Chapter 3

Katie brought the boys over on Saturday. Her excuse was to help with yard work, but it was pretty clear that it was mostly to check up on me. We got everything done by early afternoon. Katie wanted to get started on some inside cleaning, but I managed to head that off by suggesting a trip to the Farmer’s Market. Katie frowned at me, having figured out what I’d done, but couldn’t object to me suggesting buying fresh vegetables.

So Sunday afternoon, she came back alone. She only stayed a couple of hours, but we did work on the studio. Mostly, we dusted and mopped. Katie also got out the vacuum and cleaned the chaise. I found other things to do while she did. Watching her bent over the couch as she worked brought up a ghost I didn’t want to face.

After she left, I thought more about that. I’d been driven out of the room by a memory?

And I was going to jail for two days because of my memories.

Maybe it was time to do something about that. I just didn’t know what.

I decided that maybe Katie was right and the best thing I could do to “move on” was to get my studio in better shape. Not that I really wanted to move on, but going to jail was kind of a wake-up call that I needed to do something different.

On Monday, I moved the chaise across the room to break up the memories, and then ended up rearranging most of the rest of my equipment as well. It took me Tuesday and most of Wednesday to more or less finish the new configuration. In the process, I accumulated a pile of studio lights and other equipment that needed a little refurbishment. I also hadn’t begun to touch my files or the dark room, but it was something.

I was drinking a celebratory beer—for the cleaning—when Katie arrived. She bustled into the kitchen where I was sitting and watching a YouTube video with her arms full of groceries.

“You know,” I said, “I can shop for myself.”

“Do you buy vegetables?”

“I bought vegetables Saturday at the Farmer’s Market.”

“Not many.”

I shrugged. “I also bought apples. And strawberries since they’re in season.”

“Those aren’t vegetables.”

“I know what vegetables are.”

She pulled broccoli and carrots out of one of the bags. “The boys are having pizza tonight. I thought I’d cook.”

“And what if I had plans?”

She shot me a Really? look.

“I could’ve!”

“Mmm hmm. So what have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” My tone was emphatic. “You’ll be proud of me.”

“You did?” She looked at me, amused.

“Yep. Wanna see?”

“Sure.”

I finished my beer and helped her put the rest of the groceries away. Then I led her to my studio and pointed out all the work I done. She put her hands on her hips and looked around, clearly impressed.

“See!” I said. “I did more than the minimum. Just like a good kid.”

She smirked at the old, old family quote.

“Does this mean you want ice cream?” she asked.

“Sure! After dinner?”

“Only if you help me cook.”

“You’re on!”

We sat at an old wooden picnic table not far from Zesto’s. Katie licked her cone with the same fervor as she had as a little girl. I couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes twinkled when she caught me watching, but she didn’t say anything.

Instead, we just enjoyed the late spring Nebraska evening. It hadn’t gotten too warm yet, for which I was grateful. The bugs were just beginning to come out in force.

“This was a good idea,” I said as I licked my own ice cream.

“You did clean your studio.”

I chuckled. “Some of it.”

“So more when you finish.”

I chuckled again. “That might not be a good idea.”

“Why not? You can afford it.”

“Financially? Yeah.” I patted my stomach. “But the calories...?”

“Well, if it’ll get you to clean...”

“We’ll do something else. Next time.”

She smiled.

I spent more time cleaning Thursday and Friday. Now that I’d moved the chaise, the ghosts weren’t always in front of my eyes. By Friday evening, I had the studio almost functional. Of course, I hadn’t actually touched any of my cameras yet. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to.

Part of the problem was my cameras were old. I’d been a film holdout and now I wasn’t even sure I could get everything I needed without putting in an online order. Then I remembered I’d cleaned out the development chemicals. Digital it was.

I got my digital camera out and took a couple of test shots of a vase of flowers. “Flat” and “bland” didn’t begin to describe the results. At the end of the evening, I deleted them all.

I needed ... something different.

Frustrated, I went to bed restless. After not sleeping, I got out the photos of Alyssa and relieved some stress. Only then could I sleep.

Katie brought the boys over on Saturday for some more yard work. I persuaded her to knock off early so we could go shopping. We ended up at Best Buy where the boys browsed the video games while I looked at digital cameras. Katie drifted to my side.

“Browsing or buying?” she asked.

“Dunno.”

“Mmm.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You should get one. A new one.”

“I don’t need one.”

She looked at me. “Are you using it?”

“I tried.” I shrugged. “They weren’t very good.”

“What’s you shoot?”

“Still life.”

“That’s not what you’re good at.”

I shrugged again and pointed to a very high-end camera. “What do you think of that one?”

She frowned, but let me change the subject.

I bought the best digital camera they had. Katie insisted, saying I wouldn’t have any excuses then. I grumbled about the money, but she said I could afford it. The fact that she was right annoyed me, but I still bought the camera.

And of course, Katie said she was looking forward to seeing my pictures. When I glared at her, she had the decency to look a little abashed. Well, only a little.

Except it kind of worked. I’d always enjoyed fooling around with a new camera, and I got into fiddling with it. I did some still lifes in the studio, and they were okay. Better than the ones from the week before, but still not something I’d ever exhibit.

So Monday, I got out of the house and wandered the neighborhood. I took shots of architecture and flowers and anything else that caught my eye. It was fun, but none of the pictures were particularly good. So Tuesday I went to the zoo. I had a pleasant day, but again the photos were nothing special.

Discouraged, I poured myself a scotch that night after warming up a frozen pizza. I missed Caroline. I wouldn’t admit it publicly, but she’d been my second eyes almost my entire career. When she pointed out what was wrong with a photo, she was invariably right.