except to take out my Nikon. I’d planned to take it on my beach walk the other day, but I got sidetracked.” At the last minute, she hadn’t been able to make herself pick up the camera. She pulled off the road and brought the Buick to a stop, then took the case from him. Removing the Nikon, she checked the gauges. “This film’s been in here awhile, but it should be all right.” It actually felt good in her hands, familiar.
“Let me take a couple of you,” Craig said, getting out on his side.
“No, this is your vacation. Besides, I’m the photographer, remember?” They strolled toward the deserted lighthouse, Briana’s sandals skimming the sand while Craig’s loafers were slowly filling up. She tried not to smile.
“You sure can’t complain about the weather,” Craig commented, brushing back his sandy hair. “Is it this nice always?”
“It gets cold in the winter and there’s even snow, but not a great deal. Fall’s the rainy season, starting in mid-September. Every couple of years, they get some really rough storms.”
Craig spotted a purplish-pink wildflower and stooped to look closer. “What’s this?”
“Heather, like on the moors of Scotland. Some long-ago visitor must have brought some over and started a strain.” She stopped, placing the strap of the Nikon around her neck, raising the camera up to eye level, testing the light Her love of cameras, of photography, came creeping back. Yes, it was going to be all right. “Is this close enough?”
“Yeah, sure.” He walked over aways, then turned around. “Ready when you are.”
Briana took her time lining up the shot thinking that the camera felt good in her hands. She focused on Craig with his perfect hair windblown, hands crammed in the pockets of his pressed khakis, Gucci’s nearly buried in sand, and the lighthouse in the background. She took several shots, then changed the angle, shifted, and took a few more. “There, that should prove to one and all that you were here.”
“Is that the end of the roll, or can we take some more in town?”
Climbing back into the Buick, Briana put the camera in her case. “There’s more. Do you want to see the other side of the island? There’re these great cranberry bogs.”
Craig closed his door. “You bet That is, if you have the time.”
She owed him this much, this day, she supposed. He was trying to be a friend, distracting her. “No problem.”
“I heard at the inn that the lobster dinners at a place called Vincent’s are the best. Have you eaten there?”
“No, but most of the places on the island serve fantastic seafood. We can try Vincent’s.”
“Great. Let’s check out the other side, then I’ll take you to dinner. How many lobsters can you eat at one setting?” His smile was teasing.
“Maybe one, certainly not more. How about you?”
“Two, possibly two and a half. I remember once, Robert and I were walking around Faneuil Hall and… hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s all right. Tell me.” Briana steeled herself for the story, determined to get used to hearing both names without weeping. She simply would have to.
Craig wanted to end their day with a walk on the beach near her house, so Briana led the way, snapping more pictures as they strolled. The sunset was dripping reds and golds through a deep azure sky as seagulls dipped into the water for their fish dinners. Two lovers on a blanket sat with arms around each other, oblivious to the few stragglers left on the beach.
“The shoreline’s sure different here than along Hyannis or the coast of Maine,” Craig said, gazing toward the west. “Do you ever go over to Martha’s Vineyard?”
“I have a friend who lives in Edgartown so I’ve been there, but not frequently. There’s air service and lots of charter boats if you want to check it out.”
“Maybe next visit. That is, if I’m invited back.”
She hadn’t invited him this time, Briana thought, then decided she was
“Let me take a couple of you,” Craig said, getting out on his side.
“No, this is your vacation. Besides, I’m the photographer, remember?” They strolled toward the deserted lighthouse, Briana’s sandals skimming the sand while Craig’s loafers were slowly filling up. She tried not to smile.
“You sure can’t complain about the weather,” Craig commented, brushing back his sandy hair. “Is it this nice always?”
“It gets cold in the winter and there’s even snow, but not a great deal. Fall’s the rainy season, starting in mid-September. Every couple of years, they get some really rough storms.”
Craig spotted a purplish-pink wildflower and stooped to look closer. “What’s this?”
“Heather, like on the moors of Scotland. Some long-ago visitor must have brought some over and started a strain.” She stopped, placing the strap of the Nikon around her neck, raising the camera up to eye level, testing the light Her love of cameras, of photography, came creeping back. Yes, it was going to be all right. “Is this close enough?”
“Yeah, sure.” He walked over aways, then turned around. “Ready when you are.”
Briana took her time lining up the shot thinking that the camera felt good in her hands. She focused on Craig with his perfect hair windblown, hands crammed in the pockets of his pressed khakis, Gucci’s nearly buried in sand, and the lighthouse in the background. She took several shots, then changed the angle, shifted, and took a few more. “There, that should prove to one and all that you were here.”
“Is that the end of the roll, or can we take some more in town?”
Climbing back into the Buick, Briana put the camera in her case. “There’s more. Do you want to see the other side of the island? There’re these great cranberry bogs.”
Craig closed his door. “You bet That is, if you have the time.”
She owed him this much, this day, she supposed. He was trying to be a friend, distracting her. “No problem.”
“I heard at the inn that the lobster dinners at a place called Vincent’s are the best. Have you eaten there?”
“No, but most of the places on the island serve fantastic seafood. We can try Vincent’s.”
“Great. Let’s check out the other side, then I’ll take you to dinner. How many lobsters can you eat at one setting?” His smile was teasing.
“Maybe one, certainly not more. How about you?”
“Two, possibly two and a half. I remember once, Robert and I were walking around Faneuil Hall and… hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s all right. Tell me.” Briana steeled herself for the story, determined to get used to hearing both names without weeping. She simply would have to.
Craig wanted to end their day with a walk on the beach near her house, so Briana led the way, snapping more pictures as they strolled. The sunset was dripping reds and golds through a deep azure sky as seagulls dipped into the water for their fish dinners. Two lovers on a blanket sat with arms around each other, oblivious to the few stragglers left on the beach.
“The shoreline’s sure different here than along Hyannis or the coast of Maine,” Craig said, gazing toward the west. “Do you ever go over to Martha’s Vineyard?”
“I have a friend who lives in Edgartown so I’ve been there, but not frequently. There’s air service and lots of charter boats if you want to check it out.”
“Maybe next visit. That is, if I’m invited back.”
She hadn’t invited him this time, Briana thought, then decided she was
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