A Discovery of Hope (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 3)
Page 5
He takes it with a friendly shake. “JP Thorton.” A smile plays around the corners of his mouth but he doesn’t allow it appear.
“I’m your summer intern,” I blurt. With this statement the man’s whisper of a smile is replaced by a deep frown and his blond eyebrows pinch together in confusion. This makes me uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You must be mistaken.” He finally releases my hand and takes a step back.
I hurry over to my bags and pull out the paperwork I received in the mail that confirms the internship. I walk back over to him and he takes the papers apprehensively.
“Savannah Monroe selected me and sent this paperwork to give you.” I point to her signature.
“I’m going to kill her,” he mutters as he storms away from me. I follow as I watch him head into what I’m guessing is his office.
Before I can decide to enter or flee, Hope appears in front of me and I have to refrain from yelping out loud.
“Oh, so now you decide to show up?” I whisper. All she does is smile her knowing smile. “Where have you been?”
“I’m with you always, my child.” She scoots out of the way and stands beside me.
I peek around the door and watch as the guy hits a button on the phone sitting on his massive desk. Most of the top surface is dominated by a huge monitor. I’ve seen those types of monitors in the photo lab at school. It’s quite impressive, and the man standing before it is downright overwhelming on so many levels. Feeling uncomfortable, I ease back away from the door and decide it’s probably best to wait out of sight.
As I stand here fiddling with the skirt of my dress, the sound of another button being jabbed angrily reaches my ears, followed by the trilling noise of the phone impatiently ringing.
Three rings later, a warm southern female voice, sounding vaguely familiar, answers. “Hey, John Paul.”
“I’m going to kill you!” he growls.
“Now, that’s just being a bit too dramatic, don’t you think? Last time you said that to me, I do believe I had just singlehandedly launched your career.”
“This is different.”
“Why do you want to kill me this time?” She asks this in an almost bored voice.
“Don’t play dumb. You know why!”
I keep standing here as I listen to them go back and forth as to why or why not he is in need of an intern. “I think this is a bad idea,” I whisper to Hope. I start to back away.
“No. You are right where you are supposed to be.”
I look over at her. “Just how are you so sure?”
In a swift blink, the air glitters with her beautiful iridescent wings, and man do I wish those lovelies would be photogenic. As they undulate in the air, Hope places her hands on her hips and gives me a knowing look.
“Point made,” I whisper. The wings disappear as quickly as they had appeared, so I decide to keep listening.
The woman’s voice fills the space. “God’s blessed you with this amazing gift. Now it’s time for you to give back, sir.”
“I do give back,” he yells. “I put up with Duke!”
“That’s different. He’s family.”
I look over at Hope. “They know Duke?”
She just gives me her knowing smile. I’m beginning to realize nothing has happened since I met this angel without reason.
Savannah continues, “Duke helped me pick her out.”
“Well… You and Duke can kiss my—”
She interrupts him midsentence. “Don’t you dare spit that vile word out, John Paul!” She says his name like a curse word and I have to refrain from laughing. The back and forth bickering between the two is quite amusing.
Hope is laughing loudly as I want to do myself. “Siblings are something else.” She’s making it hard for me not to laugh, too. Well, the two of them being sister and brother explains a lot.
“We picked a very talented intern. She will be a lot of help. Be nice and teach her something,” Savannah instructs.
“Fine,” he yells at her.
She’s going off on him about the unnecessary yelling and how he needs to work on his manners when I hear him lift the phone and slam it back down to end the call. JP comes storming out of his office and almost plows right into me.
“Oh,” he says. His face is high in color and it’s clear how much this has aggravated him. He also looks a bit embarrassed at finding me listening.
“Maybe next time you should close the door and perhaps opt to not use speakerphone,” I suggest with a smile, trying to ease the tension.
JP seems to be in no mood to play along. Maybe he’s not a joking kind of guy. He sidesteps around me and heads to the front door. He holds it open for what I’m guessing he intends to be my exit. I walk over but don’t leave.
“I have a private showing to prepare for. Come back on Monday and we’ll figure this crap out.”
I look over at my abandoned bags and have no desire to lug them all back to the SUV. “But… The internship includes a room for the summer,” I mutter with uneasiness. This guy’s sister has totally left him in the dark. I would want to kill her, too.
Tension washes over him as he aggressively runs his hand through his unruly light blond hair. He takes a deep breath and forces a smile—only making me more uncomfortable.
“I guess that explains why Miss Busy Breeches all of a sudden got a wild hair to fix up the extra room.” He notices my bags and scoops them up. “Come on and let me show you to your room, ma’am,” he says with no politeness.
I follow him upstairs cautiously. He points to a door on the left. “This is my room.” He then points to the end of the hall. “That’s the bathroom I guess we get to share. Savannah was here cleaning up a storm yesterday, so lucky you, it’s presentable. And this room to the right is your room.” He opens the door and ushers me in.
I take in the quaint space, finding it surprisingly roomy. It is big enough to hold a queen-sized bed as well as a small seating area with a loveseat and rocking chair. On the right wall, a small kitchenette is set up with a good-sized dorm fridge and a microwave. A small counter holds a nice Keurig coffee maker and a rack stocked with gourmet brew cups in all sorts of flavors—very hospitable.
