Rescuing Her Seal(3)

“Was it the conch salad at lunch maybe?” Lilah asked as the pale, shaky specter of her friend emerged from the bathroom to fall facedown on the comforter. “Although I ate it and I feel fine.”

Of course she did. Lilah wasn’t the one who’d signed up for the Galloway Games or convinced someone else to fly thousands of miles from home to compete in it only to get sick.

Thora shook her tawny-colored head, and it might have been a no. Hard to tell when she was still using her face to prevent the bed from escaping.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll text Jack that we’re out of the games.” That would be one text she’d be thrilled to send.

This whole idea had been madness in the first place. When she’d moaned to Thora about the lack of creativity running through her veins, she’d expected advice to pick up an adult coloring book. When she’d mentioned that her photographs had seemed… off lately, jetting to the Caribbean wasn’t the solution she’d hoped Thora would toss out.

“No, you can’t.” Thora half rolled until the smallest corner of her face appeared from the nest of hair. “Don’t text him. I’ll be fine.”

“Too late.” Lilah palmed the pink-encased iPhone and scrolled through the contacts until she found Hyland, Jack and sent the message before anyone could point out that there was no rule that said there had to be four people on a team. Three could just as easily compete. But she didn’t know Jack or his friend, which just sounded dangerous. Also she’d have to leave Thora here all alone while she was sick, and that wouldn’t do.

Except now that she’d sent the text, the reality of the situation washed over her.

If she sat around a hotel room for the next week, she’d waste several thousand dollars that she didn’t have to blow, plus they were in the Bahamas. Nursing a sick person instead of being out in the sun and drinking a margarita did not rank as one of the perks.

This was her only vacation for the year. The only one she could afford. Being a freelance photographer was not a walk in the park. She had to hustle every day, though even hustling hadn’t proved to make much difference in the quality of her pictures lately. If only she could get her eye right, the photographs that paid her bills might warrant more than minimum wage.

“You… should still do it,” Thora said faintly. “If I can’t. Jack will watch out for you. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know this ‘friend’ he’s bringing along. Maybe he’s an ax murderer.”

“He’s military. And Jack said he’s solid. That’s good enough of an endorsement for me.” Thora crawled a little ways toward a pillow and managed to flop onto it. “This is going to break you out of your rut, Lilah. I can feel it.”

That had been the whole idea. Fields of Indian paintbrush and old weathered barns she could photograph all day long. But the real money was in people. Sports shots, live action, people doing things, any things, as long as they were animated, interesting, in motion. And she sucked at that kind of photography. Like a lot.

How could it be that different to pick up a camera and shoot? But it was. With a still life, she could take her time. Take a million frames if she wanted to. Think about the composition and wait for the right light.

People moved. Changed angles. Shots were lost in an instant, never to be regained, and she just didn’t have that kind of reaction time. Or rather, she never could commit that fast. Split-second decisions didn’t exist in her world.

Yet. Thora had somehow convinced her that the problem lay in Lilah’s boring life. Which Lilah happened to like. Boring meant safe. But boring was a word that could be applied to her photographs too. And that she didn’t like.

Lilah groaned and crossed the room to open the drapes. Their room overlooked the pool where a knot of kids splashed each other with squeals that were audible even from this distance. Beyond the second tower lay the beach and the turquoise water that instantly brought to mind the sound of steel drums and the gentle rush of the water against sand.

“What if I just practice taking shots of kids swimming?” she suggested with false cheer. “Instead of doing this scavenger hunt with two guys I’ve never met?”

“Please, sweetie. You know that’s not going to be enough. You need to…” Thora lifted a hand weakly and rolled it through the air. “Live. Take some risks. Have sex with interesting men. Figure out that life is not a series of photographs of old buildings.”

“It can be,” she retorted hotly, protesting because it came automatically to defend the nice pictures that she’d always specialized in. And because sex was not a subject she could let Thora latch onto, or she’d start on yet another lecture about how men were not scary. “There’s so much history in buildings and beauty in nature.”