by Anne Eliot
Cam smiles at me as if he’s reading my mind and flips to the next. My breath catches the same time Cam’s does as we stare at the shot.
Somehow the wind has made this one seem blurred at the edges like it’s already been photo edited, and one leaf is caught in perfect focus, hanging right in front of the lens! Captured just as it’s popped off the branch!
“Magical,” Cam says. “Each one is so cool.”
“Nice work,” Nash mutters. “Even though I don’t want to say it, I’m sold.”
I pull Cam’s hand closer so I can see the phone, not caring that I’m blocking their view as I double tap and scoot the image with my fingers to zoom-examine areas of the photo. “This one looks…professional!” I feel my smile growing so wide it’s breaking my cheeks in half. “Heck, it looks like it came from a real live photographer! Oh, I love my iPhone.”
“Ellen. What are you saying? You are a real photographer.”
I shrug, and shake my head. “Someday. I don’t know. Do you think it counts if I’m not holding the camera in my own hand? I mean, like…do you think it counts?”
“Would you stop?” Cam locks his eyes onto mine. “Of course it counts. Did you forget about the long day we pulled to set this all up? This is your concept coming to life. You planned it, built the baskets and pushed the shutter remote. You had this idea. It’s yours and it’s awesome.”
“It’s ours. You helped me and I couldn’t have done it without you. It’s yours as much as it is mine.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe after the test shots are done and I’ve worked on it longer, I can feel that way. But for now, it feels like I got lucky getting the chance to work with you.”
Nash steps back, looking at me with the same squidgy-proud face he gives me when I meet a particular physical therapy challenge he thinks I can never reach. “It counts, Ellen—and as much as I want to tear these ropes down, and as much as I’m not happy about all of this mess, I think you kids are on to something.”
“Really?” I smile, rushing on, “Of course, we’ve got work to do. Test the other pulleys and add the big camera and Cam’s iPhone to the mix.” I stare excitedly up at the trees. “Think how many shots we’ll get today. The real work’s going to be in sorting them. Laura will help with that. And we’ve got to figure out the best places to use the Nikon vs. the iPhones for best effects because if that Nikon comes crashing down, it’s going to break and…”
“Hurt someone. I’m all for it, Ellen. But you need to slow this down some. Think it through.” Nash frowns again, pacing between the trees. Cam joins him.
“Yeah. Maybe you’re right,” Cam says. A few golden leaves whirl down onto their upturned faces. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can wait for the rest of the leaves to fall so we can see what we are doing with the big camera and just use the phones for now.”
I bite my lip, annoyed. “Why does Nash have to be comfortable? I’m sorry, but the leaves will be gone in a few days. I don’t see why we’d wait to do the tests. I came here to work and now it’s already almost five. These are our last days to work late on a weekend and each day it’s darker earlier. I want to try the other baskets today because I’ve made each one so it holds the iPhone differently. I need to test how they’re going to balance. I want to catalogue and number the ropes, too. Try to get some notes on how each rope balances out and where the camera lenses are pointing when the baskets have camera weight in them. After the leaves all drop, it could only be a matter of days before the first ice storm hits. You know how the weather can be. I want to be ready, even if it’s tomorrow!” I point at the water inlet. “At sunset the lagoon is going to calm, so I also want to try one of those ropes over there to see if we can pull any reflections off the water.”
“No. Hold on the lagoon shots for today,” Nash grumbles, looking at the sky. “You’ve given me enough stress, but I hear you on the urgency factor.”
“Nash.” I sigh. “No offense, but if you would go away and forget about all this, you wouldn’t have stress at all. I should never have asked you to take me down here. I appreciate the help and the worry, but last time I looked, this was our school project, not yours.”
I can tell Nash is getting angry with me. “Cam, if you keep an eye on little miss impatient, I’ve got time to go to the store right now and get her precious phone one of those darn waterproof/weatherproof cases as an early birthday gift.”
My face flushes. “Nash. No. It’s too much and…I’m good.”
He shakes his head, adding in another sigh. “I’ll also hit the hardware store to buy some safety ties and a few other hooks and things to keep these ropes up in the trees instead of raining down on heads. If the ice storm had hit today, you two would have arrived here to photograph ropes lying in the snow.”
“As long as you let me pay you back for all of it. And as long as you don’t get all involved and you only supervise the set up. This is our project. We can’t have adult assistance.”
Nash smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Fine.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Mr. Nash.” Cam’s smiling as wide as I am. “We’ll stay here until it’s too dark to work. If you show up great and if not text us, and I’ll see Ellen home safe. We can set them up…tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. Early is all I can do.”
“Early is what I need, or is no one listening to me? I can be here at sunrise.”
“But…” Nash pauses, and looks directly at me. “But promise me, Ellen—and Cam, you’ll have to help.”
I roll my eyes at that most hated, most inescapable word.
“Promise you won’t come down here by yourself ever again. Especially when it’s icy. It’s just too—you know. Even today. Did you not notice that Ellen forgot to bring her cane?”
