The Calendar of New Beginnings (14 page)

She wiped a few tears away from her eyes. “I’m sorry I’m so emotional. I was just thinking about him as I walked here today. I’ve always regretted I was too young to attend the classes he used to teach here.”

The corner of Tanner’s mouth lifted. “Arthur said you used to sneak into journalism classes when you were in high school.”

“He knew about that?” she asked.

“Sure did. Who do you think told the teachers to look the other way? You were interning for him, after all. Plus, he founded the journalism school. He kept them from busting you.”

She sat back in her chair. “He never said a word.”

“No, but he was bursting with pride as he told me about it yesterday.” Tanner looked over his shoulder at the plain white wall clock. “Your class starts in twenty minutes. I should let you get ready. We can talk again.”

“I’d like that,” she said as he rose.

“Arthur would also appreciate hearing your story,” Tanner said at the door. “He’ll tell you the truth helps lower his blood pressure, but really, all it will do is ease his worry.”

She rubbed her brow. “I’m not sure hearing my story is going to make him worry less.”

Tanner knocked on the door, confusing her.

“He’s tougher than wood,” he explained. “Don’t treat him like an old man. He’s more tenacious than men half his age. He only knows you were injured in that village. It’s for you to decide if you want to share the rest, not me.”

“You’re right. I’ll go see him.”

“Good luck with your class,” Tanner said. “I might sit in sometime if that’s okay.”

She smiled. “I promise to look the other way.”

After he headed out, she went over her notes one last time. Her syllabus was unorthodox, but then again, so was she. If they wanted to learn how to capture decisive moments in photos, they would have to be prepared.

Her classroom was packed, just like she’d been told it would be, when she arrived at three o’clock. Thirty-three students gave her their full attention when she stood at the front of the room.

“As you know, I’m Lucy O’Brien,” she began. “Since you’re here, I don’t need to tell you who I am or what I’ve done. All you need to know is that I’m really good at what I do. I assume you’re here because you want to be really good at taking photographs.”

A few of the students nodded, and God help her, some of them looked like they should be in high school. Most of them were green as grass—like she’d been. A few had obvious attitude. And Tanner was right. She noticed a sizable number of them were hanging on her every word.

“I’m going to teach you some camera techniques,” she said, handing out a stack of syllabuses to the person on the end of the front row to pass along. “But I’m also going to simulate extreme moments of tension and noise during which you will be required to take a photo that will be graded. If you’re scared of what happens in conflict zones, you might want to drop out right now and give one of the twenty-two other people on the wait list your spot.”

She paused for a moment and scanned the class. People were shifting in their seats. Many of them weren’t making eye contact now.

“Just so you have a sense of what you’re getting into, for one exercise, I’m going to play a particularly grisly scene from a recent battle in Afghanistan, captured by an award-winning cameraman, and ask you to take a picture as it’s being played. The dean has graciously given me permission to use the planetarium for this purpose. You’re going to see people getting shot, dying, moaning, screaming. Hear machine guns being fired. Your hand is going to shake. Your adrenaline is going to rush.”

A kid in the front row gulped, and she stared at him before continuing to scan the crowd. These were her students now, and she felt a new sense of responsibility. It was up to her to teach these kids what she knew so they could survive in war and be successful if they followed a career path similar to her own.

“I can’t simulate people trying to kill you as you take a picture,” she said, walking to the other side of the room. “But I can help you gain some understanding of what that’s like. And how freaking hard it is when you’re trying to take the perfect photo to capture what’s unfolding around you. To create an image that will reach out and grab the throats of people sitting a world away in London or Hong Kong or Dare Valley.”

Someone held up extra copies of the syllabus, so she walked to the last row and took them from him. She kept her pace slow and deliberate as she made her way back to the front of the room, taking time to settle into her new skin.

“We’re also going to take photos of starving animals at the local pound and dead animal carcasses on the road. I can’t find a starving child or someone dying of a machete wound here in Dare Valley, but we can start initiating you into the world of an international photojournalist.”

She pulled out her camera phone and waggled it in the air. Her students’ eyes latched onto the object.

“Who plans on using this camera for class?” she asked. “You’ll notice I didn’t specify a professional camera as a class requirement because they can be incredibly expensive.”

All but a few outliers raised their hands.
 

“This used to be your best friend,” she said before setting it on the table in front of the dry-erase board. “It’s a good camera for a college student. You’re in journalism school because you’re still learning and deciding how you’re going to specialize. I’m going to show you different camera models a professional would consider. Personally, I’m a Leica fanatic, and if you don’t know Leica, you’d better Google it once class finishes. As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t even know about the most famous camera models out there, you’re going to be in trouble in my class.”

Several people were furiously writing in notebooks while others tapped on their tablets and laptops. It was weird to see that kind of technology in the classroom. She’d gone to college when the most advanced item a student could bring to class was a graphing calculator.

“You’re also going to become intimately familiar with Henri Cartier-Bresson, who’s considered the father of photojournalism. You’re going to read a few of his books during our time together. Don’t worry about writing this down. It’s in the syllabus.”

The students gave her their attention again. She had them on edge now, she could tell. This class was more than they’d bargained for. Jill would be proud—no one would be be able to accuse her of being boring.

“Papa Henri—as I like to call him—said a lot of things about this magical art called photography. You’ll read about them in his books, and if you miss a particularly important insight, I’ll point it out here in class. He’s going to be teaching you too, so don’t think it’s only going to be me up here.”

