and I walked around town. He took one photo after another, paying attention to the light and shadowing. Several times I noticed that he slyly added pictures of me and Bandit.
“Sean,” I complained, uncomfortable to be the object of his pictures.
“What?” he asked, and barked with laughter. “Why shouldn’t I take photos of my dog?”
“Very funny.”
“And a beautiful woman.” His eyes held the same dark intensity they had earlier.
Two hours later, when Sean had taken no less than three to five hundred photos, we headed out of town and back to Oceanside.
The afternoon grew warm and we stopped in Ellensburg for a break. We each got ice-cream cones with two scoops and a small bowl of vanilla ice cream for Bandit. Sitting in the shade of a park close to the Central Washington University campus, we licked away at the melting goodness. I paused long enough to mention how delicious it was and gestured with my arm, stretching it out. Seeing an opportunity, Bandit immediately snatched the cone out of my hand and gobbled it down, looking pleased with himself.
“Bandit,” Sean chastised. “Bad dog.”
Sean might not think it was funny, but I did and burst into giggles. “I should have known better, especially when I know how he got his name.”
At Sean’s gruff voice, Bandit lowered his head and placed his chin atop my thigh, as if to apologize.
“It’s all right; I forgive you,” I assured him, and petted him until it was time for us to go.
With his head down, Bandit returned to where Sean had parked the vehicle. “You need to reassure him he’s forgiven,” I urged Sean. Seeing how distressed the poor dog was tore at my heart.
“You’re forgiven,” Sean repeated, and patted his head.
Bandit looked up with deep, dark eyes and crawled into his spot in the backseat.
“He has abandonment issues,” Sean said. “Leaving him behind for this trip to Bolivia concerns me. I wanted to wait to adopt him until after I returned, but Preston talked me out of it.”
“Preston is all about finding good homes for all the animals he rescues. Harper has a heart for animals, too, hence Snowball.” While Harper had given me every assurance that she intended to take care of the kitten, it seemed Snowball had glommed on to me. The tiny cat insisted on sleeping on my bed and seemed to follow me around, despite Harper’s efforts to prove ownership. While I hated to admit it, I rather enjoyed having a kitten. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when she was full grown. Time would tell.
Just outside of Seattle, I must have fallen asleep. I hadn’t meant for that to happen. Dusk had come and gone. I found it harder and harder to hold back my yawns. At what point I’d closed my eyes and leaned my head against the passenger window, I couldn’t remember.