My throat felt dry. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
I stepped back, wondering if I’d been imagining things, as Bryce turned away. He fell in beside his father as they approached the storage area beneath the house.
Meanwhile, Richard and Robert lugged the ladder toward the porch. On instinct, I moved away from the house, unconsciously trying to figure out how best to frame a final shot with the single exposure I had left. Stopping when the angle seemed right, I adjusted the aperture and checked the light meter, making sure everything was ready to go.
Bryce and his father had vanished inside the storage room, but after a few seconds, I watched Bryce emerge with a piece of plywood. He leaned it against the wall, then returned for another; within minutes, there was a stack of them. Bryce and one of the twins carried one sheet to the front door, while Porter and the other twin did the same. They disappeared inside, my aunt holding the door open for them, only to reappear on the porch a few seconds later. I lifted the lens as they began putting up the plywood over the sliding glass door, but the shot wasn’t worth taking because all of them had their backs to me. Bryce sank the first screw, the rest following in rapid succession. Up went the second piece of plywood with equal speed, and the four of them descended the ladder. Both times, I lowered the camera.
Two more pieces of plywood went over the front window just as quickly, and again I had a bad angle. I didn’t get the shot I wanted until the ladder was moved to my aunt’s bedroom.
Bryce went up the ladder first; the twins handed a smaller sheet of plywood to their father, who then passed it farther up to Bryce. I zeroed in on the focus and suddenly Bryce had to twist in my direction; as he gripped the plywood with both hands, I automatically pressed the shutter. Just as quickly, he twisted back, in position to secure the plywood, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d missed it.
And just like that, the window was covered, making it obvious this wasn’t their first rodeo. The twins carried the ladder back to the truck while Bryce and his father returned to the storage area. They emerged carrying something heavy that resembled a small engine. They set it next to the storage area, in a spot that would be sheltered from the wind and rain. With a pull of the cord, they started it, the sound akin to a lawn mower.
“Generator,” Bryce called out, knowing I had no idea what I was seeing. “It’s pretty much guaranteed the power will go out.”
After shutting it off, they filled the tank from a large can of gasoline that had been in the bed of the truck, and Bryce ran a long power cord into the house. I absently began to rewind the film, hoping that I’d miraculously gotten the shot of Bryce that I’d wanted.
When the film clicked, I turned toward the water, which had already become a sea of whitecaps. Had he really wanted to kiss me? I continued to wonder as I saw him skip back down the steps. The others were already at the truck and after another exchange of waves, I watched him drive away.
Lost in my own thoughts, I debated heading inside before impulsively hopping on my bicycle again. I sped to Bryce’s house, knowing they wouldn’t be there yet, relieved when his mom opened the door.
“Maggie?” She stared at me, curious. “If you’re here to see Bryce, he’s working with his dad today.”
“I know, but I have a big favor I wanted to ask. I know you might be busy getting ready for the storm and everything, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind developing these for me.” As with Bryce, I explained my theme, and I could see her studying me.
“You said you got one of Bryce, too?”
“I’m not sure. I hope so,” I said. “It’s the last photo on the roll.”
She tilted her head, no doubt intuiting its importance to me before holding out her hand. “Let me see what I can do.”
* * *
My aunt’s house was dark and cave-like, no surprise since there wasn’t a glint of light coming through the covered windows. In the kitchen, the refrigerator was pulled away from the wall, no doubt so it could be easily connected to the generator when the time came. My aunt was nowhere to be seen, and as I took a seat on the couch, I found myself replaying the moment when I thought Bryce might kiss me, still trying to figure it out.
Hoping to get my mind off it, I retrieved my textbooks and spent the next hour and a half studying and doing homework. My aunt eventually emerged from her room to start dinner, and as I was dicing tomatoes for the salad, I heard the unmistakable rumble of a vehicle on the gravel outside. My aunt heard it, too, and raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering if I’d invited Bryce for dinner.
“He didn’t mention that he would be coming over,” I said with a shrug.
“Would you do me a favor and see who it is? I’ve got chicken in the pan.”
I went to the door and recognized the Trickett family van in the driveway, Bryce’s mom behind the wheel. The sky had grown increasingly dark and the wind was gusting hard enough to make me grip the railing hard. When I reached the van, his mom rolled down the driver’s-side window and held out a manila envelope.
“I got the feeling you were in a hurry, so I started developing them as soon as you left. You took some wonderful shots. You caught a lot of character in some of the faces. I especially liked the one of the man smoking by the store.”
“I’m sorry if you felt like you had to rush,” I said, straining to be heard over the wind. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to take care of it before we lost power,” she said. “I’m sure you’re on pins and needles. I remember the first roll I ever took by myself, too.”
I swallowed. “Did the photo of Bryce come out?”
“It’s my favorite,” she said. “But of course, I’m biased.”
“Are they back yet?”
“I’m guessing they’ll be home any minute, so I should probably get going.”
“Thank you again for doing this so fast.”
“My pleasure. If I had my way, I’d spend every day in the darkroom.”
I watched her back up, waved as the van started rolling forward, then scurried back into the house. In the living room, I turned on the lamp, wanting as much light as possible as I went through the photographs.
As I’d suspected, there were only a couple of good ones. Most were close, but not quite perfect. Either the focus was off, or the settings weren’t ideal. My composition wasn’t always great, either, but Bryce’s mom was right in thinking the photo of the smoker was a definite keeper. It was the one of Bryce, however, that made me almost gasp.
The focus was sharp and the lighting dramatic. I had caught him just as his upper body had turned in my direction; the muscles in his arms stood out as if etched in relief, and his expression reflected intense concentration. He looked very much like himself, unselfconscious and naturally graceful. I traced my fingertip lightly across his figure.
It dawned on me then that Bryce—just like my aunt—had come into my life at the time when I’d needed him most. More than that, he’d quickly become the closest friend I’d ever had, and I hadn’t been wrong in reading his desire. Had we been alone, he might have even attempted a kiss, even if we both knew it was the last thing I wanted or needed. Like me, he had to know that there was no way a relationship between us could ever work. In a few short months, I’d leave Ocracoke behind and become someone new again, someone I didn’t yet know. Our relationship was doomed to failure, but even as that knowledge weighed me down, I knew in my heart that—just like Bryce—I longed for something more between us.