Chapter 9
NINE
A long breath escapes me as I settle at my desk, setting my dinner down beside me to cool. The soft hum of my computer is the only sound in the room as I wait for today's photos to download from my camera, and the tingle of anticipation rises. Sorting through photos is my favourite way to end the day, and this time I have lots to look through. The photos I took from the first part of my hike, and then the ones I took while I was with Trevor. Even though we didn’t end up finding the Warbler today.
Once the photos are all transferred, I start scrolling through them, marking the ones worth keeping to edit. The first that comes up is a photo of a river otter I saw when I arrived at my original trail. Its glossy coat catches the morning light as it perches on a slick rock in the water, and its dark eyes are fixed on me with a small paw lifted, ready to dive into the water if I posed any threat. But it just watched me as I knelt by the water’s edge, and took a single photo before quietly leaving, careful not to scare or disturb it. And the photo turned out perfect. I’m glad I get to keep this one. Because all photos I take on the weekends are for me.
I continue to scroll through today’s photos, most of them landscapes, until I get to the squirrel. I can’t help but smile as I look into its curious little eyes, peering down at me from the branch.
And then, there’s Trevor.
My hand hovers over the trackpad as I pause, and the image of him fills my screen.
I don’t take pictures of people.
My gaze traces every line of the photo, the tall trees framing him where he stands in the clearing, with the sun shining on him like a soft, golden spotlight. He doesn’t even know I took this photo.
But right now, I can look at him. Really look at him, without the worry of getting everything wrong.
Clicking on the image, I bring it into my editing software and crop it, just enough to highlight him in the centre of the frame. The shadows of the towering trees darken the edges, guiding the eye towards him where sunlight spills across his face, catching in his hair and highlighting the faint lines around his eyes as he smiles.
I can’t help but smile too.
The moose and her calf move silently along the tree line by the lake, their figures barely visible through gaps in the tree trunks and bushes. But I know they'll emerge soon, and I’m in a spot across the lake with a clear view to capture it when they do. My camera is ready, and the setting is perfect. The lake’s surface is completely still, not a single ripple in sight as it mirrors the tall trees, and the varying shades of green blend together in the reflection. The soft fog is slowly lifting as the morning sunlight filters through it, spreading a warm glow over the scene before me. The moment the moose step out from the trees and into the water, it will be a perfect shot. And I already know this one won’t last long on my site. Moose photos always move fast.
I take a deep breath of the crisp morning air from my seat on a rock at the water’s edge, and let the calm feeling of this place seep into me.
Until my phone buzzes in my pocket. Then buzzes again, and again.
A phone call.
My eyes close as my pulse quickens.
No matter how many times I say emails only… some clients still insist on calling.
Without looking at my screen I reach into my pocket and silence the phone. They usually just email after a missed call.
But it starts buzzing again.
With a sigh, I pull it out of my pocket and see Newfound Tours on the call display.The new client I worked for last week.
I’m really starting to regret that.
Quickly, I glance up at the moose to see them still grazing among the trees. I guess I have time to answer and just get this over with so I don’t have to deal with it later. Even though my hands are trembling, and my heart feels like it’s trying to beat out of my chest.
I flick my thumb across the screen and lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I say quietly, even though I’m far enough away that the moose won’t hear me.
“Hello, Arthur Mercer?” a female voice asks on the other end.
“Yes,” I reply, shifting uncomfortably on the rock .
“How are you today?” she asks cheerfully.
“Good.”
A soft chuckle sounds through the speaker, and my chest tightens.
“Good,” she says. “This is Susanne from Newfound Tours. I’m just calling because we received the photos you sent and they are exactly what we were hoping for. We’re very pleased.”
And why is she calling me twice in a row to tell me this? They didn’t have to say anything. Or they could have sent me an email… like I’ve told them, quite a few times, while working with them.
“Ok,” I say, eyeing the moose as they move just a little further along the tree line.
She laughs again. “We’re hoping to hire you for another project,” she says, with way too loud of a voice and too much… excitement. “We have several companies in Labrador and would love to bring you on for their marketing campaigns.”
I release a slow sigh, glancing down at my camera.
“We’ll cover all travel and accommodations,” she continues. “And you can choose which locations you’d like to shoot first.”
My thoughts quickly start swirling around as I take this in. But… I go to Labrador for a week every October. Each year I pick a new spot to hike, camp, and photograph. This year, I’m going to the southeastern Labrador coast and have my locations already planned out, starting with Red Bay.
“Where in Labrador?” I ask.
“We’re all over,” she responds, unhelpfully. “Take your pick.”
As annoyed as I am at her not answering my question, I also really want this to end and to stop talking to her. She said I can pick where to shoot… and I’ll be there anyway.