JP sets my bags near the bed. “Make yourself at home.” He then heads out the door, but pops his head back in. “What’s your name again?”
“Willow Carter,” I repeat in defeat.
He nods his head and disappears. I walk over and close the door before going over to the loveseat and sitting down with a disappointed plop. I feel close to tears at being unwelcomed as I smooth the skirt of my dark fuchsia sundress. I guess I got dressed up for nothing.
Hope appears beside me and holds my hand. “It’s all going to be just fine.”
“It doesn’t feel fine at all.”
“You just need to have a little faith, my friend.” She pats me on my knee. “Welcome to Palmetto Photography Gallery.”
With this, I let the tears spill. What an overwhelming life I have had recently.
An hour passes before I work up enough ease to unpack my clothes. I swap the dress for my baggy jeans and a boho blouse. I decide to keep my toiletries in my room and just bring them back and forth when I need them. I’ve never shared a bathroom with anyone in all my almost twenty-one years of life, so I don’t know the etiquette of it. This will definitely take some getting used to—if I stay.
I check out the small fridge once I’m finished, hoping for at least a bottle of water. I’m surprised to find it nicely stocked with waters, juice, premade sandwiches, and small cups of fresh fruit. A small card rests on the top shelf between two bottles of water. I pull it out and read, Welcome to the gallery. Hope you have a great summer. Best wishes. It’s clearly a woman’s handwriting. How on earth did this guy not notice what his sister was up to? She did mention he travels a lot when we talked on the phone. Maybe he’s just getting back from a trip. I’m still uneasy as to why she didn’t get this approved by him first.
“Well… It’s still pretty rotten of her to just spring me on him like this.” I take a seat at the small dining table and try to get comfortable with this being my new home. I huff out a long sigh as I scan the space. I wonder if I’m going to regret wanting to be a grownup.
More time passes and I’m getting antsy, so I ease out of my room and think about heading downstairs. I hear voices from down below, so I peep over the small balcony and find JP and an older couple with their backs towards me, studying some large framed photos that are resting on wrought iron easels. The angle of the easels keeps the images just out of my view.
The woman is determined to have all three photos, claiming you cannot have an even grouping of art. I agree with her on this point. I rest on the top step and watch on.
“Then pick one,” the old man retorts. “That’s an odd number.” He glances over at JP and the two men chuckle. The lady places her hand firmly on her hip and glares over at her husband. Well, I’m assuming he is her husband. It’s clear they are a couple, at least. “Okay, okay. Let’s go to your office and settle the bill for all three, Mr. Thorton,” the man relents.
“Just call me JP.” He leads them to his office.
After I hear the door close, I scramble down the stairs to get a look at the photos. I stare in confusion at what I find. I’m not sure what I expected, but it was not photos of crypts. They are black-and-whites and are quite eerie. I can feel the grief the camera has captured so clearly. One tomb is what appears to be a grey and white marble in a mourning mausoleum. The one in the middle is old and looks to be crumbling in spots with a dreary outside scape. It’s very weathered and looks so tired. The one to the right of it is what looks to be just a plain cement block. No markings or adornment is evident as if its significance has been grossly overlooked. I give my head a scratch in confusion before heading back up the stairs to hide.
Moments later, they all three head back into the gallery with JP grabbing up two of the large photos and the man carrying the third one as the woman holds the door for them. I descend back to the bottom of the steps and wait for my new boss to come back.
JP comes back in and startles a bit when he spots me sitting here.
I point at myself. “Willow. Remember?”
“I remember,” he mumbles as he heads over to the easels. It sounds like he wishes he could forget.
He begins shuffling the hefty easels towards a back room. He has such an athletic physique with broad shoulders that taper to a lean waist and tanned, well-built arms. I tear my eyes away and absently wander around the gallery until he is finished putting the easels away.
My curiosity is getting the better of me, so I ask, “Why do you think anyone would want photos of crypts on their wall?”
JP comes back by me and locks up the front door. The sky is now a dark indigo.
“It’s really none of our business.” Ouch. “The clients commissioned me to photograph the selected subject of their choice and I delivered.”
He heads toward his office, but turns back around. “Art is subjective. If you are serious about a career in photography, then you need to understand that now.”
“Okay,” I mumble, feeling like a scolded schoolgirl. Embarrassed, I head back up the steps.
“Those crypts were of three holocaust survivors the couple are kin to,” he calls out.
I keep heading in the same direction, but say, “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” The photos take on a completely different meaning to me with this vital piece of information. Their story makes more sense to me now.
“Then you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to be all judgmental.” I’m pretty sure I wasn’t meant to hear his words, but I did.
My eyes sting and I’m wishing I had never stepped foot in this gallery. I would pack my bags and leave right now if the dark hadn’t already arrived, making a quick retreat home impossible. I close my door and find Hope standing beside me.
“He got you there.”
Humiliated and aggravated, I choose to pretend she’s not there and go to bed early with hopes of making tomorrow appear quicker so I can go home where I obviously belong.
