by Munn, Vella
“There probably are.” Shut up. “Your folks—I ran into them about a month ago—said you’re doing a lot of photography these days.”
“Did they?” Staring at him as if to let him know she was aware that he’d deliberately changed the subject, she sighed. “They didn’t tell me they saw you. I’m sorry if having to talk to them was awkward.”
“They were on their way to a doctor’s appointment for your dad so it didn’t last long. I got the impression they didn’t know what to think of the amount of time you’re spending on your hobby.”
Her features tightened. “A doctor’s appointment? Did they say what it was for?”
He thought. “No. Most of the conversation was about you and your—”
“It isn’t a hobby. Sorry. I don’t mean to sound defensive. How my folks look at what I’m doing doesn’t concern you.” She indicated what even to his untrained eye was a complex digital camera. “This is how I earn my living.”
Her living. Her life. Back when they lived together she’d worked for a title company. She never said much about her job, or maybe he hadn’t asked enough questions, but he knew she mostly did customer service. It paid well, she’d been promoted several times, and the perks had included insurance for him which had made a huge difference because he’d been able to devote himself to getting Silent Wheels off the ground. Being dependent on his wife’s paycheck had bothered him more than he’d ever admitted to her but he’d believed she was doing what she wanted to.
Maybe he’d been wrong.
“You can do that?” he asked. “Pay the bills by taking pictures.”
“Yes, I can. That surprises you?”
He caught a defensive note, which prompted him to give her even more of his attention. On the way here, he’d reminded himself to ask what she’d been up to without going deep, but her long, tanned legs below the practical denim shorts were distracting him. She’d always looked so darned feminine in skirts and heels, a poster child for successful, white-collar women. On the rare occasions when she’d come into the Silent Wheels warehouse, she’d stood out from his casually-dressed employees, a butterfly in a room full of men with scraped knuckles.
The frosted—is that what they called it?—hair was gone, replaced by a thick, rich braid. Her nails were short and unadorned, blue eyes without the tiny lines that had taken up residence near the end of their time together.
Lines he’d been responsible for.
“You always loved photography but said it was a crazy way to try to earn a living,” he belatedly thought to say. “I could tell your folks are concerned you might be having financial problems.”
“I don’t have many expenses.”
“And you were always good with money.”
She looked surprised by his comment. “No matter what I tell Mom and Dad, I don’t think they’re capable of wrapping their minds around the fact that their daughter has broken free of the corporate world.”
Broken free?
He was trying to decide whether to ask for details when she spun toward land. “I saw something move.” She pointed at the bank.
“Where? What?”
She held the camera up to her eye. “It’s a snake,” she whispered and walked off the dock.
He concluded she intended to take pictures of it. Most women, and a lot of men, put distance between themselves and snakes but not his wife—his about-to-be former wife.
Sensing he was being given a glimpse of something important, he studied her movements as she stalked her subject. He probably should have remained where he was so he wouldn’t risk alarming the reptile, but he needed to share what might be a final experience with her.
“Water snake,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
Beautiful?
Shyla had always had great body control and that had made her a fantastic lover. Now it held her in good stead as she continued her silent approach. She leaned forward and again looked through the viewfinder. Was this how wildlife photographers worked—by becoming one with their surroundings? Had he ever seen her look so alive? Darn her, if she’d deliberately kept this capacity for joy from him.
He still wanted her.
A burning sensation in his chest reminded him he was holding his breath. Had he made a mistake by meeting with her? What was supposed to be a matter of finalizing what was already reality had become complicated.
Shyla still crouched low, effortlessly balancing her weight. Her rapidly moving finger let him know she was taking multiple shots. He spotted a long, slender snake half buried in a carpet of pine needles. If it had been all black he doubted if she would have noticed it, but the reptile also had an orange stripe down its back.
“There,” Shyla whispered. “That should do it.” She straightened and backed away from the still-motionless reptile.
“What are you going to do with those shots?” Maybe his voice had startled the snake because it glided toward the water and eased in. He watched it head toward the grasses growing along the bank.
“I’m not sure. That was a kick. Sorry for the interruption,” she said as she rested the camera against her middle. “But I wanted to grab the moment while it was there.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Ah, do you want to go back out on the dock?”
If he did and she joined him they’d wind up standing close together again. The wind or a wake from a passing fishing boat might rock the dock, resulting in them touching.
He didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want anything deep.
“How about we head toward the cabin?” he suggested. “I spotted a couple of lawn chairs.”
“I brought them outside in case we, I don’t know, in case...”
So, she wasn’t handling this meeting any better than he was. When she’d walked away from their marriage, he hadn’t tried to get her to spell out what had led to her decision. He also hadn’t tried to talk her out of it because the words hadn’t been in him. Hearing the door close behind her had been such a kick in the gut. Now with the better part of a year separating them from that awful day, he should be able to sign a form without getting all bound up in what it represented, shouldn’t he? Of course, he first had to read her document followed by showing her his alternative.