“Cane? Oh…why—” Cam draws his brows down low and glances at me. I must be making some sort of panicked face that he can read, because he quickly adds, “Why—I didn’t even notice. Sorry.”
“Well that’s the point. Everyone needs to notice stuff like that!” Nash’s eyes slant sideways over to me, then away as his voice goes stern. “It’s not safe. Even with the ropes secured, there are a lot of places that are simply not safe for Ellen.” Now Nash is speaking only to Cam, which makes my heart twist with hurt and frustration. “It’s just that—I worry that she’ll fall and—”
Embarrassed and angry that they’re talking about me like I’m not there, I croak out, “Stop, Nash. Please. Don’t. I can come down here when I want, how I want, and whenever I want! It’s my life. It’s my choice. I’ve been going to school with no cane since the school year began.”
“What? You know I’m going to have to tell your mother that. Why in the heck are we doing all this physical therapy? So you can go off and recklessly break a hip or a leg? What do you mean you’ve had no cane at school?”
I evade the topic of the cane. “Nash, I’m really strong now and—” My heart is thrumming painfully in my chest because I really didn’t want Cam to hear all of this. “And I didn’t know I signed a contract that allowed you and Mom and this whole town to track my every move and mobility accessory. Do you want to send me a spreadsheet of what outfits I should wear every day as well?”
“A cane is not an accessory,” Nash bites out.
“I was fine without it all summer, I’ve been fine all fall and at school, and I will be fine when it becomes winter. It’s time to cut some of the apron strings and let me do things my own way. I’ve earned it. I’m strong enough.”
Cam looks really stressed, and he starts doing that ‘smooth-over’ thing he does. “Mr. Nash, she promises. From now on, she won’t come down here alone. I won’t let her. Patrick or I will be here, no matter what.”
I roll my eyes and my temper flares even more. “Don’t speak for me, Cam! You guys are so lame! I have CP. It doe
sn’t mean I’m going to die and I don’t have to answer to either of you, or follow your dumb pacts or promises or ideas about what you think I need. Who do you guys think you are?”
Cam looks away, and his mouth goes all straight and angry as if he’d like to say something but, thankfully, he holds quiet. I’m not going to be so lucky with Nash, who—from the look of his purple-plum-angry face is about to blow.
“You said a few minutes ago, I was the only dad you’ve ever had. That’s who I think I am and that’s how I’m going to play it!” Nash is shouting now.
I shout back, “Well…not if it means you think you get to be the ultimate helicopter parent. Because you’re—not the boss of me—and I’m not doing anything outside of the ordinary!”
Nash throws his arms wide, pointing at the ropes and then at Cam while he’s shouting, “I disagree, young lady! All of this has you way out of the ordinary. You will listen to me!”
“I won’t!” I shout. “Maybe you need to save your dad-concerns for when I’m found drunk, or high—and—arrested because my secret Argentinean boyfriend, Ignacio, convinced me to smuggle condoms full of drugs and loaded guns over the Canadian border or—or—something like that!”
Cam makes a strangled sound off to my left, and my mind catches up to what I’ve just said. It’s my turn to fling my arms wide in total frustration. “Or whatever! Extreme behavior like that would be where you might need to tell my mom! Not a girl with a camera by a lake, taking photos of trees in her own neighborhood where it’s perfectly safe! Cane or not!”
Nash’s face crumples and he suddenly looks really tired and older than I’ve ever seen him look. I immediately regret every word I’ve said and for six billion reasons, but it’s too late.
Cam’s also turned away like even he knows I’ve gone over the deep end, and he has no way to throw me a life line. By the stiff-set of his shoulders it’s pretty obvious our fight has also made him very uncomfortable. To make things worse, I’m over here breathing funny and probably too loud, because I’ve reached that point where one blast of cold air on the back of my throat will have me sobbing like a dork.
Nash points half-heartedly at the sky. “The more I think about it, I probably won’t have time to get back before dark. I’ll be here to set stuff up at sunrise.” He levels me with a pointed glare. I nod. It’s all I can do as he continues, “And it will be set up as safe as I want it. And as safe as it needs to be for you to continue working on this project.” He tilts his chin at Cam. “Cam, keep your promises no matter what stubborn fantasy she’s living in at the moment. She’s not safe down here alone especially if she’s letting her ego tell her she doesn’t need a cane.” Then to me he says, “It’s true, Ellen, you don’t have to answer to me, but I wish you would. And, if…Ignacio or the cops show up, give them my best.”
His voice ended all heavy and scratchy and my throat almost closes up again as I fight back a new flood of tears because as much as I love Nash, I hate him so much right now because he’s always so right about everything.
More leaves float down around us and skitter across the ground at our feet as Nash stalks off. I can tell by the way he’s stomping up the sandy path to the parking area that he’s already planning on having a huge conversation with the one person I do have to answer to.
