4. Memories
Chapter four
Memories
Maggie
Iwrinkled my nose. The shots I saw on the monitor weren’t right, but why? I assessed the situation meticulously. There had to be a way to salvage this photo shoot.
Brenda, my boss, whispered through her fingers. “Fix it. Now.”
“I’ve got this,” I said over my shoulder as I headed toward the display of exotic soaps, candles, and flowers for Lockwood’s products.
First, I focused on the basics. The arrangement seemed too busy.
Sometimes simplicity was a better strategy.
Removing a few of the stemmed flowers, I sprinkled a few petals instead and made sure the soaps were in a neat stack with one placed on its side.
Then, I backed away, taking a few more shots.
With rapt attention, Brenda watched the screen. I felt relief before she said a word.
“There it is,” she sighed.
I glanced over at Brenda. “That’s why you pay me the medium-sized bucks.”
Brenda focused on the screen, crossing her arms and gave an appreciative nod. “Remind me to give you a raise.”
Technically, Brenda called the shots here at Kent Design. I was the person who made sure the photographs were aesthetically pleasing. So, basically, I did all the work and she took all the credit.
Every couple of months or so she reminded me how five years ago, she found shots at Uncle Isaac’s firm that she loved, realized they were mine, and offered me a higher salary to come work for her in my final years of school.
When I’d graduated, she gave me a full-time job with benefits and occasionally flew me around the world for a shoot to fulfill my wanderlust. I always pointed out to her that she also worked me at least twelve hours a day, didn’t believe in the concept of vacations, and was slow to promote me despite my proven ability to sell any product.
I did love it here, though. Brenda gave me artistic license, within reason.
At the end of a shoot, too, I got to take the rest of the bouquet of flowers.
So, I tucked them under my arm, knowing they were fresh from the flower shop this morning.
With a satisfied smile on my face at a job well done, I returned to my floor.
Making a quick stop in the break room, I filled a vase with water and brought it back to my modern, glass-walled office where I arranged the flowers. Always with lavender, my favorite. There was beauty all around us if we just stopped to admire it.
I felt a presence in the doorway before anyone spoke.
“Feeling like life in the city is too fast-paced again?”
Shaking my head, I arranged the flowers to my taste. “Not at all, Easton. I love it here.”
He chuckled as he dropped into my art deco visitor’s chair. “You’re arranging flowers for more than a minute. Seems like you’re back at rural pace. Missing home today, love?”
I scrunched up my nose, partially because I hated that he was right and partially because I hated that nickname. “I love lavender and happen to appreciate natural beauty. That’s all.”
He rose. “Well, you’re in luck then because I have our tickets for the Strat Gallery tonight burning a hole in my pocket. You’ll be ready by seven, right?”
My eyes widened as I checked my calendar. Two deadlines to have shots edited by tomorrow, and I completely forgot there was a gallery opening I simply had to attend.
“I’ll make it work,” I said, doing some mental math to see if it was even possible. “I can’t wait to see what Kar has created.”
The world-renown artist, Karpathia was an incredible artist and my mentor. We’d met years ago through Uncle Isaac and stayed in touch ever since. I’d known about her show for a few weeks, put it in my calendar, but I’d completely forgotten about it today.
Easton leaned in, showing his intention to place a kiss on my cheek. “Hurry. The early reviews are raving about this installment.”
Giving him a nudge, I pushed him away before his lips could reach me. He was a year younger than me, had shoes more expensive than mine, and cared more about what art could do for his career than what it could do for his soul.
“Really?” I asked, tilting my head. “You looked up her early reviews? Why?”
He smirked. “Because I know you and how much you care for her art. And knowing you and your quirky flower habits earned me some brownie points, didn’t it? So, have you realized that you’re terribly in love with me yet?”
Rounding my desk, I took a seat in my office chair and dismissed him. “You’re hilarious. We both know there’s no one you love more than yourself. Now, go so I can get my work done. I can’t miss Karpathia.”
With a little huff, Easton left. I didn’t know what his deal was.
He’d been making more strange comments than usual.
He was a colleague and friend, sure, but I wasn’t interested in him as anything more than that.
I’d told him that far too many times to be accused of leading him on.
He was just horrendous at listening to anything that he didn’t want to hear.
Sure, we went to dinner once in a while and caught a gallery opening because we had similar interests. But there was only one man I wanted, Paul, and he didn’t want me. Whether I wanted to move on from that was irrelevant; I’d tried to forget him for years, and I couldn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to.
By the time six o’clock had come and gone, I was minutes away from finishing for the day. My time management skills and persistence to work through distractions paid off, and, with a few final clicks of the mouse, I sent the final copies to the editor.
