Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Adam
Keri gasps sharply and sits up straight on the stump, clutching her knees as she stares at me. I search her face for a clue. Her eyes are wide, but I can’t tell if the flicker there is surprise, admiration, or anger.
“What?” I chuckle.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before I started dancing and prancing around like a fool in the lavender fields?”
“You’re not a fool. And would it have made a difference?”
“Yes.”
She stands, and I fumble to get on my feet. She won’t even look at me.
“Hey.” I duck to catch her eye. “Keri, look at me.”
She finally blinks back at me, her blue irises rimmed with frustration, her pupils wide with tension. There’s guardedness in her gaze.
“Why does it matter that I’ve photographed Ridge Wilson before? I’ve taken thousands of pictures of people all over the world. That’s my job.”
“Yeah, but for People magazine? You should’ve told me.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, and I take a step back from her and shrug. “What are you planning to do with my pictures?” She gestures toward my camera on the ground.
“I’ll send them to you, for your use.” I notice her hands shaking. I gently take one in mine, pressing it between my palms. “Why is this such a concern, Keri?”
Her sigh is audible as she looks at our hands. “I didn’t expect you had worked with such a high-profile client. You’re a successful, sought-after photographer. That’s kind of amazing.”
I lead her back to the stump and motion for her to sit down. “I’m just a normal guy with a knack for taking good pictures. You sure it’s not something else?”
She looks up at me and shakes her head.
“You can tell me.”
I can see Keri’s defenses, the way she puts up walls to keep people at a distance.
Part of me wonders if that toughness is armor or just a habit.
I find myself drawn to the cracks in her calm.
Curious about the truths she guards so closely.
Does her confidence cover something deeper, something fragile?
I want to find out what she’s protecting, and why it matters so much to me.
She studies my face before she exhales an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay. I once had a photographer use a very unbecoming photo of me without my permission.”
I furrow my brow and kneel in front of her. “Use it how?”
She hesitates. “They were backstage photos of me at one of the pageants. You know, a glimpse into the life of a beauty queen. It was an article for a regional magazine. I was thrilled to be chosen for it. Imagine my surprise when I finally received a copy with my picture on the front page, leaving very little to the imagination.”
“What kind of photo?” My blood pressure rises.
“I was sitting in front of a lit-up mirror, taking off my show makeup, wearing a robe. I don’t even remember the guy taking that photo. I was so embarrassed.”
“If it was the cover, maybe it wasn’t that bad.”
“I was mortified. I mean, what beauty queen wants to be seen in a robe on the cover of a magazine, huh? My father was livid and threatened to sue. But I’d signed a release agreement and had no legal rights to the images. I should’ve known better.”
I’m taken aback when she leans forward and looks me right in the eye, her voice holding an accusatory tone. “You’re not doing some kind of article for People magazine about washed-up beauty queens in small towns, are you?”
“No,” I answer quickly, holding back a smile. I want her trust. I need to break through her wall.
She gently presses her palms against my cheeks. “Then tell me the truth. Why are you here in Heartsboro?”
I stagger for a breath and stare at her beautiful face up close.
This girl is a serious knockout. Super model beauty if I’m being truthful.
I’ve been around my fair share of gorgeous women in this business, but none of them compare to her flawless genes.
She’s a natural beauty. The kind that seems to be extinct these days in La-La land.
I grip her hands by the wrist and slowly pull them away from my face.
“Fair enough. You allowed me to take your photo, so I’ll tell you exactly why I’m here in Heartsboro.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Good.”
I clear my throat and come clean. “I’m on a self-imposed sabbatical, Keri.”
Her pretty brows knit together as she allows the words to sink in. “A sabbatical? Why?”
I drop to the ground, arms on my knees, hands linked together.
I want to tell her everything, but the words stick.
Am I afraid of what she’ll think, or just not ready to let her see that side of me?
My stomach churns as I watch her take a breath, eyes never leaving mine.
She deserves honesty—but the truth feels tangled and raw.
“Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“Are you okay?”
I look away. “I’m doing better. It just takes time.”
She nods as if she understands. “I should’ve taken a sabbatical after my dad died. Instead, I bulldozed my way into the family business, thinking I could change the entire real estate landscape on my own.” She quietly laughs to herself and stares off into the purple fields.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Keri. One thing I’ve learned being on the road is that we all need quiet spaces so we can remember how to listen… to ourselves, to the world, to each other.”
She nods again. “That makes sense.”
“We weren’t built for constant noise or work.
Our nervous systems crave birdsongs, bees, wind, and waves.
Even pretty lavender fields.” A breeze floats across our shady spot, causing a whooshing sound through the overhead vegetation, continuing in waves over the purple meadow.
It’s just as relaxing as watching ocean tides crashing on a beach in California.
We both look out over the gorgeous flowers at the same time.
“When the world feels too loud, you gotta step outside. Take a journey and let the earth reset you. That’s what I’ve been doing. ”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
Her brow furrows slightly as she pans the lavender fields, lips pressed together, her hair fluttering back from her shoulders.
She’s so pretty, I’m tempted to grab my camera and take more photos of her while she’s in a contemplative state.
But I don’t want to deceive her like that other crappy photographer did.
I’ll always let her know when my camera is aimed her way.
“Do you remember who you were before everything got heavy? Before you decided to take a break?” she asks.
I blink back at her, my voice scratched with emotion. “Of course I do.”
