Chapter Eleven

Tucker stood high above the ground in his aerie, his eyes fastened on the beach that lined his property.

He had noticed this evening routine over the last few days, but found he never grew tired of watching, just… curious.

Every evening, right around dusk without fail, Elise quietly slipped from the house and walked slowly up and down the beach of Timberline, always with her camera slung around her neck and a pocketful of glass and stones she collected as she went along.

The fading sunlight cast everything in a soft, dewy light, and made Elise’s notable hair stand out in stark relief to the blue water behind her.

She walked, evening after evening, as though searching for something.

And she always looked, well, sad.

She stood stock still for a long time, simply gazing out at the horizon, tugging her long sweater closer to her body, just… watching.

Tucker would love to know what it was she was thinking about.

He even selfishly wondered if he crossed her mind at all.

And secretly, he hoped he did.

Elise Blake was a mystery, but one he was enjoying getting to know… first in their field trip from a few days before to Horseshoe Bay and several beaches on the Keweenaw, then through their various meals together, and even a quiet crossing of paths in the library – he was sitting in one of the chairs, reading work reports when she slipped in quiet as a mouse and scanned the shelves before carefully selecting a book to read.

She had squeaked like a mouse, he recalled with a small smile, when she turned and caught him watching her silently.

“Sir, I didn’t… I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here,” she had stammered.

“Don’t call me sir. And I should have said something,” Tucker relented at her stricken face, “but I wanted to see what book you were going to choose.”

“The erotic novel you think no one knows is here, of course,” Elise fired back and he chuckled under his breath.

“Damn, I thought I’d hidden all of those,” he replied smoothly. “What did you choose, honestly?”

“Tonight?” Elise asked. “Just some Emily Dickinson.”

“Happy, light reading, then?” Tucker had replied and she’d bowed her head to the floor as though embarrassed.

“Most girls may prefer Austen, but I need a little darkness to balance all the light. And that darkness is Dickinson. He darker passages.”

“I can respect that,” Tucker had said. “But pick some trashy romance next time, just so I’m sure you’re a regular twent four year old girl.”

“I’ve never been a regular girl, and I feel fifty four most days, not twenty four,” Elise said easily. “Is it… is it alright that I use the library? I’ve never really asked if I could borrow things…”

“You’re a bright, thinking girl. Why should you need permission? Of course you may,” he’d replied.

They had said their goodnights, and she had slid from the room as quietly as she had arrived, a wraith hidden in semi-darkness.

Elise Blake was a mystery, and Tucker found himself increasingly intrigued to pull back layer after layer of her personality, until he knew her better than anyone.

What an odd thought for an employer to have – and probably not a proper one, he berated himself, even as he found himself watching her down on the water line once again.

#

“Promise you won’t laugh,” Elise said from the doorway, startling Tucker.

He was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch of Timberline, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the waves in a rare moment of absolute inactivity.

“Ever?” Tucker replied lightly, and she smiled shyly.

“I… you asked me when I came here about my photography,” Elise replied. “I… I brought you a few prints to look at. If you won’t laugh, that is,” she added hastily. “I told you they weren’t very good…”

Without a word, he took the proffered stack of glossy eight by ten photos, and gestured wordlessly for her to join him in the other chair beside him. She sank down nervously as he flipped, absolutely silently, between her prints.

They were good.

Really good.

Beautiful landscrapes and soft lighting. Blurred waterfalls and suns sinking into the horizon. Unexpected candids of people in parks and bars. Perfectly framed photos of flowers and butterflies. Shots full of motion on a campus or in a busy building. All her photos evoked emotion or unexpected thoughts of beauty and serenity.

The last few shots made him smile – candids of his Betsy, colouring in her colouring book, or skipping across the lawn with a smile. Rose, smiling over her shoulder as she stirred a pot on the stove, looking like a girl rather than a matron. Jed, caught in the act of planting a rosebush with a hilarious expression of strain on his face. And Tucker himself, earnestly studying in the library with head bent, and another of him framed from behind as he stood on the porch between the two support two posts, a cup of coffee in his hand, gazing out at the horizon of the lake.

“These are…” he hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Rubbish.”

“Wonderful.”

“Really?” Her face dared to light up a bit at his unexpected compliment. “I think they’re a bit… trite? Predictable? Amateurish?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Elise waited as he went through the stack again, lingering on the shots of his family, both those of blood and of proximity, loving them all.

“I feel like I’m baring my soul,” Elise said softly as he flipped and flipped. “I don’t trust these with many people.”

“I know,” Tucker replied earnestly. “Thank you.”

She paused, and then nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“There’s one thing missing,” Tucker said at last. “No shots of the photographer.”

“Deliberately, of course,” she replied. “Who’d want that in their portfolio? Not me, certainly.”

“I want a copy of all the pictures from here at Timberline – Betsy, Rose, Jed, even me. When did you take these of me? I never even noticed.”

She shrugged. “The porch shot was from a few mornings ago, the library from last night. I try to capture people when they don’t know it, makes it more candid and natural. I have some great posed ones from Horseshoe Bay of you and Betsy, by the way, but I haven’t been anywhere to have them printed them yet.”

“Elise, these are all excellent. Truly. You have a wonderful eye,” he said. “And I can see they make you happy.”

She nodded. “I don’t share them with many people, because I’m afraid they won’t see them like I do.”

“I do,” he said gently. “I see them. I see you.”

She flushed slightly, but said nothing.

“Can I take a picture of you?” he asked quietly. “With your camera?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“A picture of everyone from Timberline is only appropriate and fair, don’t you think? Besides, it’s a nice looking camera, and I want to test it out,” Tucker replied smoothly. “Please?”

She stood up and silently entered the house, returning a moment later, uncapping her Nikon and handing it to him as thought it were an infant. Her baby, he mused. “Do you know how to use it?”

He nodded, looking at the controls. “I have something similar, but a bit older.”

“Where… where do you want me?”

Tucker ordered his brain not to respond with his first fleeting thought, and instead thought for a moment. “On the beach.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s home to you,” Tucker replied simply, leading the way down the lawn to the berm, and turning to give her a hand down. He could have sworn that an electric current went up his arm as she hesitantly put her hand in his and let him hand her down to the sand below. Their fingers clung together a moment too long, then she dropped her hand abruptly and smoothed her hair self consciously.

“I haven’t brushed my hair, and this sweater…” She protested, even as she took a few steps towards the water.

He put the camera to his eye and began taking pictures even as she continued to complain until she finally settled and got pulled into the mesmerizing view of the waves on the shore, forgetting he was there. He took close ups of her beautiful face, longer shots featuring her bare legs beneath the baggy sweater and loose shorts she wore, landscapes where she was mere a background player.

He took everything, marveling not only at the camera, but also at the subject before him.

There was something so arresting about Elise Blake.

Get a grip, Hale, he ordered himself, even as he snapped a picture of a rare, sweet smile, a strand of hair across her face, her eyes watching only him.

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