Her Best Bet

by Pamela Ford

  He gazed out the window a moment longer, then reached for the case and opened it quickly, as though afraid he might not do it if he took too long. He cradled the black Nikon D3 digital camera in both hands and thought back to the day he’d plunked down the money to buy it. At the time, it had felt like a small fortune.

  He let the camera slide into position in his palm, comfortably fitting like a piece of clothing you try on years later and are pleasantly surprised to discover still fits. He took off the lens cap and peered through the viewfinder, framing his desk, Bob Marley, his duffel bag in the corner. The world used to change for him when he saw it through the camera. Disappointment coursed through him. Now it looked no different.

  He started to put the camera away, then stopped. What was he doing? With the resort all but out of reach, shooting pictures was his only means of making a living. Even if the view through the lens was no longer magic, it was all he had.

  He wrapped his fingers around the camera that had once meant everything to him and went downstairs and out the side door. Already the day was warm, and high in the branches, the birds chatted and twittered. As Gib cut across the front yard, Rascal roused himself from his sunny spot and fell into step beside him. Gib patted his head. “Don’t want to miss anything, huh, boy?” The dog wagged his tail and followed Gib down to the beach. The blue fishing boat was tied up to the pier where he’d left it yesterday, but he didn’t feel like going out on the lake today. Didn’t want to be out there and remember what it had been like kissing Izzy.

  He went to the end of the dock and sat down on the bench overlooking the water. Five minutes later, his brother scooted in next to him. “Hey. Saw you sneak out the door. Trying to get out of doing work?”

  “Yeah. I learned it from you.”

  Matt pointed at the camera. “You shooting pictures?”

  “Thinking about it.”

  Matt didn’t say anything for several seconds. “Is it hard?”

  Gib nodded.

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Nope. My demons to conquer. I know why I can’t, but even the knowing doesn’t seem to help. It’s like…me shooting pictures again means I’ve moved on and those guys died for nothing. Like their lives are forgotten.”

  A fish jumped nearby and he watched the ripples in the water, the only sign it had been there at all.

  “You’re allowed to move on, you know.”

  Gib turned the camera over in his hands. “That’s what Izzy said. We were talking about the meaning of life. She says it’s just…you do the best you can.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Yeah. Except three guys died because I had to do the best I could. Had to get the right picture so I kept everyone out—”

  “Don’t be stupid. That’s not what she means. Did you do the best you could to save them?”

  “Yeah. But it didn’t help.”

  “What did she say about that?”

  Gib pictured Izzy’s shining face when she’d told him her meaning of life, the day they’d made love in the woods. “You do the best you can at the time. Sometimes the best you can do is only fifty percent, or eighty percent…”

  “Maybe you should listen to her.”

  Two young boys came onto the beach, screwing around, wrestling with each other and laughing. “There’s my sailing lesson,” Matt said. “Catch ya later.”

  Gib watched Matt and the kids hoist the sail, the white fabric flapping in the soft breeze. You do the best you can at the time. Maybe Matt was right; he should listen to Izzy. He turned the Nikon on, took off the lens cap and raised the camera to his eye, focusing on two tiny sparrows on a tree branch. His finger hovered over the shutter button for a moment, then he pressed down and stored the shot in memory. He’d done the best he could. He aimed the camera at a clump of birch trees on the shore, framed the shot and took another photo. Standing, he shouted to Matt. All three guys beside the sailboat grinned and he pressed the shutter button to save the image forever.

  It was coming back. He was beginning to see beauty again through the lens—not just things, but life and lines and angles and soft edges and composition. He focused on the boathouse, rotated the camera sideways, fiddled with the lighting, then pressed the button and locked in the picture.

  A familiar thrill rushed through him, and the fingers of his left hand curled into a fist of triumph. With Rascal at his heels, he trotted down the dock and up to the lodge, stopping to shoot a picture of his grandmother taking out the garbage.

  “What are you doing?” She smoothed her hair back.

  He shot another picture. “The best I can.”

  “Well, we could use a little of your best in the kitchen right now.”

  “On my way.” He took the steps to the veranda two at a time, pausing at the top to zoom in for a close-up shot of the lake. As he went into the lodge, it dawned on him—only one thing would make this moment better. The woman who made it possible.

  Izzy.

  How could he forgive himself and not her?

  SATURDAY MORNING, IZZY PULLED her car to a stop in front of the main lodge and sat there a moment without getting out. She’d timed her arrival so the breakfast dishes would be finished and there would be hours before dinner had to be started. Even with that, she was suddenly beset by doubts. What if they’d already signed an agreement with the developer? What if Gib was still furious with her? What if he hated her? She twisted the rearview mirror to check her appearance and contemplated driving away.

  You didn’t come here to turn around and go home, she told herself sternly. She bent the mirror back into position, grabbed the manila folder off the front seat and opened the door. Rascal wandered off the porch to greet her, and she stopped to run a trembling hand down his back. “Hey, boy, good to see you again, too. Where’s your boss?”

