27. Chapter Twenty-Eight
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EVIE
At three-seventeen on Wednesday afternoon, the last folder finished uploading.
I watched the progress bar disappear and waited for the confirmation before opening the folder again, because six weeks of work deserved more professionalism than trusting one cheerful green checkmark on a screen.
The image count matched my records, every caption was attached, the species information was correct, and the final selections were sitting exactly where they were supposed to be.
Both backup drives had already been verified that morning, with one packed inside equipment that would travel separately while the other sat in the padded compartment of my personal bag.
The primary drive remained beside my laptop for the final copy, its white label covered in my cramped handwriting with the project name, dates, and enough information that future me wouldn't have to open six mystery drives trying to remember which one contained this assignment.
My shot list lay open beside the keyboard with every line completed.
There were no stars in the margin telling me to try something again, no arrows pointing toward missing subjects, and no irritated notes to myself about a wing being blurred or a composition being slightly off.
It wasn't almost complete or complete unless the light improves tomorrow morning.
The photography portion of the job was genuinely finished, leaving only the boring boxes on my departure checklist: verify upload, eject drive, shut down laptop, pack charger, finish equipment inventory, and sign the final paperwork.
I liked boring boxes because they meant I'd done my job correctly.
Most of my equipment was already inside the hard cases I'd started packing over the previous few days, so I didn't have to dismantle the entire workstation again.
The long lens was secured beneath its padded divider, batteries had been counted and placed into labeled holders, memory cards were accounted for, and the rain covers had finally dried after yesterday's humidity and were folded inside a side compartment instead of hanging over the backs of chairs.
Only the things I'd needed that morning remained on the worktable: my laptop, primary drive, notebook, one camera body, charger, cleaning kit, and a half-empty bottle of water that had been sweating against the wood long enough to leave a damp ring beneath it.
When the final backup finished, I safely ejected the drive, unplugged the cable, checked the label, and slid it into the padded compartment of my personal bag.
My fingers stayed on the zipper for a second after I closed it, my stomach tightening in the same irritating way it had each time another piece of equipment disappeared into a case.
I was proud of the work, and that hadn't changed just because leaving had gotten complicated.
I was ready for a real shower, my own washing machine, and several days in which nothing I owned smelled faintly of rainforest no matter how often I cleaned it.
I wanted to sleep in my own bed, order food that hadn't spent any portion of its existence inside a field bag, and wear something that had absolutely no practical value in a wet environment.
The problem was that finishing this assignment no longer meant only going home for a few weeks before Patagonia. It also meant leaving the temple and the three men who had become part of nearly every day I'd spent here.
“Please tell me you aren't about to check that drive again.” Mara asked from behind me, amusement in her voice as one of the metal drawers near her desk slid shut with a hollow clang and her boots crossed the worn floor toward me.
“I was thinking about it.” I admitted to Mara as I rested one hand on the zipped compartment and glanced over my shoulder.
“That would be the fourth time.” Mara pointed out as she stopped beside the table with her clipboard tucked beneath one arm, several strands of medium-brown hair having escaped her bun and curled around her temples in the humidity.
“The third and a half. One of those barely counted.” I corrected Mara as I reached for the final charging cable and began coiling it around my palm.
“It counted to everyone who had to watch you do it.” Mara replied as she picked up my final checklist, her mouth twitching while she scanned the marked boxes.
“You're very judgmental for someone whose coffee I've politely tolerated for six weeks.” I told Mara as I secured the cable with its tie and placed it beside the charger.
“You stopped being polite about my coffee in week two.” Mara reminded me as she looked over the top edge of the clipboard, her brown eyes narrowing with exaggerated accusation.
“That was constructive feedback.” I informed Mara as I shut the laptop and ran my palm over the lid before slipping it into its case.
“That was you asking whether I'd brewed tree bark.” Mara replied as she lowered the clipboard, finally laughing.
“In my defense, it tasted possible.” I told Mara as I lifted the laptop case from the table and added it to the smaller stack waiting beside my chair.
