An Unfinished Story(51)
“A beautiful afternoon to you, Claire!” No one on earth could pull off such a skimpy affair, but Kenny tried and did so with pride. He always hiked it up high, revealing way more of his bottom than anyone would want to see. And he didn’t care one bit. He’d happily jump into a photo if you asked him.
Claire was searching for a more interesting subject for her first day back. Halfway to the water, she sat in the soft, dry sand. She wasn’t one to shoot a million pictures like many in the digital age. She liked to frame and prep each shot. Only after studying the light and its effects on the subject would she adjust her lens and go in. Maybe, like David, who used handwriting in the digital age, she was an old soul still clinging to her canister of film and her old Nikon that she’d used and abused in college.
Claire put her eye to the viewfinder and moved the camera along the water, exploring the shades of blue. Other than a school of fish dancing on the surface a few yards out, the Gulf was as still as a lake. She saw a pelican flying toward her from the horizon. With very little time to react, she adjusted the aperture, cranked up the shutter speed, and backed off on the zoom. Then she lay on her back in the sand and waited for him.
With a final glance for confirmation, she verified he was still coming her way. The moment the bird came into view, she pressed the shutter button. His wings were spread wide, and he was gliding thirty feet above her. The camera clicked away with a burst of four shots, the most she ever took at one time. “Thank you, Mr. Pelican.”
She sat up, removed her glasses, shook the sand from her hair, and looked at the images. The first two were blurry, but then she found the one she liked. The bird was perfect, so utterly magical as he slid across the sky, not a care in the world. “Do you know how good you have it, Mr. Bird?”
She dug her feet deeper into the sand. It’s good to be back, she thought, looking at the photos, reminding herself how much she used to love being out here. She stood and walked down to the water, one hand holding her camera. She noticed a dolphin riding the horizon but knew it wouldn’t be a good shot. Something about dolphins—it was tough to capture their grace on film, at least without the advantage of a boat’s closer proximity. She strolled south, revisiting those halcyon summer days when she and David had met here and shared the clumsy and ravenous kisses of first loves. These were memories to be cherished, not to be torn apart by.
She paused to shoot a few seashells and then stopped when she saw a log in the water, pushing onto the shore. In her years on the Gulf, she’d never seen such a big log wash up. Such an occurrence might happen much more often on the East Coast because of the crashing waves and strong current, but the calm waters of the Gulf rarely brought in anything larger than small pieces of driftwood, many of which she’d collected to decorate her bungalow. Thinking there might be a good shot there, she walked up to the log and readied her camera.
Her mouth dropped. It wasn’t a log.
A manatee was hovering in several feet of water, his prickly whiskers, squishy eyes, and broad nostrils poking through the surface. She gasped with joy. She’d never seen a manatee on the beach side. They typically favored the inland waterways, but the water was so calm today he must have felt like exploring. He was a giant ten-foot-long puppy dog, and perhaps the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. He had to be close to a thousand pounds.
Claire didn’t want to scare him away, so she slowed and knelt. She silently lifted her camera and adjusted the settings. “Can I take a few pictures of you, my friend?” she whispered. Knowing he might be timid, she fired off a few early shots before he sneaked away. Then she inched closer, moving quietly.
He didn’t budge.
Claire couldn’t believe how big and beautiful he was, the cow of the sea. So gentle and innocent. If she could have, she would have sunk fully into the water and wrapped her arms around him.
Only a few feet away, she took more shots. He had the look of a hound dog, with a giant snout, and she could see his entire body. He noticed her and backed up several inches.
She captured another shot and then quietly dropped her knees into the water, her kneecaps grinding into the sand. She didn’t like the view from up high; she wanted to be lower down.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Please don’t go.”
As if he understood her, he paused and let her take more shots. She moved in closer, her lens hovering over the water. She could barely believe what was happening.
Moving even closer, she reached out to the big brownish-gray sea potato. “Can I touch you?”
Her arm scared him (for some reason, she was sure the manatee was male), and he moved backward.
She could tell he was leaving. Holding the camera high, she stood and watched as the manatee backed up into the small surf, took a wide turn, and disappeared.
Claire stood there watching the water, the awe of the experience filling her up. She remembered why she’d connected with the ocean in the first place. Was this vision of a manatee a sign of some sort? She remembered a time when she loved being alive. There was a time when she woke desperate to jump out of bed. She told herself to remember this feeling and know that all she had to do was be receptive.
The Gulf of Mexico would do the rest.
Chapter 20
HE’S ON FIRE
The day after she encountered the manatee, Claire enjoyed the kind of day at work that reminded her of her good fortune. It felt good to give back, to have established a place where people could start their morning with delicious food and conversation among friends and loved ones, a place where teens could congregate at the beach without getting drunk and stoned. And as she said goodbye to her employees, she could tell they felt the same way, that there was purpose to be found in working there.