  Heart pounding like a woodpecker on an oak tree, she crossed the gravel drive and took the steps to the porch. The door burst open before she got there and Gib’s grandmother stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

  Even Catherine didn’t know what to say to her.

  Izzy swallowed hard. “Hi. Is, ah, Gib around?”

  A smile softened the surprise on the older woman’s face. “He took a load of wood down to the fire pit. Getting ready for the Saturday night welcome cookout. Go on down there and find him.” She hesitated. “It’s nice to see you again, Izzy.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” she said, encouraged at the friendliness in Catherine’s welcome. Neither moved, as if each knew there was something more to say. Izzy clenched her fingers nervously. “I’m sorry for all the—”

  “No. No harm.” Catherine waved a hand at the dog. “Go find Gib,” she told him.

  Rascal loped across the yard.

  “Thanks,” Izzy said, “for everything.” She followed the dog to the hill leading to the beach and stopped there to watch Rascal nuzzle up to Gib. A light wind blew off the lake, brushed her bare arms and mussed her hair. Rascal began to playfully dig in the sand, shooting it out in every direction until Gib was yelling at him to stop, the kids on the beach were running for cover, and even the Steinmetzes in their usual spot in the shade were holding up their hands to protect their faces.

  It felt so good to be back.

  As Gib bent to scratch Rascal’s ears, she wondered what he would say about her proposal to become partners. What would he say about her?

  She took the path down the hill, smiling as Rascal left Gib to amble in her direction. Gib watched him for a few seconds, then reached into the golf cart and brought out a black camera, long lens on the front, and aimed it at the dog. Joy surged through her; he was shooting pictures again. Maybe some of Shelly’s good karma was coming her way and everything would be all right after all.

  She knew the moment he spotted her; he pulled the camera away from his eyes and stared. Then his obvious shock gave way to a smile. Her heart warmed. “Hi,” she called.

  “Hello,” he said when she got closer.

  A
n awkward silence hung between them. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to begin. She clutched the manila folder, suddenly feeling extremely presumptuous.

  “Izzy, hello,” Mrs. Steinmetz called. “Tell Shelly that Melvin and I are bonding with nature every morning like she taught us.”

  “She’ll be thrilled.” She gestured at the camera in Gib’s hand. “You’re taking pictures again.”

  “Yeah, thought I’d preserve this place on film. Decided that once we’re gone, we’ll want more than just memories and twenty-year-old photos.”

  “Once you’re gone?” Panic made her heart pound. “Have you already partnered with that developer? Sold him the resort?”

  “No, but we have an attorney reviewing the proposed contract. Only a matter of time.”

  “I don’t want you to have to leave here.” Her words came out sounding childish and naive.

  “That’s nice of you to say, but we don’t have a lot of choice. Money being tight, and all.” He shrugged. “Not that I’m passing judgment. It’s your parents’ land, they can sell whenever they want.” He started up the path and she followed him, afraid that this was his subtle way of getting her back to her car and sending her home.

  “You have that movie finished yet?” he asked over his shoulder. “I want to be able to say I knew her when.”

  “No, but we’re working on it. Shelly’s still gung ho, but I’ve lost some enthusiasm.”

  He stopped to face her, incredulous.

  “I had an epiphany of sorts,” she explained. “I discovered I was chasing down big-time moviemaking for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well…” All her practiced replies suddenly felt totally lame. They reached the top of the hill, and she bent to pick up a stone and roll it in the palm of her hand. “I was making that movie so I could go back to my high school reunion having accomplished my dreams. But dreams change. And I realized what I wanted then isn’t what I want now.”

  When he didn’t reply, Izzy pushed forward, her stomach a jumbled mass of nerves. “That’s why I’m here. To let you know my parents have decided not to sell the land.”

  He flinched, almost as if he’d been hit. “What?”

  She looked at those gray eyes of his, at that mouth she’d kissed, and she wished he would take her into his arms and tell her he’d missed her these past few days. “I wanted to make sure you knew before you signed an agreement with that developer and ended up with a business partner you didn’t need.”

  “Why aren’t they selling?” He went past her car up to the porch.

  “You almost sound disappointed.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. The only way my grandparents can afford to retire is by selling the resort. If the land isn’t for sale, that developer won’t want to buy the buildings. My grandparents will be stuck here.” He dropped down onto one of the Adirondack chairs. “For their sake, Izzy, I wish your parents would sell.”

  “They can’t.” She held up the manila folder and realized she was trembling again. “Because…I own the land now. After staying here for ten days, I came to some realizations about myself and my life. I don’t want to see a big development on this property. I don’t want to see White Bear Lodge disappear. So I convinced my parents—”

  “You own the land?” he asked incredulously.

  “Bought it for a dollar. My folks don’t need the money. They also think I’m crazy—Northwoods rustic isn’t their thing. But I think they’ve finally realized it’s okay if I want something different than they do.”

  “So, what do you want?” He met her gaze and her courage wavered.

