Page 61

anticlimactic

Ayla

Early Tuesday morning, Cian, Ren, Javier, Ashlyn, and I, along with Eleanor and Franklin, head to Beaver Brook to the ridge where old Ayla was left for dead and new Ayla rose from the ashes. It’s bittersweet.

I’m not alone, as I’m told I was, and it’s not quiet by any stretch, which I can only assume was the case that morning.

Javier and Ashlyn pack in their equipment, while I bring only my phone.

We discuss angles and why one location for each tripod will have different light and different shadows, where each wants to focus and why.

We set cameras for different apertures so we have a controlled experiment, and we set the remotes to capture the images.

No need to risk pushing the shutter button when the long exposure shots would be ruined by the slightest motion.

That reminds me. I need to get with Fitz on my cameras.

It may have been a rebirth moment out here, and I may have nothing to show for it, but I like using remote settings, so could I have gotten shots of that day?

I wonder what the view was. Fall in the mountains has a beauty that’s ethereal, and if anything can be salvaged from my fall, I’ll take it.

We sit around and wait as the sun allows a ray here and there to peek through the shadows. Franklin is on his side in the dirt, sacked out from the hike. Eleanor is sitting pretty, knowing her close-up isn’t far away.

“Ci,” I say quietly, trying not to interrupt the moment. “Get with your girl.”

“So now she’s my girl?” He fakes irritation when I know he’s anything but. Nevertheless, he moves to her side to sit, and she adjusts her posture to erect and proud, next to her dad.

I click off a few shots, but my favorite, and the one that becomes his contact photo, is him looking at her like he couldn’t love anything on the planet more and her looking back with the same expression.

By seven in the morning, the sun is high and full. The shots that make the money are already in the bag—or in this case, on the SD card.

“Are you guys staying around to get more shots?” I ask Ashlyn and Javier.

Javier nods. “I am.”

“Me too,” Ashlyn adds.

“Be safe. And sorry for sounding mom-like, but…” I point to my temple. “It’s important.”

“We will.”

“You’ve got it.”

I turn to my brother and to Ren. “I’m heading down. Are you guys going or staying?”

Ren crosses his arms as if he’s offended. “I’m with you, Ayla.”

“Same.” Cian whistles for Eleanor, and she sits at attention.

Franklin merely bounces around. Okay, so he might need training.

By the weekend, my curiosity far outweighs my guilt for disrupting Fitz during his recuperation.

Me: I know you mentioned you have my equipment from that day on the ridge. Is it with you or in the house?

Fitz: It’s in the safe room. I never knew if it held clues and I didn’t want to risk it.

Me: I can’t believe I didn’t see it the first time I was in there.

Fitz: You’re still banging on about that?

Me: It was cold. The coffee was awful, and I didn’t know what the hell was happening.

Fitz: It saved your life.

Me: *You* saved my life.

Fitz: Potato. Potato.

Me: What can I bring you? What can I do for you? Are you bored out of your mind?

Fitz: I haven’t had time to be bored. My mom is fawning over me like I’m fourteen and broke a leg.

Fitz: Save me.

Me: Not on your life. You’re lucky she cares.

Fitz: I know.

Me: I’m sending food your way. What do you want?

Fitz: Anything Corinne cooks. And don’t tell my mom I said that. Deleting this now.

Me: {Laughing emoji}

I head for the stairs and slide the invisible latch to open my dark room.

That tang in the air must be permanent. It’s faint, but never leaves.

I don’t know the last time I was in here and have no clue the last time I developed with chemicals, yet it hangs, like warm apple pie or sawdust, lingering to remind me of something that I love.

I push the latch that opens the safe room and let myself in.

Last time I was here, I was terrified. I assumed Christian was dead.

Not knowing him well, but knowing he was a lifeline to who I was—who I am—and I could lose him was horrifying.

The masked men. Not knowing that Fitz was ultimately trustworthy.

A lot has changed. My memory isn’t one of them.

Regular doctor’s visits don’t indicate any reason why I can’t remember or if there’s a chance I’ll recover what’s been shadowed.

My visits with Joanie are less frequent but still consistent.

We work on a new puzzle now—not attempting to find an image we can’t see—but designing the life I want to see.

One with my husband. One with stronger relationships with my brothers.

One that might include kids with the god-like man in his home office, but certainly includes adventure and beauty and a puppy who’s stealing my heart.

I open door after door until something catches my eye. On the first shelf, shoved in the back of a cabinet, is a red and yellow reusable shopping bag like those from the grocery store. Next to it is a professional camera bag. It’s no wonder I didn’t see them before.

I slide both out and start with the padded camera bag. There’s an SLR with no damage. It’s a little dusty, but no worse for wear. There are battery packs, lenses, and SD cards packed away in a manner that feels familiar, like a habit I’m so used to I don’t question it.

From the other bag come two cameras. Well, they were cameras. Now, they’re simply shells of their former selves. The thirty-five millimeter cracked open exposing the film inside. It’ll be a long, long shot if anything is there, and if it ever was, if any piece is salvageable at all.

The SLR is beat to hell and back. It’ll take tools to jimmy this open.

Grabbing both bags, I exit the safe room, drop the film camera on the bench in the dark room, and take the rest to the kitchen island. In the junk drawer is a screwdriver. I crack open the battery area and wish I hadn’t. White cake flits out and onto the counter.

I pry open the SD compartment and pop out the card.

Franklin stretches from his bed in the sitting room, curious about what I’m doing. “Want to go see what’s on this card? It could be a grand reveal or it could be empty. What do you think?”

His muscular tail swishes, and he pounces for the card.

“You can’t eat this, silly boy. That’s not how you want to meet your vet.”

I ascend the stairs slowly, laughing at his determined little hops. Christian wasn’t lying when he said fearless and intelligent, though in this dog’s case, I think fearless is at the forefront.

His short legs mean he takes the stairs one at a time, but it won’t be long before he takes them two or three at a time. I’m enjoying all the stages. “You can do it, Franklin. Ten more.”

“What are you two up to?” Christian stands outside his office watching our interaction.

I raise the SD card between my fingers.

“I found my equipment from the ridge that day. I don’t know whether I’m hoping it’s empty or has something on it. Either way…” I leave the thought dangling. Both ways have their good and their bad. The question is which is worse.

“Want some company?”

“Sure, but prepare yourself. It could be anticlimactic.”

“And if it’s not?” He grabs my hand when he makes it to the stairs, scooping up Franklin in the other, and leading us both to the studio.

Christian

My wife slides into her chair, and Franklin runs for the blue sofa, missing the seat and faceplanting into the cushion .

“Down.” The dog sits, but mostly he does that with any word we say.

My wife may not know the breed, but I do.

They’re notoriously hard-headed, but they’re protective as fuck.

If Ayla wants to traipse with bears, Franklin will pull out its throat before it has a chance to growl.

Same with any man, woman, or child who wants to fuck with her…

in a field, near a lake, on a ridge. Give the command and he will execute.

Without training, though, he’s just a terror on four paws with a perfected puppy dog sad-eyed expression to get his way.

“Stay.”

He doesn’t do that either.

I stand at his side looking down my nose, making sure he knows who the alpha is. It sure won’t be my wife.

She’s feisty and sharp, but she’s mush for any baby of the canine variety, so someone needs to step up.

Her face registers surprise. “The disk is full.”

That doesn’t make sense unless her camera filled the card on the day of her accident.

Then her face blanches of all color. Her hand flies to her mouth before sliding up to her temple to stroke the now-healed scar.

“No fucking way.”