She put her hands behind her back as she strolled to the dry-erase boards. Choosing a purple one—at least it looked purple—she uncorked the lid. “My favorite quote from Papa Henri is this: ‘It is an illusion that photos are made with the camera…they are made with the eye, heart, and head.’ When you take a photo for my class, make sure you’re using all three.”

The words touched her anew. What if she had lost one of the three critical elements needed to capture a moment of reality in a photograph? She shook off the fear. This wasn’t the time.

Turning, she folded her hands and regarded her students. “Now. I want to hear your names, and why you’re here.”

Chapter 9      

After a quick run through the park after work, Andy showered and headed over to his mother’s house. He hadn’t called to tell her he was dropping by, but he knew she’d be there alone. Moira had agreed to help arrange it.

His sister was free and clear of her old job, having cleared out her office on Friday. They’d celebrated with drinks afterward. His sister hadn’t asked him about his protectiveness toward Lucy at Hairy’s the other night, thank heavens. Then again, she knew him well enough to deduce he had his reasons.
 

When his mom opened the door and saw him, she immediately tightened up. It wasn’t like him to stop by without warning, let alone at five thirty on a Monday.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, looking over his shoulder. “Is something wrong with Danny?”

His heart sank, and he knew he had been right to come here. It was past time for him—for them—to face their demons. “No, he’s with Jane and Moira. Jane agreed to give Danny and Rufus some dog training after I begged. And Mo’s soaking up all the auntie time she can get during her break from the day job.”

“Moira told me she was heading to Jane’s, but she didn’t mention seeing Danny.” Her shoulders sagged with relief, and a slow smile flickered across her round face. “You were a good daddy to let Danny have a dog. I know Rufus isn’t easy, but he makes him so happy.”

“I tell myself that daily,” Andy said with a laugh, pulling her into a hug.

“Lucy told you about our calendar,” his mom said against his chest.

He nodded. “Yeah. How about we sit and have a drink?”

She fussed with the hem of her cream blouse before turning and striding off to the kitchen. He followed her, aware of the tension locking her shoulders in place once again.

“Mom,” he said as he entered her bright apple-green kitchen, “I’m not upset about the calendar. I was just…bothered you were afraid to tell me about it.”

After handing him his favorite beer, she busied herself with pouring a glass of Cabernet. Giving her a moment to stew, he retrieved the shamrock bottle opener, popped the top off his beer, and took a deep draw. The IPA wet his whistle, but it didn’t soothe his dry throat.

“Mom, we need to talk about it,” he said, and she turned around so quickly, the wine sloshed a little in her glass.

He took it from her and led the way to the kitchen table. She kept an array of bright tablecloths on it now, but when they were growing up, the bare surface had played host to a record number of ketchup stains and spilled milk. He and his siblings used to finish their homework at this table after their afternoon snack. Once complete, they’d packed up their individual book bags and gone outside to play. Usually, Lucy was waiting for him in the yard because she always finished her homework faster than anyone alive.
 

“Lucy said you were afraid you’d stir me up with this calendar,” he said after they both sat down. Reaching for the clenched hand in her lap, he said, “Mom, it’s not the calendar. We…never talked about how I reacted when you told me about the lump in your breast.”

She looked down, not meeting his gaze.

“Hearing you had a lump—even a benign one…” For a man who said and read the word
benign
more than the average citizen, it stuck in his throat like a wishbone.

“It scared the shit out of me, Mom.”

She didn’t rebuke him for his language. She only gripped his hand tighter.

“I can’t imagine how scared you must have been too. And I know why you kept it from me at first. From all of us. I’m so glad Natalie found out like she did, because I’m not sure you would have told us otherwise.”

Her lips formed a tight line before she said, “No, I wouldn’t have.”

He scooted his chair closer until their knees met. “That’s why I’m here. Mom, what happened to Kim was horrible. There are no words to describe what her loss meant to me and what it still means to me. But you’re
my mom
…”

Crap. He swiped at the tears gathering in his eyes with his free hand. She sniffed, but didn’t let her tears fall.

“You’re my mom,” he continued, trying to breathe. “We’re supposed to support each other. And I’m a
freaking
doctor. If I can’t help my own mom when she gets a call from her doctor saying they found a lump in her breast, what good am I?”

She cupped his cheek like he was a little boy again, and his heart broke clean in half.
 

“What good are you?” she asked with a soft smile. “You’re the most amazing man I could ever imagine, and the bonus is you’re my son. You were dealt a blow that would turn most people bitter, and yet you continue to be a bright, shining light. Not just for this family, but for your beautiful son and everyone else in this town, including your patients.”

“Ah…Mom,” he said hoarsely, totally at sea with his emotions.

“Andy Michael Hale, from the time Dr. Getties put you in my arms, you have been a miracle to me and everyone around you. But my health is my health. I dismissed telling you all about the lump initially since I had Ellen to lean on. A mother doesn’t want to worry her children needlessly.”

Needlessly? “But Mom—”

“Andy, I know you are still grieving over Kim. That you’re doing the best you can. I admire the hell out of you for it. But if you think I would add one more worry or hurt to all the ones you already carry…” This time her voice broke. “I’m not sure I would have told any of you about the scare even if Kim
hadn’t
passed away.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s just crap.”

“I mean it, mister,” she said, narrowing hers back in return. “You’re a parent. There are things you don’t share with Danny.”

“He’s a kid,” he protested, reaching for his beer and taking a fortifying drink.

“And you’re
my
kid,” she said, her face filled with love. “That never changes. No matter how old you get.”