  “I know your grandparents and brother want to leave,” she said softly. “And I know you want to stay. Or, at least, you said you wanted to stay. So what I want is…The thing is, if I keep the land and you keep the resort, I thought…I mean, if you’re interested, there’s an option…We could be…partners.”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “Maybe,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t have to live here permanently…. I have an idea for your corporate team-building programs. You’re going to need someone to videotape group-dynamic things like role-playing and problem solving and…I could do that. I know my way around a camera and I like doing it.”

  At his lack of response, mortification cascaded through her. Obviously, he didn’t know how to tell her that while he might want to keep the resort, he didn’t want any part of her. She swallowed down the lump of embarrassment and disappointment that welled up in her throat.

  “It’s not that simple,” he finally said. “For us, for my grandparents, it would be better if you just sold the land. I’d love to consider your offer, but I don’t have a choice—”

  “Of course you do!” His grandmother’s voice floated through the screen door seconds before she pushed it open. “I couldn’t help overhearing and it sounds awfully good, Gib.”

  “Stooping to eavesdropping now, Gram?”

  “I was on my way outside. Gib, she might be on to something. You should consider it.” Catherine wiped her hands on the dishcloth she was holding.

  “If I do, you’ll never get to Arizona. I won’t do that to you.”

  She took the chair next to him. “I have a confession to make. I never really wanted to go to Arizona.”

  Gib’s eyes widened. “You don’t want to retire?”

  “Well, now, that’s a little different. I’d like to cut back on the workload, that’s for sure. But I never wanted to leave here. I love this place. It’s been home ever since your grandfather and I married. I can’t picture living somewhere else.”

  “Then why’d you bring up Arizona?”

  She clasped her hands together in her lap and let out a sigh. “Because it was killing your grandfather that we were going to lose the resort. And I figured, rightly, that if he thought I wanted out, it would take away some of the hurt.”

  “But you won’t have any retirement money.”

  “I’ve put a little aside for a rainy day. We’ve got a bit of money—not a lot. But something. Your grandfather doesn’t know a thing about it.”

  Gib looked between his grandmother and Izzy. “Let me repeat this to be sure I have it right. If I keep the resort, you’d be all right with retiring here?”

  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Well, hell.” Gib let out a laugh. “We may have something to discuss, after all. Ladies, let’s go find Matt and Grampa.”

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, with all of them gathered in the living room, Izzy explained her proposal.

  “What about your documentary?” Matt asked.

  “We’re going to finish it in the next couple of weeks. Then we’ll send it in and hope for the best. No matter what happens, it won’t change what I want—to be here.”

  Gib couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Does anyone have a problem with me going into partnership with the owner of the land?”

  “Be my guest.” Matt tossed a throw pillow at his brother. “I think you’re both nuts. Be honest—have you really considered what you’re taking on here?”

  Gib looked at Izzy and nodded.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Because,” Matt continued, “without honesty you have nothing. Honesty, you know, is the first chapter in the book of wisdom.”

  Gib squinted at his brother, dumbfounded. “What?”

  “Thomas Jefferson.”

  “He’s right. Honesty is the best policy,” his grandfather added.

  Gib made a choking noise. “You know, I’m probably the most honest person here. Matt—”

  “I’m honest,” his brother said.

  “Yeah? You lined up a job in Montana, planned to take off this winter and not even tell anyone in advance.” Gib placed his attention squarely on his grandfather. “And you. Grampa, you’ve been running that penny-ante sports betting thing as long as I can remember.”

  “Ohmigosh, is that
what’s going on around here?” Izzy burst out.

  Pete let his head fall back against his chair. “I gave that up ten years ago. Gib just refuses to believe it.”

  “I’ll believe it once you explain what those business meetings you’ve been having lately are all about.”

  “I might as well show you.” His grandfather left the room, returning a minute later with a large flat package wrapped in brown paper. “Your grandma and I are coming up on being married forty-eight years. So…” He handed Catherine the package and her eyes teared even before she opened it.

  “Peter.” She took off the paper deliberately, then held up a painting of the lodge, years ago, a young couple standing arm in arm on the front steps.

  “I had this done from an old photo,” Pete said.

  Catherine reached up to cup his cheek with her hand and give him a kiss. “It was the night we got engaged.”

  Pete sat in the recliner again. “That man who showed up at the cookout? He did the painting. And Butch took care of the framing for me. Sorry about all that…misleading information. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “You succeeded,” Gib said. “I guess I owe you an apology.” He gestured across the room. “Who would have guessed one family could have all this duplicity? We really need to stop it.” He looked at his grandmother. “That means you, too, with that secret savings account—”

  “What secret savings account?” Pete sat up straight and turned to his wife.

  She opened her eyes wide, as though surprised by the question. “It’s our retirement fund.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “I, ah, paid myself first—like the experts tell you to do. We won’t be able to retire in style, but it’s something. I never told you about it because I knew you’d want to spend it on the resort. And we needed to be prepared for a rainy day or old age, whichever came first.”