“Me too. There was a time I didn’t overthink every choice. I didn’t wake up already tired,” she whispers.
I’m totally tracking with her, adding, “A time when you believed things would get better just because you wanted them to, right?”
Her face lights up. “Yes! But life wore me down. One day, I looked in the mirror and thought, ‘When did Angel Face disappear?’”
I nod, grateful we’re in sync, though she doesn’t know my story yet. I stay quiet, just listening. She’s wise beyond her years.
“There’s a version of my life that doesn’t exist anymore. And the weirdest part? I’ve spent my entire life growing up here in Heartsboro. It’s my home. But after I returned from college, I realized it wasn’t a place I wanted to come back to anymore. But by then, I had no choice.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, grateful for her openness.
“Before I left, everything in my life had a certain feeling to it. My grandmother was here. My childhood bedroom. My trophies and tiaras. My longtime friends. My dad and his entrepreneurial dreams...” Her voice trails off with wistfulness.
“And then four years later, when I came back, everything was totally different. My grandmother was gone, my friends had moved on, my father was stressed and needed my help.”
“You grew up. Things change,” I offer.
“It was more than that. And when he suddenly died from a heart attack and left me all alone in this world, I realized those romanticized childhood feelings I used to have died with him. But here’s the real kicker: I didn’t realize I’d miss those feelings so desperately until my family was gone.”
I’m frozen in place, her words hitting close to home.
My throat tightens as I battle my emotions.
Keri can’t know just how much our stories echo each other—how we’re both alone, both grieving the shadows of lives left behind.
For a moment, I can barely speak past the lump in my throat.
“If you could have a do-over, would you have come back after college to help your father?”
She shrugs, her devotion to her dad on full display. “As I said, I had no choice. I’m his only child. His legacy. After everything he did for me, I couldn’t hang him out to dry. You make sacrifices for the people that you love.”
I can sense us bonding, recognizing in Keri a similar complicated depth.
We both feel too much. I want to tell her how I crave space and silence as much as I need connection.
I’ve been a nomad for the last two years.
Restless. Someone desperate to disappear.
I’ve learned to vanish for days without talking to anyone, driving across the country, holing up in campgrounds, or lingering in deserted meadows wrestling with the demons chasing me.
I’ve had a melancholy dissatisfaction with stability since I left California.
I deliberately chose this life on the road for privacy and space.
My need for solitude isn’t some romantic quirk.
Up until this moment, it’s been a heartbreaking challenge.
“Adam?”
I look up at her. “Huh?”
“Have you ever experienced grief before?”
I close my eyes, my voice croaking in my reply. “Of course.”
“I think there’s a part of grief almost no one talks about, but everyone feels.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, when someone you love dies, it’s not just their absence you feel.
It’s something… deeper. Something harder to name.
I’ve wrestled with this for years. When my grandmother and then my father died, it wasn’t just the loss that shattered me.
It was the part of myself that only they could bring out in me. ”
My nod is slow, and I remind myself to breathe.
“There were parts of me that only they got to see.” She dips her head and smiles. “My hideous snort-laugh when I find something hilarious. Or the way I felt invincible and brave simply because I knew I could count on them to be my biggest cheerleaders.”
“The parts you show in the safety of being fully known,” I whisper.
“Yes! And now that they’re gone, those parts of me went quiet too. I never expected that. Not just missing them, but missing who I was when they were both here.”
“Yeah. I get it.”
“Do you?” She comes off the stump and sits right next to me on the grass.
“I feel it in the smallest moments too. When I catch my reflection and realize my smile has changed. Or… missing the old spark inside of me that I didn’t realize they had been lighting up all along. Wondering why my life feels… dimmer.”
I reach for her hand again, only this time, I gently entwine my fingers with hers. “That’s hidden grief, Keri. Missing someone and then missing yourself.”
She looks right at me, her eyes shimmering pools of baby blue. “But I’ve learned those parts didn’t totally disappear. Because as much as loss takes from us, it also leaves something behind.”
“Like what?”
“Love.”
My lower lip trembles as I try to keep it together. “Go on.”
“A love that… reshapes itself. In the way we let their memory, their courage and kindness, their legacies ripple through everything we do. I’m trying to listen more closely and love more fiercely.
To soften the hard shell I’ve put up around me.
I want to move through the world they once moved through, not second-guessing everything.
Do you know what I mean? I’m trying to learn how to keep their memories alive.
I don’t want to replace them. I want to honor the version of me I’m becoming because they were the ones who I loved the most.” She lets go of my hand and exhales a half-laugh.
“I’m sorry. I’m jabbering away and not making any sense.
You’re so easy to talk to. So to answer your question, I guess that explains why I never left Heartsboro. ”
“Makes total sense.” A tear makes a path down my cheek, and I sniffle. Keri jerks her head to look right at me, her eyes going wide at the sight of me crying.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean to…”
“—I appreciate your honesty more than you’ll ever know,” I interrupt, running my fingers under my eyes. I laugh, trying to bring some levity into the somber moment. “The bottom line is, feeling lost is part of finding yourself again.”
“You’re right.” Her smile is slight as she nods with enthusiasm.
I allow my urge to stroke her cheek to take over. She leans into my hand, her long lashes fluttering closed. I press my lips to the shell of her ear and whisper, “We’re a lot alike, you and me.”
“We are?”
“Mmhmm.”