25. Natalie #2
I stand and gather my things, tucking a paper bag of maple sugar cookies into my purse for Luke. Jules’s friend Ali is behind the counter. She waves at me, and I smile and wave back before I grab my camera, toss my empty cup in the trash, and slip out the door, passing the growing line as I go.
Warmth covers my bare arms once I step outside. It’s already hot, the sun promising to melt the makeup off my face by noon. But I don’t mind; I love the sun. It’s one of the reasons why I love Florida.
Outside Le Fou, a wooden sign hangs over the door, displaying a jester with a silly hat.
He laughs down at me, and I raise my camera to snap a photo, enjoying the way the sun trickles across his face.
My feet carry me toward Maple Lake Diner next, where patrons sit on the other side of the windows, enjoying homemade breakfasts with coffee from white porcelain mugs that sport the diner’s logo.
A curly-haired waitress with a short white apron stands beside a table by the nearest window, taking an order.
I photograph the moment, unseen in my shadowy spot on the sidewalk.
For a few seconds after, I click through the images I’ve captured, squinting to see the screen against the glare of the sun. Birds sing their peter-peter-peter in the background of my thoughts. A gentle breeze caresses my cheek and tousles the loose curls at the base of my neck.
The photos all look amazing, and I keep skimming through them. Click, click, click. I finally come across one that makes me stop and stare; it would look great as a black-and-white print.
“Natalie.”
I jump at the sound of my name. Twirling, I find two gray-haired ladies have taken up residence on my five-by-five-foot sidewalk square. One I think I recognize. The other I don’t remember ever seeing before.
“Miss Paula?” I say.
The taller woman’s eyes light up. “I thought that was you! You’re back.”
I can’t tell if her statement is more of a question or a statement, but I nod. She leans in to hug me, and I hold my camera to the side as I kindly accept the embrace.
“I’m here for the summer,” I explain. “It’s nice to see you.”
Her eyes linger on my face for a moment before her friend clears her throat. “Oh,” Paula stammers, “this is Natalie Berns, Juliet’s sister.” She gestures to me with a wide smile.
The shorter woman, in her red capris and a white T-shirt that reads Not Your Regular Grandma in embroidered pink letters, extends her hand. I shake it. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she says. “It’s nice to finally see you here—to put a face to the name.”
I don’t know who she is or what she’s heard, but if she’s in Miss Paula’s circle of friends, she could have been told anything.
“I’m Rose,” the lady adds. “Jerry’s wife—Jerry from the gas station.” She looks down the street where the bend in the road leads to the gas station called Jerry’s.
My eyes widen in recognition. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a while,” I say sheepishly, tucking my hair behind my ear. “How is the business going?”
Rose shrugs her slightly hunched shoulders. “It’s business. Everyone needs gas, right? Or, they used to, anyway. Now with the new vehicles everything is changing. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
I chuckle nervously. “Right. Well, I was just taking photos around town.” My camera strap tugs on my neck as I hold it up for the ladies to see.
“Are you a photographer?” asks Miss Paula. Her purple sweater looks too hot to wear on a day like this, but I appreciate the color and how soft it looks. Her lemon-yellow pants blend into her yellow sneakers. I imagine myself wearing outfits like hers when I’m in my sixties.
“Yup. I have my own photography business.”
Miss Paula’s smile broadens. “That’s amazing. What do you photograph?”
Rose cuts her off. “Do you ever bird-watch? Maple Lake is a gold mine for bird-watchers.” She points a knobby finger at the camera. “I bet you’d get some great photos. I saw a pair of blue jays over that way this morning.” Her finger swings toward the lake.
I keep the smile plastered to my face. I have no desire to sit around looking at birds. I don’t even like birds.
“That’s a great idea,” I say with a laugh that I hope they take kindly. “But I’m not really a wildlife photographer.” Rose’s face falls in disappointment.
Miss Paula nudges her shoulder, her smile genuine. “Not everyone has the patience to wait on birds, Rose.” She speaks to me from behind her hand. “Bird-watching is an extreme sport you know … extremely boring.”
Rose elbows Miss Paula, and it looks to me like they’ve had this conversation before. “It’s not boring,” Rose grumbles.
Miss Paula turns to her shorter friend. “I fell asleep on that park bench the last time you dragged me out to stare at birds.”
Rose harrumphs. “It just takes patience. Something you apparently don’t have much of in your reservoir.”
“I lost all my patience years ago,” Miss Paula states flatly. I fight a smile behind my hand. “So, Natalie. What do you photograph?”
“People. Places. Mostly social media influencers.”
“You mean those people who do ridiculous things on those silly apps for attention?” Rose is spot on with her assessment.
I laugh. “Yes, those are the ones.”
“That’s wildlife, if you ask me,” Rose mumbles, crossing her wrinkly arms over her chest.
Miss Paula gives her a chastising look from the corner of her eye as if she’s the mother figure in this duo. I can’t tell if these ladies are friends or one another’s archnemesis.
Miss Paula briefly touches my arm with her fingers.
“You should take photos of our knitting club sometime. We get together every week, and we open the club to anyone who wants to join. If we had a good photo to add to our flyers around town, I think it would really help get the word out to tourists.”
I don’t want to be rude, but, inside, I’m sighing to myself. This morning I wanted my post to reach social media influencers with large followings, and now I’m being roped into photographing an elderly knitting club.
“Sure. I can take your group’s photo sometime,” I say.
Miss Paula’s eyes travel to Rose’s, and their smiles grow, creases deepening around their mouths and eyes. “Well, that’s wonderful. Thank you, sweetheart … Do you know how to add your phone number to my cell?”
I chuckle, remembering that people their age didn’t grow up with technology like a second language. “Yeah, I can do that.”
She hands me her phone, and I type in my number and name. I hand it back. “There you go.”
“I’m sure Juliet is over the moon to have you back,” says Rose with cheer ringing through her voice. I bite my lower lip, unsure how to respond.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Paula agrees, her face turning solemn. “Juliet wasn’t the same when you left.” She shakes her head.
Hearing someone say those words aloud cuts me deeply.
I know I left everyone in the dark when I disappeared, but the realization that I was probably the talk of the town makes my stomach twist even more.
Everyone must know the awful thing I did.
A hollow sensation appears in my chest, and my breaths become shallow gulps of air.
“But I’m sure everyone is excited to have you home, dear.” Miss Paula pats my shoulder, oblivious to the change in my breathing. “It was so nice to see you. I’ll get in touch about those photos. Don’t be a stranger!”
I fake a smile as the two women enter the diner, and a bell rings over the door as it swings open, greeting them with a happy jingle.
Will I take their photos? I don’t know. But if I’m being honest with myself, the flutter in my chest, which only a few minutes ago felt like guilt, no longer feels so easily diagnosed.
I could be wrong, but it feels a lot more like surprised anticipation at the opportunity to do something new—something different.
Even if it is different from what I was expecting.