“Really?” I’m trying hard to digest her rapid fire information. I thought I’d have to stop developing my pictures all summer, but this news makes me feel really happy. I’ve always been a picture freak—think selfies before they were popular—but last year when I bought my baby I discovered a whole new side to myself. I not only like to take pictures, I love everything about the process. I learned how to develop pictures thanks to the first man who hired me for a bartender gig. Joe was close to seventy and I think he viewed me as a lost daughter. He taught me all I know about drinks, how to avoid asshole men, and how to work the angle for lighting when it comes to picture taking. A year ago tomorrow, I realize, and it will be a year since he died. My gut twists when I recall finding him that morning stiff and very dead in the back storage room. I cried real tears of sorrow and realized too late how much he meant in my life. We might not have known each other long but he looked out for me and I can’t express how much his trust and confidence in me helped to shape my new life.
“Yes. Really. Noah has the key, but he says you have to clear it out.”
“Are you really sure about this?”
She nods.
I’m thinking a million thoughts. I could go into town on the next shuttle run for supplies or if I’m lucky bum a ride with Roger when he goes for a liquor fill-up.
“I’ll get Noah to give you the key so you can get organized. Listen, I’ve got to go. It’s time to Skype with my father. Oh, and Noah said to make sure you always lock up.”
“I will. Thanks so much Kat. I mean it.”
“Oh, no worries. I know what it’s like to have space to work on the things you love,” she says, with a light laugh which makes me look at her again.
Kathryn is one straight-laced gal. I’ve watched her smile and jump practically every time Shannon, the Marketing Manager, says anything. In the end though, Kat always gets the job finished on time. I might take photography seriously, but she views getting the job done as her life’s goal.
She’s almost out the door when I hear her phone ping, reminding her again of her Skype call with her father. At least she gets to speak with her father. I bite my lip and feel longing hit me for the first time in a long time. Instantly, I push it aside.
She must catch a look on my face because next thing I know she saying, “Sorry about that. I know how hard it is. I’m still trying to cope with the loss of my mother. I can’t even imagine how I’d cope without my father. He might be annoying at times but it’s his way of caring.”
“I’m managing,” I say, hoping she’ll leave. I read somewhere that it’s easier to keep to a lie if you combine it with a truth. My mother died of cancer a year after I was born and I honestly have no recollection of her. My father’s still very much alive. Three years ago, when he demanded that I marry the person he’d picked out, he died to me. The father I thought I knew wouldn’t have done that to me, so for all intents and purposes I consider him dead.
“I really have to go. My father worries if I make him wait,” she says, finally leaving.
I make sure to lock the door this time. I peel off my staff clothes and realize I’ve got to do laundry soon. I’m tired and sore from my long run and from having to work a late shift because the newcomer they’ve just hired to help in the bar twisted her ankle. She’d better be okay tomorrow, because Roger promised to give me the afternoon off to make up for calling me in tonight to work. Not that I overly minded because I certainly do best in the evening in the tip department.
I eye my growing pile of laundry and cringe. I hate having to share a washroom and laundry room but I’m too exhausted to bother getting cleaned up tonight. Some of the rooms have their own washrooms but I’m one of six unlucky ones. For us it’s one large communal washroom for the gals and another for the boys. I set my alarm for six so I can grab a ten minute shower and start writing out a list of supplies I’ll need to set up my photography lab. My iPod shuffle is blasting a new song from an Indie band I like and I find my mind drifting back to Blake.
Getting involved with him is a no-no, but why oh why were his lips so damn tempting?
The sun is like heaven. Hot and warm on my skin. I almost feel like I’m frying and I love it.
Becca, who often works with me in the bar, is beside me but she won’t stay out in the sun for long. With her pale complexion and blonde hair she’ll fry. Those were her words as she peeled off her black shirt and stripped down to her shorts to sunbathe with me. Plus she’s already told me twice she’s got an important phone call to make in about an hour.