Sighing, I leaned back in my office chair and stretched with my arms above my head. Closing my eyes, I felt transported back to a bed of soft grass in a field by a pond surrounded by lavender. I could almost feel the sun on my face and smell the flowers surrounding me.
With Paul sitting beside me, smelling of grass and musk.
My eyes popped open.
It had only been a few hours since something reminded me of my childhood best friend and the love of my life who didn’t love me back. The familiar ache in my heart seemed to be all I had left of him. A few years back, I decided it was proof that we were once the best of friends.
Pressing a hand to my chest, my eyes tracked to the desktop background photo on my computer and blurred as one of my memories of our childhood overpowered my consciousness:
After I plucked a sprig of lavender from the plant nearby, I looked at the muddy pond. “Why do you like it here in the country so much?”
With a slight shrug, he rolled up his sleeves. “It’s peaceful. Fresh air. Clouds and stars and shit.” He swiped the upper half of his plaid sleeve against his forehead, tousling some of his too long, dark brown hair.
Giggling, I threw my flower at him. “You make it sound so romantic.”
Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees, picking up the flower and twirling it. “S’pose it could be. I’m not that Shakespeare guy, but you can come over here if you want to see it my way.”
I scrambled up as his long, jean-clad legs stretched into a vee so I could sit between them. Resting my back on his chest, I let him show me the world through his gorgeous brown eyes.
His long, corded arm, tanned to his elbow, extended past my head, using the flower as a pointer.
“Take the pond, for example. If you sit here, you can see the wind blow little ripples on the top of it. Sure, it’s a little muddy, but from here with the sun sparkling off the surface, it’s kinda pretty. ”
There was something about being this close that had me completely at his mercy. He had this masculine scent, musk and grass, that I just couldn’t get enough of, so I wrapped my hands around his arm and brought it to my waist, holding him to me.
“What else?” I asked, relishing in how he didn’t pull away.
With one of his hands held hostage and how the other one he needed to support himself, he couldn’t gesture. Instead of complaining, he described things.
“How ‘bout that giant oak tree? See how majestic it is with its leaves fluttering in the breeze? And that copse of spruce trees on the opposite side. The tops sway when it’s gusty, so they almost look like they’re dancing.
When you look further out, you can see the same kind of ripples in the hay fields.
It almost looks like water but it’s green instead until it dries and turns to gold. ”
My heart was doing a little tap dance at hearing how much he saw and what beauty he noticed around him. “Keep talking, Paul. Don’t ever stop.”
He leaned up trying to take his arm back. “Naw, I’m done.”
I spun toward his arm, still clutching it. “I’m not poking fun at you. I mean it. What other beauty do you see?”
He tilted his head a little, as if he was trying to decide if he could trust me.
When he leaned back again, I knew he did.
Then I listened to his horrible farmer’s accent, his bad grammar, his poor word choice, all the things I was taught never to say, and I loved every split infinitive.
There was nothing I wanted more in this world than knowing what he was thinking and seeing the world how he saw it.
I wanted to know more than anything how he felt about me, but he never talked about it. Absolutely refused. Since there were only a few weeks left until I went to Chicago, I decided to try to work it into the conversation.
“So much beauty. I see it now, too. Anything else, or someone else?”
He grunted.
Giggling, I secretly loved his grunts. They often spoke his true feelings more than words ever could. “Did you leave anything out here at the pond that you found beautiful?”
“Aw, Mags,” he chided. “Not this again.”
I hopped up, spinning to face him in my long, flowy sundress that was modest enough for Father and a more breathable fabric than most. Since my parents insisted that I wear only long skirts and never pants or shorts even in the Midwest heat and humidity, this one became an instant favorite.
“Isn’t there anything else you find beautiful out here? The pattern of this dress has all these delicate flowers. Surely, it must rate up with the lavender and wildflowers you waxed about so poetically a minute ago,” I prompted.
Paul swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sure, your dress is pretty.”
My heart thundered now with anticipation. “And? What do you think of the girl wearing it?”
“Paul! Come on. Dinner’s ready,” his dad hollered.
Paul scrambled back from me like he was bit by a garden snake.
Dammit!
“Paul?” I said desperately, hoping he’d stay just for me.
“Gotta run. See ya tomorrow at school!” he shouted over his shoulder.
The way he raced across the field to get away from me so fast that he tripped a few times was humiliating. Not only didn’t he say I was beautiful or even pretty, but he pulled away from me like I was toxic. I shoved my feet into my sandals and trudged home with tears streaming down my face.
The hurt from that day pulled me out of my stupor, thrusting me back into the present.
Grabbing my purse, I swallowed down the past hurt and disappointment and headed out.
The cool breeze off the lake kept me in the present, as did the anticipation of what was to come.
Karpathia never disappointed, so I chose to focus on what was to come.
The past was nothing I wanted to think about for one more second tonight.