“You’re giving it away?” I look up. “Why?”
“Considering the author is an arrogant young blowhard who thinks he invented photography, that’s a great question.” Darius chuckles at my confusion. “Kidding…sort of. Patrick is an old friend, but I mean it when I say he wrote an excellent book. I’d have bought it even if he hadn’t written it. It just came out last week, and since your class doesn’t have a textbook, this is a worthy start.”
“Are you going to assign readings?” I place the book back on the counter.
“No, it’s just a gift.” He nudges the book back toward me. “Keep it. You get the first one.”
Mr. Pendleton rattles off a large total sum, and Darius hands him my stack of fiction and art books. “These too.”
“No, no.” I put my hand out reflexively. “I can’t let you buy my books.”
“I’ve missed your last six birthdays, so yes, you can.” He gives me a faint smile touched with regret and turns his attention back to Mr. Pendleton.
He didn’t miss my last six birthdays. Or at least, he didn’t forget them. In the three years before his abduction, a present always arrived in the mail a couple of days before March fifth.
After Darius loads the boxes into his SUV, he shakes Mr. Pendleton’s hand. “Thanks for getting those in so fast.”
“My pleasure.” The older man nods toward the book in my hands. “If Patrick O’Hare ever comes into town, he’s welcome to do a signing here. You too, when your book is out. It’d be an honor to have you.”
“I appreciate that.” Darius closes the hatch. “I know Patrick is scheduled to be in San Francisco sometime this fall, so I’ll try and get ahold of him.”
Mr. Pendleton returns to the store, and Darius glances at his watch. “I’ve got a couple more errands to run, but if you don’t mind waiting, I can give you a ride home when I’m done.”
Though normally I’d refuse, the new books will be heavy to lug home if I walk.
“I don’t mind.” I grip the books tighter. “I can go with you, if you want.”
“Great. I need to go to the bank and a couple of other stores. We can leave those in the car.” He takes the books from me and sets them in the backseat.
We start down the sidewalk. It’s the first time since his return that we’ve walked next to each other. When I was younger and smaller, I’d found his large frame to be comforting. Now, the combination of his height, breadth, and taut self-control is unnerving. The angle of the sun casts our shadows in front of us, and his massive silhouette almost eclipses mine.
“How do you know Patrick O’Hare?” I push my hands into the pockets of my ratty old army jacket. “Is he also a photojournalist?”
Darius nods. “We met about ten years ago when he was interning at the New York Times and I was freelancing. He was a hotheaded young ass who reminded me somewhat painfully of myself when I was his age.”
I can’t help smiling. “Sounds like he followed your path to success too.”
“He’s a much better photographer.”
“Not possible.” The instant the words are out, a flush heats my face.
Darius glances at me, almost as if he’s also surprised by the remark. “Thank you. But Patrick can photograph anything, from celebrities to wildlife. And he does it well. I’m only at home in war zones.”
“You seem pretty at home in the classroom too.” Far more than I’d expected him to. “Have you ever tried doing other kinds of photography?”
“I’ve taken a few commercial jobs and done some sports photography. But I was always looking for something more…”
His voice trails off and he shrugs.
“Significant,” I finish.
He’s silent for another half block before he glances at a cross-street sign. “You’ll have to show me where the bank is. I don’t remember much about downtown Grenville.”
“There’s not much to remember.” I spread my hands out to encompass the grid-like downtown streets lined with shops, the Dream Bean, and a few restaurants. “Though I guess it’s gotten bigger since you were here last. Evergreen College has had increased enrollment recently, so there are a lot more college kids in town.”
I indicate that we should turn left toward the bank.
“Are you looking forward to college?” he asks.
“I guess.” I zip up my jacket against a sudden cooler breeze. “Won’t be much different from high school, as far as I can tell.”
“Your father seems to have it well planned.”
“We’ve talked about it at length.” Our gazes meet swiftly. “Why is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not. I apologize if I sounded like I thought it was.” He points his thumb back in the direction of his SUV. “I see you got some drawing instruction books.”
“Archaic, I know.” I stop in front of the bank. “Mr. Pendleton keeps an eye out for new ones for me. I can only access a few art instruction sites on the school computers. Most of them are blocked for whatever reason.”
“You can’t access them at home?”
“I don’t use the computer at home.” I fiddle with the zipper on my jacket, suddenly uncomfortable. “Dad and I have an…um, understanding.”
Darius studies me for a moment, and again I feel like he’s on the other side of a camera lens, staring at me for the purpose of composing a shot.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he finally says before going into the bank.
When he returns, we stop at a computer store, then walk back to his SUV.
It’s the first time I’ve ridden with him since that first day. He seems even bigger now. Larger than life. As he shifts the car into gear, his shirtsleeve rides up, exposing his tanned, hair-roughened forearm.
I look out the side window. “What are you going to do after you leave Grenville?”
“Get an assignment, I hope.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.” He pulls the car onto the street.
“If you could pick a place, where would you go?” I turn to him again. “Do you have a favorite place in the world?”
“A Greek village called Arkenos on the coast of the Peloponnese.”
“I didn’t expect you to answer that so fast.” I lift my eyebrows. “With as many places as you’ve been, it must be hard to narrow down a favorite.”
“Not in my case.”
“What’s so special about Arkenos?”
“The travel guide version is that it’s a beautiful medieval village with cobblestone streets, whitewashed houses with red roofs, and rolling hills.” He squints at the road, almost as if he can see the Greek landscape. “Tourists haven’t found it yet, so it’s about as untouched a village as you can find. It’s surrounded by archeological ruins, olive groves, and it’s right on the edge of the bluest ocean waters and whitest sand beaches imaginable. The harbor is dotted with fishing boats, and you can row out to about five little islands to spend the day swimming and soaking up the sun.”
He falls silent. My heart is beating faster.