“Wait there.” She pointed at the chairs. “There’s something I promised to bring outside.”
Promised who? Weren’t they going to be alone after all?
He waited until she’d gone inside before looking around for signs of another human being. When they’d first broken up, he’d asked if there was someone else. Tears in her eyes, she’d whispered she’d never do that and he’d believed her, but a lot could have changed. If his replacement was waiting in the cabin—
A scurrying sound pulled him from possibilities he wanted nothing to do with. A squirrel was perched on a tree stump some twenty feet away nibbling on part of a carrot.
The screen door squeaked but that wasn’t why he knew she’d returned. His nerve endings told him.
He didn’t like being uneasy in his wife’s presence, so aware of her, to have to weigh every word he spoke and not being sure how she’d take them. He wanted back the familiarity they’d once had.
Too late for that. He needed reassurance that she was doing fine and let her know he was as well. Shake hands, maybe share a hug, wish each other the best.
Then maybe he’d hike part way up Mount Lynx in an attempt to shove his emotions back where they needed to stay.
“I see you’ve met my friend,” Shyla said and sat down. She wasn’t close enough that he should be able to feel her presence and yet...
He indicated the squirrel. “Where’d the carrot come from?”
“My cooler. They’re supposed to be for the deer but that’s not working out so well. Good thing I thought of peanuts.”
She had a large bag and was trying to tear it open. When she started to bite the plastic top, he held out his hand. “Let me.”
With a wry smile, she gave him the
bag. The gesture took him back to one of those simple acts of their marriage that revolved around her treating her teeth like they were tools and him trying to get her to stop. If their marriage lasted fifty years they’d probably still be dealing with that.
What quirks of his drove—had driven—her crazy?
What, if anything, did she miss about him?
It took more strength than he thought it would but he managed to pry the bag apart. He scooped up a handful of peanuts in their shells and tossed them at the rodent. It promptly scurried out of sight. That had been Shyla and him, dodging what had been going wrong between them. Too much silence. His working himself into exhaustion in a determined effort to succeed.
“What’s with carrots and deer?” he asked.
As she explained her concept for the brochure she envisioned including a number of pictures of the area’s wild residents, her enthusiasm grew. He refrained from pointing out that she was talking about enough photographs for a book.
“I’d love to, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get elk pictures. They’re pretty elusive. They’re also intimidating, but deer shouldn’t be a problem.” Her smile grew. “What would be perfect is if I could get some of fawns. They’re such scene stealers.”
She hadn’t spelled it out but he figured her plan was to salt the immediate area with carrots followed by waiting for one or more deer to show up.
“That could take a while,” he said.
“I can be patient for the right reasons.”
Say it. For once don’t hold back. “Can you? I didn’t see much evidence of that when it came to you and me.”
Her nostrils flared. “Is that how you see it? Jes, I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t hold still. All those eighteen hour days you put in...”
She’d stopped just short of a landmine, one he should have left alone. “Why photography for a career?” he came up with as she took the bag from him.
“You’re doing it again,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“Talking about stuff. Not what matters.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
She started to put a peanut in her mouth but stopped before cracking it with her teeth. She snapped the shell apart, extracted two nuts, and nibbled. “So much for not arguing,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“I’m sure you are. Jes, I’ve always loved taking pictures. I took, what, four photography classes while we were together.”
“But to try to make a living—”
Again she sucked in oxygen. “You’re self-employed doing what you love. Why does me doing the same thing surprise you?”
“Because of me, you know how risky it can be.”
When she didn’t immediately respond, he focused on her. Tree shadows covered much of her face making it difficult to read her mood. Still he knew they were touching on something important.
“I feel alive when I’m behind a camera,” she said softly. “Even the editing is satisfying.”
“More satisfying than a dependable paycheck?”
“Now you sound like my folks.”
Shyla had grown up the only child of upper middle class parents with powerful work ethics. She’d started working when she was in high school, putting most of what she earned away for college because her parents hadn’t wanted her to take her education for granted. They didn’t believe in giving their only child stuff. She hadn’t said much about how she felt about their childrearing techniques or maybe he hadn’t asked—it was hard to remember which it was. Besides it was too late for that to matter.
“I was just asking,” he said.
“Were you?”
“You sound defensive.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I guess I do. I was hoping we could talk without—there.” She pointed. “He’s back.”
Whether they were looking at the same squirrel or another was open to debate. Watching it did something to him he hadn’t expected. He was content to sit here for as long as the little rodent chose to bless Shyla and him with its presence. The sound of water lapping at the dock and a few birds singing was hypnotic. There were no sounds of machinery, no one needing him to make decisions, nothing to worry about.
