“I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will. I was asking for another reason.”
Because you’re clearly looking pregnant, she meant.
“I’d like to go tomorrow, but after that, I think I’ll take a break.”
“Okay, honey,” she said. “Starting next Sunday, Gwen will be around if you need anything.”
“She won’t go to church, either?”
“It’s probably not a good idea. She needs to be here, just in case.”
In case you go into labor, she meant, and when I reached for my sandwich, I was struck by yet more changes, signaling that my time here was coming to a close, more quickly than I wanted.
* * *
On Monday, two days later, my first thought upon waking was that I only had about a month to go. Leaving Daisy behind had made the reality of saying goodbye that much more concrete somehow, not just for me but for Bryce, too. He was subdued during our tutoring session, and afterward, instead of photography, he suggested that we start driving lessons. He mentioned he’d spoken to both my aunt and his mom about it, and they’d both approved.
I knew that he’d grown used to having Daisy with us during our shoots, and that he wanted to do something to take his mind off it. After I agreed, he drove to the road that led to the far end of the island and we traded places. It wasn’t until I was behind the wheel that I realized the truck had a standard, not automatic, transmission. Don’t ask me why I hadn’t noticed before, but it was probably because Bryce made driving seem effortless.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this.”
“It’s good to learn with a standard, in case you ever have to drive one.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“Because most people are smart enough to have cars that do all the shifting automatically.”
“Can we get started now? If you’re finished complaining?”
It was the first time that day that Bryce sounded like his old self, and I felt my shoulders relax. I hadn’t realized how tense they’d been. I listened as he described the process of using the clutch.
I’d imagined it would be easy, but it wasn’t. Releasing the clutch in the same instant the accelerator caught was a lot harder than Bryce made it seem, and the first hour of my driving lesson was essentially a long series of quick, lurching bucks of the truck followed by the engine stalling. After my first series of attempts, Bryce had to fasten his seat belt.
Eventually, once I got the truck going, he had me accelerate, shifting into second and third gear before starting the process all over again.
By the middle of the week, I seldom stalled the truck any longer; by Thursday, I was good enough to test the village streets, which was far less dangerous for all involved than it sounded, since there was seldom any traffic there, either. I oversteered and understeered when making turns, which meant spending most of that day practicing my navigation. By Friday, fortunately, I was no longer embarrassing myself behind the wheel as long as I was careful in the turns, and at the end of the lesson, Bryce wrapped his arms around me and told me again that he loved me.
As he held me, my mind couldn’t help flashing to the fact that the baby was due in twenty-seven days.
* * *
I didn’t see Bryce that Saturday, as he’d let me know after I’d finished my driving lesson the day before that because his father was still out of town, he would be spending the weekend fishing with his grandfather. Instead, I went to the shop and spent some time alphabetizing the books and arranging the videocassettes by category. Afterward Gwen and I discussed my Braxton Hicks contractions again, which had recently started up after a period of relative quiet. She reminded me that it was a normal phenomenon, and also walked me through what I should expect once I went into labor.
That night, I played gin rummy with my aunt and Gwen. I thought I’d hold my own, but it turns out that these two former nuns were pretty much card sharks and after finally putting the deck away, I wondered what exactly went on in convents after the lights were out. I had visions of a casino-like atmosphere with nuns wearing gold bracelets and sunglasses as they sat at felt-lined tables.
Sunday, however, was different. Gwen came by with her blood pressure monitor and the stethoscope and asked the same questions Dr. Huge Hands normally did, but as soon as she left, I felt out of sorts. Not only wasn’t I in church, but aside from studying for tests, I was pretty much done with school, as I’d finished all of my assignments for the semester. Nor had Bryce left me with his camera, so photography was out as well. The batteries in my Walkman were dead—my aunt had told me she’d pick some up later—leaving me with nothing whatsoever to do. Though I suppose I could have gone for a walk, I didn’t want to leave the house. It was too bright, people were out and about, and my pregnancy was so noticeable that stepping outside was equivalent to having two giant neon arrows pointing toward my tummy, letting everyone know why I’d come to Ocracoke in the first place.
In the end, I finally called my parents. I’d had to wait until midmorning because of the time difference and though I don’t know what I was hoping to hear, my mom and dad didn’t make me feel much better. They didn’t ask about Bryce or my photography, and when I mentioned how far ahead I was in school, my mom barely waited a beat before telling me that Morgan had won yet another scholarship, this time from the Knights of Columbus. When they put my sister on the phone, she seemed tired, which left her quieter than usual. For the first time in a long time, it felt like an actual back-and-forth conversation, and unable to help myself, I told her a little about Bryce and my newfound love of the camera. She sounded almost dumbfounded and then asked when I was coming home, which left me reeling. How could she not have known anything about Bryce or that I’d been taking pictures, or that the baby was due on May 9? As I hung up the phone, I wondered whether my parents and Morgan ever spoke about me at all.
With nothing better to do, I also cleaned the house. Not just the kitchen and my room and my own laundry, but everything. I made the bathroom sparkle, I vacuumed and dusted, and I even scrubbed the oven, though that ended up making my back ache, so I probably didn’t do the greatest job on it. Still, because the house was small, I had hours remaining to kill before my aunt got home, so I went to sit on the porch.
The day was gorgeous, spring making its arrival felt. The sky was cloudless and the water shimmered like a tray of blue diamonds, but I didn’t really pay much attention. Instead, all I could think was that the day kind of felt like a waste, and I didn’t have enough days left in Ocracoke to ever waste one again.
* * *
Tutoring with Bryce now merely consisted of prepping for next week’s exams, the last big round before finals. Because I could do only so much studying, our sessions grew shorter; because we’d gone through pretty much every photograph in the file box, we worked our way through one photography book after another. I realized over time that while almost anyone could learn to frame and compose a photo if they practiced enough, at its best photography truly was an art. An excellent photographer somehow put their soul into their work, conveying a distinct sensibility and personal viewpoint through the picture. Two photographers shooting the same thing at the same time could produce startlingly different images, and I began to understand that the first step in taking an excellent photograph was the simple act of knowing oneself.