Chapter Nine
Saturday shows up and finds me in a better, more positive mood. I set my alarm early, thinking I would pack and be gone before my cranky host woke up. Not even ten minutes after I turned my bedroom light on, he was knocking on my door to deliver fresh coffee and donuts. He even welcomed me in a more friendly tone before leaving me alone to eat. Maybe he felt guilty for being so harsh yesterday or whatever. By the time I finished my gift of breakfast, I decided to give it another shot.
The gallery has had a steady stream of visitors all day. Photos have been purchased for obscene amounts of money, and private shoots have been scheduled. Even though JP Thorton struts around casually in basic jeans, a button-down shirt and Converse sneakers, he is all business and really knows his stuff. Lots of people come in, speaking about visiting his other gallery in Bay Creek, and asking JP to design murals similar to the one on display there. The way they describe hundreds of shots of the same field with varying angles and weather circumstances, I’m itching to drive up and see it for myself.
I quietly shadow JP all day mainly because I don’t know what else to do. He gives no instruction. I know he said we would figure things out Monday, but I have no desire to waste any of my intern time. It’s not a bad way to spend the day, by the way. I get to admire the artwork-adorned on the rustic walls along with the visitors. Each photo is superb and unique. There’s just something exceptional about how he sees through the camera lens, and it clearly comes through in each shot. He has a distinct style and I seriously doubt it could be mimicked by another photographer.
I’m pretty overwhelmed from having the privilege of following this artist around for the entire summer, even if he’s not very happy to have me. As the day wears on, I feel a giddiness build over the prospect of learning from him.
JP locks the doors a little after five. I make myself useful and sweep the floors as he closes up. Music has filtered quietly through the gallery all day, but now it’s turned up and I find us listening to an alternative rock station. I continue to sweep as JP hurries back through and starts taking a section of photographs down.
“What are you doing?”
“I swap the photos out every other week,” he says over his shoulder.
“Why?”
“So it doesn’t get boring.” He turns with hands full of photos and begins heading to the back.
“I don’t see how one could ever get bored with the beauty you’ve captured in any of these shots.” I motion around the gallery in awe.
JP stops briefly to give me a curious look, before continuing on his way. To be sure, this guy has got to be used to receiving a compliment by now in his career. He didn’t seem so comfortable with it, though.
I finish sweeping and grab a duster I spot as I put the broom away. I stroll around and dust anything I come across even though there’s no dust in sight. JP makes quick work of replacing the empty spaces. Within an hour, he has transformed the entire gallery and I find myself wandering around in reverence all over again with a slack jaw.
Behind the stairs is an alcove. Earlier it was home to a vibrant rain forest of lush, brightly colored shots. As I walk in now, I feel as though I have entered a completely new space. Gone is the vibrancy of color, and in its place is a display of interesting black-and-white images. There are five photos grouped together with purpose. I shuffle over to the right and take my time inspecting each one, not wanting to rush the revealing of their story.
The first photo is just awe-inspiring. It is of a pregnant woman on a beach. The sun is behind her and all you can see is her silhouette. Her long hair is cascading all around in the breeze. It’s remarkable,
giving the illusion of her being bare to the world with how her image is shadowed. Upon closer inspection, I find faint lines of a bikini swimsuit in the outline of her body. She is very round with child and she has her hand resting on the edge of her belly protectively. I want to stay rooted in front of this one all day and try to decipher how JP was able to completely shadow her out. I eventually move to the next and find myself grinning at its sweetness.
This photo is of a newborn baby with his or her perfectly round bottom stuck in the air. The baby is snuggled in the shielding hands of who I’m guessing is the daddy. The hands look strong yet gentle with the fragile newborn. The baby rests peacefully on one of his own hands while the other clings to the daddy’s wedding-ringed finger. It’s the most precious photo I have ever seen. The background is completely black so all focus is on the baby as it should be. It is such a crisp photo, I feel as though I could reach out and pick the baby up right out of the daddy’s hands.
Again, I have to force myself to the next picture. This photo has the black background like the previous so all the focus is on the subject, a pair of male hands palms-side up. These hands are longer and a bit thicker than the set holding the baby. They are cupped together with one hand ever so slightly holding the other. The hands seem to beckon a closer look as though they are holding a secret. I automatically step closer for a better look, but see nothing hidden on the surface. The angle and the way the hands are holding each other in comfort makes me feel mournful. It’s like they are all the other has in the world. I study for a while longer before moving more to the left.
This photo replaces my melancholy mood with a more uplifting one. This is another beach shot where the sun shines so bright it shadows out the subjects once again. This black-and-white is softer in texture and feels warm although no color lends to it. The subjects this time are two boys, with one maybe a good bit older than the other. Both have dark shaggy hair with their bare backs to the camera. They each are holding a surfboard under the outer arm, and the older brother’s right arm is draped around the younger brother’s shoulder. The image conveys they are brothers—the older one looks down towards the younger one in devotion with the younger looking up admiringly to the older. More time passes than I realize as I finally move to the last photo.