Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
I adjust myself against the tree where I sit on the ground, and peek between the branches that partially hide me from the small clearing. Deer frequent this area since it’s an ideal grazing spot for them, with tall, lush grass surrounded by mature trees, and breeze from the ocean that opens up just behind it. I’ve been here for about an hour and half now waiting for them, but I know they’ll come soon. I have my camera ready to go and resting on my lap, so I take a deep breath and gaze out at the water in the distance.
The breeze ruffles my hair and the leaves above me, and the solid tree provides a comforting pressure on my back as I watch and listen to the waves crash against the rocks. A smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I take in everything this peaceful place has to offer, and every one of my senses is alert and happy.
Chirps sound above me, and I tilt my head to look up, listening to the swallows chatter to each other. Their calls are sharp and clear, and I wish I could understand them. The way they talk so freely with each other always fascinates me… How birds seem to belong so mewhere so naturally as part of a flock, always knowing their place, and knowing where they’re going.
I’ve observed this in people too. How they seem to connect with each other so effortlessly, and they just seem to know what to say and how to be, like they all speak a language I’ve never learned. They belong somewhere, with people who get them, while I’ve been left to piece things together on my own.
But I think I’m finding my own flock now. And lately… life doesn’t seem quite as hard.
I lift my camera to my eye, aiming the lens up at the treetops where the leaves filter the sunlight like a patchwork blanket of gold and green. I can’t see the birds, so I don’t even know why I’m taking a photo, but… I’ll know they were there. But before I can click the shutter, they all take flight. The sudden flurry of wings fills the air, and there’s a soft rush of movement in the leaves as they break free of the branches and swarm the sky. I snap a photo from below, capturing them from a perspective I don’t usually see.
It makes me smile as I think of last night, when Trevor got to see the swallows fly out of the trees in my parents’ backyard. He held my hand and smiled that warm, quiet smile he does as I laughed, and told him that they gather an hour before sunset, and they were probably going to their roosting spot for the night in a marsh or group of small trees.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I start to reach for it, assuming it’s a text. And my heart skips a beat when I wonder if it’s Trevor.
But my hand freezes as it continues to buzz. It’s a phone call.
I sigh and reach into my pocket, hitting the button to silence it without checking. Once they realize I don’t have voicemail, they always send an email.
I pull a deep breath in and slowly blow it out, squeezing my hands together to bring myself back into a peaceful space. I don’t need to think about anything else right now.
Except my phone starts vibrating again.
I silence it again, but heat is quickly rising inside me. It says right on my website to email, not call. It’s not that hard.I only have a phone number there because I have to.
But it rings again.
With a sigh, I pull out my phone so I can turn it off completely, but pause when I see the name. Newfound Tours . The client who wants me to come to Labrador in August. And who sent the email I haven’t even read yet…
My stomach twists and my hand tightens around the phone as I stare down at it. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. This is the third call in a row… What do I do?
I can’t go to Labrador in August. I’m going in October . I told them this. I just want them to leave me alone…
So I hit answer with a shaking thumb, somehow finding the courage to just get this over with as I lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I say softly, keeping my voice low in case the deer are nearby.
“Arthur Mercer!” A bright voice fills my ear. “It’s Susanne from Newfound Tours, I’m glad we can finally connect again!”
I wince and pull the phone from my ear at the loudness of her voice in such a quiet place. I don’t say anything, waiting for her to get on with it.
“Well,” she chuckles, “I’m just following up about the email I sent after we last spoke. You asked us to email our offer, and I’m very excited to book you in for August in Labrador. Can we lock in those dates now?”
A heavy sigh escapes me, and I rub my forehead as each word hits my ears like a sharp sting, digging into my eardrums and vibrating in a way that makes my entire head tighten. I didn’t say yes. Why does she think this is happening ?
“I can’t,” I say.
There’s a pause on her end. “We are more than willing to negotiate.”
I don’t say anything, unsure how to respond to that. I don’t know what her offer was, and I don’t even care. I told her no.
“What can we offer you to sweeten this deal and move forward in this project together?” she asks.
What? I told her I can’t do it. Why is she asking me what she should be offering when I’ve already said no?
“Nothing,” I say, the word sounding flat despite it taking all my energy to push out.
There’s another heavy pause. “Arthur… we really want to work with you. The photos you did for us before were exactly what we’ve been looking for. We’re willing to pay a premium to bring you on board for this project.”
I can hear the pounding in my ears now as my pulse rises, faster and faster. My chest tightens with every shallow breath, and it feels like I can’t get enough air. My throat is dry, and my hands start to tremble as the phone suddenly becomes heavy in my grip.
“Are you unhappy with the offer? We’re open to a counteroffer,” she continues, oblivious to the way her words are unraveling me. Each one piles on top of the last, building pressure in my head until it feels like I’m going to explode.
I can’t do this. I didn’t even read the email. I don’t know what the offer is, and I don’t care. I’ve told her no, and she’s not listening. Why won’t she listen? I just need this to be over.
“I need to go,” I say, my words spilling out in a rush. My heart is racing, and the panic is quickly taking over, making it hard to think and breathe. I need to hang up. Now.
“Of course!” she says loudly, like everything is fine. “I’ll talk to my team and send you another offer?—”
I hang up before she can finish, tossing my phone into my bag. My hands shake as I run them through my hair and squeeze my eyes shut. I press my palms hard against my head, trying to stop the rush of thoughts and the building pressure inside me. But it’s too much, and it’s too loud. I can’t breathe.
I rock back against the tree, the solid thump against my back bringing a slight sense of order to the turmoil inside me, even though I know it might scare off the deer if they’re nearby. But I need it. I need something to hold onto. My hands drop to my chest and press hard against it as I continue to rock against the tree. With each thump of my back against it, I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying not to hum so I’m not too loud. But the effort of staying silent feels like it’s taking all my energy, and it’s only making it worse.
I want Trevor.
I need Trevor.
But I can’t make myself open my eyes and stop rocking. I can’t reach for my phone because the thought of even holding it again is unbearable.
I’m going to Labrador October 18 th to 25 th . I have a camping trip already planned in early August to hike and shoot in Gros Morne. Those are my plans. I can’t change them. I’ve had them for almost a year now… I can’t change them .
Suddenly, I hear a rustling sound nearby, and my eyes fly open to see two dark eyes staring back at me from across the clearing.
But it’s not the deer I’ve been waiting for.
It’s a fox.
I freeze and stop rocking as we lock eyes. The fox is unusually close, sitting still as a statue as it calmly watches me. The tall grass gently sways around it, and its red fur catches the light and ruffles softly in the breeze coming off the water. Its black-tipped ears are perked up straight in my direction, and I can clearly see the details of its face. It’s the perfect photo .
But I don’t reach for my camera.
Instead, I stay perfectly still as my breathing slows, and we just watch each other, like there’s some kind of quiet understanding between us. A connection seems to stretch across this space, feeling like a peaceful trust that was sent here just for me, in this moment. The tension in my body slowly starts to unravel, until the noise and pressure fades away. It all just quietly moves into the periphery, leaving just me and this fox.
And then I hear Trevor’s words, drifting in on the breeze like a whisper. “Keep your head high, Firefox.”
Slowly, I lift my chin, keeping my eyes on the fox. It holds my gaze for another long moment, then dips its head as it turns away and disappears back into the long grass, slinking away as silently as it arrived.
And as I lean back against the tree, I release a long breath.
“Thank you.”