The one person I’ve never said ‘no’ to in my whole life: My mom.
cam
As Nash walks away, the wind really picks up, swirling small leaf flurries down around us. I’m at a loss for words. I can tell she’s embarrassed. Who wouldn’t be embarrassed? Heck, I’m embarrassed that I heard all of that. That’s what public fights are, even the small short ones…they’re embarrassing. And that whole bit about her needing a cane was probably something she didn’t want me to know which means now that he’s gone, she’s even more embarrassed!
Worse, I was no help during the fight, and I am no help now because the only words making it to my lips right now are my own opinions supporting Nash’s argument like: He’s right, Ellen. If you come down here by yourself, I’m going to freak out and lose my mind! Or, He’s just protecting you—so you shouldn’t be so hard on the guy. The ropes are dangerous.
I wish I could call Nash’s cell phone right now. Beg him to search extra at the hardware store for some sort of wireless security system we could set up in the trees tomorrow morning to signal both me and him if Ellen keeps up her stubborn-girl-independent ways. The idea of her possibly needing a cane is about to make me lose my mind with additional worries about her.
I can’t really imagine bringing my own worries up to Ellen right now, because I don’t want her to hate me forever—I want the opposite.
But dang. How does one go about getting to the opposite with a girl like Ellen Foster?
I see her side about all of this. I really do. Her CP should not be some sort of signal that she needs us all to treat her like she’s a baby. I’m also sure it’s annoying to her when everyone hands over feedback about her personal safety.
But it’s annoying to my heart that I worry so much about her!
I can only imagine how Nash and her mom have made it through all these years without losing their minds over her. I also now get why Miss Brown signed me on to this project. Because Miss Brown obviously also cares about Ellen a ton—like we all do.
It’s seriously a stressful thing—caring about—watching after—worrying about this beautiful, amazing girl to the point it physically makes your heart ache like mine is aching now.
Despite the words hanging on the tip of my tongue, I dial myself back down. I’m not her parent, not her teacher or anything but a friend who has no right to lecture anyone on how to keep themselves safe.
So, I do what I do best. I decide to smooth over the fight that just happened and change the subject.
“Looks like the wood is all set up for tomorrow’s bonfire.” I point down the beach, checking out the giant pile of logs stacked where the beach curves toward the back of the clubhouse.
“Hmm.”
“I’m supposed to help set the wood into a giant fire pit later with my dad. It’s kind of fun, hauling whole trees around. You going to the bonfire tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been to it?”
“No.”
“Want to go?” I ask, hopefully.
“Can’t.”
I glance back, catching her last ‘no’ head shake, taking in her profile and slumped shoulders. She’s staring down at her phone so I can’t quite read her expression because half of her face is hidden by her hair. It’s obvious she’s only pretending to look at the shots we took because she’s breathing all raggedy. I already know the one word answers, in girl-language, means she’s probably trying not to cry. My mom does this all the time. Her hand is also kind of shaky which confirms my suspicions.
I wish I could get inside her head and instantly fix what’s making her sad, but I know I can’t. With girls, I’ve learned you’ve just got to wait it out.
Give them space.
I walk to the farthest edge of the grove and pretend to examine the bonfire set-up again, wishing she and I were close enough friends that I could walk over and hug her, beg her to understand that all of us acting crazy around her is something none of us can control. I want to explain that I do understand. Try to make her see that just like the CP is not her fault, our reaction to her is not our fault, either. We act this way because wanting to protect her is more than just about her body being fragile and off balance. It’s that she’s so sweet and nice, and the way she acts so tough and stubborn, that she sets everyone off on obsessive safety tangents.
I wonder if she knows that right now, with the wind picking up again, she seems to be waving back and forth. She actually looks as light as any of the leaves blowing around her. With every small gust my adrenaline is spiking, because
I now must battle and focus in on something I can’t even see or predict that might knock her flat. She’s actually made me hate the wind!
Could I ever explain that when I’m around her, every inch of me becomes poised and ready to throw myself in her direction? All for the sole purpose of ensuring her a softer landing should she fall? Could I ever admit—could I ever explain—that in the last five seconds, I’ve actually begun to track each and every branch moving around her in the off chance that one might snap?
No. Because all the above sounds crazy.
And now that I’ve thought that branch-snapping thought—I can’t stop myself from looking up above where she’s standing—because as unpredictable and sucking the wind might be right now…gravity has rules that never fail.
I’m beginning to despise all physics in general.
My eyes shoot above her head. One solid branch there…the one next to it looks decent but, that third one looks sketchy ! I need to get her to move out from under there.
Now.
She saves me by stepping away herself. “Would you mind grabbing the other duct-tape baskets?” she says hoarsely, pausing to look over at me with a sad but now resigned-looking smile firmly in place.
If I didn’t just witness her all shaken-up and half crying I’d believe she was just fine. But now I know for sure this girl is simply a master at throwing on masks.
“Did you bring the Nikon?” she asks.
“It’s there.” I point to the bag I’d set by the tree when I first arrived and head in the opposite direction to collect the baskets.