Mark raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
“He was a smart guy.”
“Did you start taking pictures right away?”
“No. Bryce being Bryce, he wanted me to learn the way he had, so he came by the day after Christmas with a photography book, a thirty-five-millimeter Leica camera, the manual, and a light meter,” she said. “I was still technically on break, so I only had to finish the assignments I hadn’t yet completed. In any case, by then, I had actually begun to pull ahead in my classes, which left more time to learn photography. He showed me how to load film, the way various settings altered the photo, and how to work the light meter. He walked me through the manual, and the book he brought touched on composition, framing, and what to think about when attempting to take a photograph. It was overwhelming, obviously, but he went through it all step by step. After which he’d quiz me, of course.”
Mark smiled. “When did you take your first real photo?”
“Right before the new year. They were all black and white—it was much easier to develop negatives into contact sheets and make prints ourselves in Bryce’s darkroom. We didn’t need to send film to Raleigh for processing, which was good because I didn’t have a ton of money. Just what my mom had given me at the airport.”
“What did you shoot that first day?”
“Some images of the ocean, a few old fishing boats tied up at the dock. Bryce had me make adjustments to the aperture and shutter speed, and when I got the contact sheets back, I was…” She searched for the right word, remembering. “Awestruck. The differences in effect just floored me, and that was when I first and truly began to understand what Bryce meant when he said photography was all about capturing the light. After that, I was hooked.”
“That fast?”
“You had to be there,” she said. “And the funny thing is, the more I got into photography over the next few months, the easier my schoolwork became and the faster I completed it. Not because I was suddenly smarter, but because finishing early meant more time with the camera. I even started doing extra homework at night, and when he’d show up the next day, I’d hand over two or three assignments first thing. How crazy is that?”
“I don’t think it’s crazy at all. You’d found your passion. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find mine.”
“You’re going to be a pastor. If that doesn’t require passion, I don’t know what does.”
“I suppose. It’s definitely a calling, but it doesn’t seem like the same feeling you had when you saw the contact sheet. There’s never been a ‘Eureka!’ moment for me. The feeling has just always been there, simmering in my bones, ever since I was young.”
“That doesn’t make it less real. How does Abigail feel about it?”
“She’s supportive. Of course, she also pointed out that it means she’ll have to be the principal breadwinner in the family.”
“What? No dreams of being a televangelist or building a megachurch?”
“I think we’re all called in different ways. Neither of those appeals to me.”
Maggie was pleased by his answer, convinced that many television preachers were hypocritical salesmen, more interested in their celebrity lifestyles than in helping others become closer to God. At the same time, she admitted, her knowledge of such people was limited to what she’d read in the newspapers. She’d never actually met a televangelist or a megachurch pastor.
The waitress came by with an offer to refill Mark’s cup and he waved it off. When she left, he leaned over the table. “Can I pick up the dinner tab?”
“Not a chance,” Maggie said. “I invited you. And besides, I know exactly how much you earn, Mr. Have a Slice of Pizza Before You Go to Dinner.”
He laughed. “Thank you,” he said. “This was fun. What a terrific evening, especially at this time of year.”
She couldn’t help flashing on her long-ago Christmas in Ocracoke, knowing there had been beauty in its simplicity, in spending time with people she cared about rather than being alone.
She didn’t want to be alone on her last Christmas, and taking a few seconds to study Mark, she knew she suddenly didn’t want him to be alone, either. The next words came almost automatically.
“I think we need more to get into the spirit of the season.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“What the gallery needs this year is a Christmas tree, don’t you think? How about I make arrangements to have a tree and decorations delivered? And then we’ll trim it together after we close tomorrow?”
“That sounds like a fantastic idea.”
* * *
The late dinner left Maggie feeling both exhilarated and exhausted, and she didn’t wake until almost noon the next day. Her pain level was tolerable, but she swallowed the pills anyway, washing them down with a cup of tea. She forced herself to have a piece of toast, puzzled that even with butter and gobs of jelly, it still tasted salty.
She took a bath and dressed, then spent some time on the computer. She ordered a tree, paying triple for expedited delivery so it would arrive at the gallery by five. For the decorations, she went with a complete set called Winter Wonderland, which included white lights, silver silk strands, and white and silver ornaments. Again, to have it expedited cost a small fortune, but what did the cost really matter at this point? She wanted a memorable Christmas, and that was that. She then texted Mark, letting him know to take delivery and that she’d be there later.
Once that was done, she settled into the couch and wrapped herself in a blanket. She thought about calling her parents but decided to wait until tomorrow. On Sundays, she knew they’d both be around the house. She knew she should probably call Morgan, too, but she put that off as well. Morgan wasn’t the easiest person to talk to lately; really, when Maggie was being honest with herself, aside from a few rare exceptions, talking to her sister had never been all that easy.
Why was that the case, though, she wondered again, even aside from their obvious differences? Maggie supposed that when she’d returned from Ocracoke, it had been even more evident that Morgan was the preferred daughter. She had maintained her 4.0 average, was homecoming queen, and eventually went off to Gonzaga University, where she joined just the right sorority. Their parents couldn’t have been prouder and made sure Maggie always knew it. After graduating from college, Morgan began teaching music at a local school and dated guys who worked in banks or for insurance companies, the kind who wore suits to work every day. She eventually met Jim, who worked for Merrill Lynch, and after they’d dated for two years, he proposed. They’d had a smallish—but perfectly orchestrated—wedding, immediately moving into the house Jim and Morgan bought, complete with a grill in the backyard. A few years later, Morgan gave birth to Tia. Three years after that, Bella came along, giving rise to family photos so perfect they could have been used to sell frames.
Meanwhile, Maggie had abandoned the family and spent those years struggling to launch her career and living the wild life, which meant their relative positions as siblings hadn’t changed. Both Maggie and Morgan knew their familiar roles—the star and the struggler—which informed their regular, if not frequent, phone conversations.