“I’ll be there in October,” I say, my gaze following the calf as it trots after its mother to the next tree. “Red Bay, then up the coast.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaims. “That sounds like a great trip. But, we were hoping to book you for August. We need summer shots for next year’s campaigns, and we’re willing to offer a premium for the rush. We do understand you’re busy.”
Pressure builds in my chest, and I shake my head as a fuzzy feeling settles inside it. I’m going in October…
“I can’t go in August,” I say, the words rushing out. “I’m going October 18 th to October 25 th . It’s already planned.”
There’s silence on the other end for a moment. “Yes, that’s great,” she says slowly. “And it would be wonderful if we could work out some potential dates for August as well.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as my breath starts to get away from me. I didn’t plan two trips to Labrador, I only planned one. I told her I can’t go in August, I’m going in October.
They want summer photos, but… I’m going in October…
“I…” I hesitate. This is why I don’t take phone calls. I’m on the spot, I don’t know what to say, and I’m going to Labrador in October. My plans are already made, and I’m not travelling in August.
“Like I said,” she continues, “we will cover your travel and accommodations, so no need to worry about that for a second trip.”
But that’s not the problem.
And I can’t find the words to explain to her what the problem really is.
I always have a plan, a schedule, a routine. If I change it, if I don’t stick to it…
My hand shakes and the pressure in my chest becomes almost painful.
She wants me to change it …
I squeeze my eyes shut tight as a hum builds in my chest, desperate to break free. But I don’t let it, and I keep it in as the buzzing energy grows until it’s so uncomfortable it hurts .
“Email me,” I say eventually, my words barely above a whisper.
I can’t do this right now.
“Excellent! We look forward to working with you again. You’ll hear from me soon and we’ll nail down some dates.”
Immediately, I pull the phone from my ear and hang up.
She didn’t understand. And I couldn’t explain, and I didn’t know what to do.
I still don’t know what to do.
My eyes squeeze shut again and I hum, letting it all out. The deep vibration slowly starts shifting and organizing my thoughts and tries to chip away at the tension in my muscles.
But I need more.
A crow’s sharp caw pierces through my jumbled mind, and I grab onto it, letting it ground me just enough so I can begin naming some of my favourite birds in alphabetical order.
Black-capped Chickadee, Cedar Waxwing, Cooper’s Hawk, Golden Oriole, Northern Flicker, Roseate Spoonbill, Turquoise-browed Motmot…
But suddenly, an image of a Pine Grosbeak flashes in my mind, completely out of order, and everything halts.
And the buzzing in my veins becomes quieter.
My eyes open, and I stare at the ground before me. The golden sunlight dappling the warm brown earth tones…
Without thinking, I pick up my phone again and tap out a text.
How’s the bird ?
My heart thumps as I wait for Trevor to text back with an update. I need to know something is still as it should be.
And he responds right away.
Trevor
Hey! Fantastic. I just got back from the field and she’s nestled underneath one of the branches.
A breath escapes me, feeling like a release as the anxious energy swirling inside me seems to dissipate.
Then Trevor sends a photo of the Pine Grosbeak, bandage still on her wing as her plump reddish pink body sits among the pine needles.
And I smile.
She needs a new branch.
I look at the photo again, noticing the needles starting to fall off.
Yeah, going to need to find out where to get one of those.
My brow furrows as I read his text.
I just got them from a tree.
*smiley emoji* I figured as much.
I look over the last few texts, reading them again.
He was making a joke.
I missed it.
Sighing to myself, I start to tap out my apology, when he starts typing again.
You can bring her another one anytime this week and visit with her. I’m at the St. John’s clinic tomorrow morning, but then I’m here in the afternoon and all day Thursday and Friday.
Excitement stirs in my stomach as I think of seeing her again, and I quickly tap out my reply.
I’ll come tomorrow afternoon.
As soon as I hit send, I pause. Tomorrow is Wednesday afternoon. On Wednesday afternoons I have coffee with my mom.
But Trevor’s text comes through, and the corner of my mouth twitches with a smile.
Looking forward to it! You can help me put a new bandage on her.
A splash sounds from across the lake, and I look up to see the calf entering the water, with the mom standing close by.
Quietly I slide my phone back into my pocket and lift my camera, bringing my focus back to the reason I’m out here.
After capturing a series of photos of the calf playfully splashing around in the water while the mom takes a drink, I lower my camera and review the shots on the small screen.
I pause at one of them touching noses while standing in the water, a line of birds flying overhead, with sunlight cutting through the fog to highlight the greenery behind them.
This is the one.
And I think Trevor would like it.