His wife deserved to take pictures of elk. And a bear, if she wanted. Maybe even a mountain lion or wolf.
“I’m sorry you didn’t have equipment like this before,” he said.
“We couldn’t afford it.”
“No, we couldn’t.”
That was because she’d been the primary breadwinner while he poured everything he—they—had into Silent Wheels. There’d been no disposable income.
“What is it?” she asked. “Look, I didn’t mind being the one paying the bills. I told you that often enough, at least I tried to.”
He’d heard her all right—along with wishing like hell he hadn’t had to be dependent on his wife’s income. She’d never held it over his head and he’d been careful not to say more than what was absolutely necessary about the unrelenting pressure. Turning an invention into a moneymaker had been much harder than he could have anticipated.
“Never mind.” She cracked open another shell and ate the two nuts. “Look, we don’t have to pretend we want to catch up. We can—I’ll get the document so you can read and sign it.”
Suddenly, he’d been sitting for too long. He didn’t remember standing up, didn’t realize he’d made a decision to plant himself in front of her. She put down the camera and placed her feet under her as if preparing to get to her feet.
“No I don’t want to read the damn document.” He swept his hand in a half circle indicating their surroundings. “That’s the last thing I want to do here.”
Chapter Three
Jes hardly ever lost his temper, and in all the time they’d been married she’d never had his anger directed against her. Mostly he’d gone silent. On the rare occasions when he brought up problems with the business, she’d tried to concentrate on what he was saying but she’d understood so little about what went into creating solar powered bicycles. She’d suspected he didn’t have the energy or inclination to try to bring her on board.
Darn it, it wasn’t as if it mattered any more.
They were done. Just wrapping up the loose ends.
Wishing he’d sit down so his body wouldn’t remind her of their lovemaking, she cast around for something, anything they could talk about. Then her fingers settled over her camera.
“This model was my aunt’s idea,” she said, her tone measured in contrast to his outburst. “Aunt Christina loves doing online research and reading product reviews. She insisted I wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less.”
“And she doesn’t give a darn what your folks might think.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Her strong will was one of the things I liked about her.”
“She likes you.”
Jes walked over to the fire pit and sat on a log near it. She hadn’t seen him like this, surrounded by nature, since their honeymoon. Despite why she’d asked him to meet with her, she’d always have this memory.
Remember him in the forest’s grasp.
“I briefly lived with her after you and I split up. You know that.” I had to. I was broke. She had to be careful not to rush the words or risk giving him more than he could or wanted to absorb. Risk him shutting her out.
He leaned forward and planted his workman’s hands on his knees. “You’d given two weeks’ notice at work which was twelve days longer than you gave me.”
She’d been such a coward back then, a woman worn out and done in, tired of being the only one in the house and marriage. Not knowing what she wanted other than believing it had to be something different or she’d lose her mind.
At least that was how she’d seen it.
She shredded the peanut husk. “I’m sorry I did things the way I did. I felt bad about that. At least give me credit for waiting until Silent Wheels was ma
king money, and you could afford your own insurance.”
He nodded, the gesture slow. Judging by his expression he was trying to decide what to say, if anything. It better not be about the weather. “Whether you stayed with or left your job was your decision,” he said, “but how do you explain turning your back on your commitment to handle the business’s books?”
“What do you mean turned my back?” she snapped. He’d hit a nerve. “I trained my replacement. You admitted she did a better job of preparing tax records than I had. What more did you want?”
“Honesty.”
Moments ago, he’d blended in with the setting. Now he stood out in hard contrast, a tightly-wound man ready to do battle. Well, he wasn’t the only one.
“I tried. Darn it, Jes, I told you how I felt.”
“What did you say?”
That was the crux of it, one of the core factors in what had cracked between them. “You didn’t hear me.” She carried the bag of peanuts and camera to a stump on the opposite side of the fire pit from where Jes was sitting. “I’d come home from work longing to tell you that crunching numbers and trying to keep up with real estate regulations wasn’t what I needed to do with my life.”
“You’re great at math.”
She pulled several peanuts out of the bag and tossed them around. “Don’t pigeonhole me.”
“When did I do that?”
I don’t know. I’m getting confused. “Jes, I believed I understood how much pressure you were under trying to make a go of the business. I didn’t want to make it worse by whining. I tried—”
“I never heard you whine.”
“That’s good, I guess. Every morning when the alarm went off I had to force myself to get up and go do something I didn’t want to. I hated walking into that building and knowing I was going to be trapped in there for the next nine hours.”
“You never told me.”
A large, mostly grey bird with long tail feathers glided to the ground and snagged a peanut. Even with its beak full, it squawked.
“What?” she asked the bird. “No thank-you? Jes, I wanted to. I tried to. But you were so seldom home.”
“Please don’t play that card.”