The ceiling fan clicked overhead at the same uneven rhythm I'd listened to almost every day since arriving.
Warm air moved through the screened windows carrying damp soil, wet vegetation, and the sharp green smell that lingered after rain, while insects buzzed steadily outside beneath the heavier calls of birds farther into the trees.
Afternoon light stretched across the station and exposed sections of the worktable that had been hidden for most of six weeks.
Scratches crossed the dark wood near the edge, an old water stain marked one corner, and the section where my laptop had sat was slightly cleaner than everything around it.
I wrapped the charger and put it away, then reached automatically toward the table for something else before realizing there wasn't anything left. The workspace that had held my equipment, notes, drives, and half-finished cups of coffee for six weeks was finally bare.
“All done?” Mara asked from beside me, the humor fading from her voice when she saw where I was looking.
“All done.” I answered Mara as I crouched to check beneath the table one final time, finding nothing except the station power strip, two cable clips, and a dust ball I had absolutely no intention of claiming.
Mara stepped closer and began reading through the equipment inventory while I checked the case numbers against hers.
Camera bodies. Lenses. Drives. Chargers.
Rain gear. Field accessories. Everything was where it belonged, and when we reached the bottom of the sheet, she held out the clipboard and pen.
“Sign there, and you're officially finished.” Mara told me as she tapped the final blank line with one finger, satisfaction showing beneath her usual practical expression.
“The rainforest is no longer my professional responsibility.” I told Mara as I signed my name, added the date, and handed the clipboard back.
“The rainforest is going to be devastated.” Mara replied as she checked my signature and secured the pen beneath the clip.
“I think it'll recover.” I assured Mara as my attention moved toward the cases lined along the wall.
Normally, seeing every case closed and accounted for satisfied something in me.
It meant nothing was missing, nothing had been left unfinished, and I could move on without carrying a list of things I should've done differently.
Today the exact same sight made my stomach tighten because those cases weren't only proof that the assignment was finished.
They were proof that morning was coming.
Mara followed my gaze but didn't ask how I felt about leaving again. We'd already had that conversation, and she apparently remembered it well enough not to make me repeat myself simply because departure was finally here. Instead, she bumped the side of my boot lightly with hers.
“Congratulations.” Mara told me as she tucked the clipboard beneath her arm, a warm smile replacing the more familiar dry one.
“Six weeks finished, client happy, and you've already managed to turn the emergency Wild Terrain job into three months in Patagonia.
That's a pretty damn good way to leave.”
“Yeah. It really is.” I answered Mara as I smiled back, letting myself enjoy the accomplishment without immediately attaching everything else I was feeling to it.
“Good, because I'm still jealous about the pumas.” Mara replied as she picked up her mug from the neighboring table and peered into it before taking a cautious drink. “I get spreadsheets. You get pumas.”
“You could become a wildlife photographer.” I suggested to Mara as I pulled my overnight pack from beneath the neighboring chair and checked that the radio was still clipped to the side.
“I enjoy beds, roofs, bathrooms, and food that didn't travel in a backpack.” Mara told me as she counted each point on her fingers with the hand not holding her coffee.
“Those are admittedly strong arguments.” I agreed with Mara as I settled the lighter pack against my shoulder.
“And climate control.” Mara added as she lifted her mug toward the barely effective ceiling fan.
“Now you're just showing off.” I told Mara, smiling when she laughed again. Mara checked the departure sheet tucked beneath her clipboard before turning back toward me.
“Truck's here at six-thirty tomorrow. Cases outside by six-fifteen, and after that you're somebody else's logistical problem.” Mara reminded me as she ran one finger beneath the time.
“You say the sweetest things.” I told Mara as I tightened the pack strap and picked up the smaller camera bag I'd be taking to the temple.
“I try. Go enjoy your last night.” Mara replied with a small smile as she jerked her chin toward the door. “I'll see you in the morning.”
“I'll be here.” I promised Mara as I stepped backward toward the exit.
“I know.” Mara answered as she turned toward her desk and reached for another stack of paperwork.