“Will your mom be able to go inside? I mean, is there an elevator?”
“Usually they spend most of the time in the van,” Bryce answered. “But she enjoys the fresh air for a little while. Would you like to get a soda?”
I saw the crowd moving in that direction and shook my head. “Let’s go up front for a while.”
We walked toward the bow along with a few other people, but were able to find a place where we weren’t sandwiched next to others. Despite the chilly air, the water was calm in all directions.
“Is Robert really building an airplane?” I asked.
“He’s been working on it for almost a year now. My father helps, but it’s his design.”
“And your parents will let him fly it?”
“He’d need his pilot’s license first. He’s mainly doing it as an entry into some national student science competition, and knowing him, I’m sure it will fly. My dad will make sure it’s safe, though.”
“Your dad can fly, too?”
“He can do a lot of things.”
“But your mom homeschools? Not your dad?”
“He always worked.”
“How can your mom possibly teach any of you anything?”
“She’s pretty smart, too.” He shrugged. “She started at MIT when she was sixteen.”
Then how did she become pregnant as a teenager? I wondered. Oh, yeah. Sometimes it’s just an oops. But still…what a family. I’d never even heard of another one like it.
“How did your parents meet?”
“They were both interning in Washington, D.C., but I don’t know much more than that. They don’t really share those kinds of stories with us.”
“Was your mom in a wheelchair then? I’m sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t ask…”
“It’s okay. I’m sure a lot of people wonder about it. She was in a car accident eight years ago. Two-lane highway, a car passing another car from the opposite direction. To avoid a head-on crash, my mom veered off the road, but she hit a telephone pole. She almost died; it’s actually kind of a wonder that she didn’t. She spent almost two weeks in the ICU, had multiple surgeries and a ton of rehab. But her spinal cord was damaged. She was fully paralyzed from the waist down for over a year, but eventually she recovered some feeling in her legs. Now she can move them a little—enough to make dressing easier—but that’s it. She can’t stand.”
“That’s awful.”
“It’s sad. Before the accident, she was very active. Played tennis, jogged every day. But she doesn’t complain.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“I guess I didn’t think about it. I know that sounds strange, but I don’t really notice it anymore. She still teaches the twins, makes dinner, goes shopping, takes photographs, whatever. But you’re right. I should have thought to mention it.”
“Is that why your family moved to Ocracoke? So her parents could help out?”
“It’s actually the opposite. Like I told you, after my dad retired from the military and started consulting, we could have gone anywhere, but my grandmother had had a stroke the year before. Not a bad one, but the doctor indicated that she might have more in the future. As for my grandfather, his arthritis is getting worse, which is another reason why my dad helps him whenever he’s in town. The point is, my mom thought she could help her parents more than they could help her, so she wanted to live near them. Believe it or not, she’s fairly independent.”
“And she’s the reason you’re raising Daisy? To help someone like your mom who needs it?”
“That was part of it. My dad also thought I’d enjoy having a dog for a while since he travels so much.”
“How much does he travel?”
“It varies, but it’s usually four or five months a year. He’ll be taking off again sometime after the holidays. But now it’s your turn. We’ve been talking about me and my family and it feels like I don’t know anything about you.”
I could feel the wind in my hair, could taste the salt in the chilly air.
“I’ve told you about my parents and my sister.”
“What about you, then? What else do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies?”
“I used to dance when I was little, and I played sports in middle school. But no real hobbies.”
“What do you do after school or on the weekends?”
“Hang out with my friends, talk on the phone, watch TV.” Even as I said it, I understood how lame that sounded and knew I needed to get off the subject of me as quickly as possible. “You forgot to bring your camera.”
“For the flotilla, you mean? I thought about it, but I figured it would be a waste of time. I tried last year, and I couldn’t get the photos to turn out right. The colored lights all came out white.”
“Did you try using the automatic setting?”
“I tried everything, but I still couldn’t make it work. At the time, I didn’t realize I should have used a tripod and adjusted the ISO, but even then, the images probably wouldn’t have come out. I think the boats were too far offshore, and obviously they were moving.”
I had no idea what any of that meant. “Seems complicated.”
“It is and it isn’t. It’s like learning anything in that it takes time and practice. And even if I think I know exactly what to do for a shot, I still find myself changing the aperture constantly. When I shoot in black and white—which I normally do—I also really have to watch the timer in the darkroom to get the shading just right. And now, with Photoshop, there’s even more I can do in post.”
“You have your own darkroom?”
“My dad built it for my mom, but I use it, too.”
“You must be an expert.”
“My mom’s the expert, not me. When I have a problem with a print, either she helps or Richard does. Sometimes both of them.”
“Richard?”
“With Photoshop, I mean. He automatically understands anything computer related, so if it’s a Photoshop issue, he can figure it out. It’s irritating.”
I smiled. “I take it that your mom taught you photography, right?”
“She did. She’s taken some incredible shots over the years.”
“I’d like to see them. The darkroom, too.”
“I’ll be happy to show you.”
“How did your mom get into photography?”
“She said she just picked up a camera one day in high school, took some photos, and got hooked. After I was born, neither my mom nor my dad wanted to put me in daycare, so she began to freelance with a local photographer on weekends, when my dad could stay with me. Then, whenever we moved, she’d find work assisting a new photographer. She did that up until the twins came along. By then, she’d started homeschooling me—and taking care of them—so photography became more of a hobby. But she still goes out with her camera whenever she can.”
I thought about my own parents, trying to figure out their passions, but aside from work, family, and church, I couldn’t come up with anything. My mom didn’t play tennis or bridge or anything like that; my dad had never played poker or whatever it was guys did when they hung out together. They both worked; he took care of the yard and the garage and emptied the garbage, while she cooked, did laundry, and cleaned the house. Aside from going out to dinner every other Friday, my parents were pretty much homebodies. Which probably explained why I didn’t do much, either. Then again, Morgan had the violin, so maybe I was just making excuses.