Despite my growling stomach, I managed to wait on eating my bag lunch until I had driven all the way, parked, and taken a seat at a picnic table at the edge of a wide expanse of sand. Beyond that was the glistening expanse of the Pacific Ocean. People in workout clothes were running on the beach and a few surfers were clad in black wet suits. The sound of the waves was rhythmic and soothing, like an oscillating fan on a hot summer day.
I needed to get back to the house, but for some reason it was hard to tear myself away from the beautiful scenery. At least I knew Frisco would be okay, as my father had assured me the little dog could spend a whole day inside, if need be, without any backyard breaks.
Thus, feeling just a little indulgent, once I’d finished my lunch, I kicked off my shoes and locked them in the car, and then I allowed myself the pleasure of a walk along the hardpacked sand of the surf. As I did, I found myself moving into a state of quiet prayer. How could I not? All of the magnificence that surrounded me had been created by God. To not praise Him for that would be like dining on the most amazing meal ever and not thanking the chef who cooked it.
Finally, I managed to tear myself away, though I got lost trying to get back home. Dad had told me there was a GPS unit in Liz’s car, but I had convinced myself I didn’t need it as long as I had a map or verbal directions. I pulled into a gas station, asked God to please help me figure out how to use it, and gave it a shot. Fortunately, it wasn’t nearly as difficult as I’d feared. It helped too that Liz already had the home address programmed in.
Once I was oriented, I made two stops on the way, first at a hair salon with a sign out front that said, “Men’s Cuts a Specialty.” Inside, the place was subdued and elegant, with a trickling fountain, slate floors, and at least a dozen hairdressers. I would rather have gone to a plain old barbershop, but I hadn’t seen one along the way.
I asked for something stylish but neat, and the woman who took on the challenge was very young, with a rather bizarre hairdo herself—a mix of long and short and even shaved portions, dyed in various colors of the rainbow. Her own appearance made me nervous at first, but as she snipped away at the bowl-shaped cut I’d worn my whole life, or at least my whole Amish life, I could tell she knew what she was doing. Sure enough, once she was finished with me and I saw my own image in the mirror, I felt utterly transformed. I no longer looked Amish at all.
Whether I was still Amish or not on the inside was the more important question—and one I hoped I would find the answer to soon.
Stop number two was at a grocery store for hamburger patties, buns, a carton of potato salad, and a yellow onion. It was a good thing Brady hadn’t taken me up on my offer to pick him up from school. It was after six by the time I pulled into the garage, and he was already home.
I entered the kitchen carrying the grocery bags and the books. Brady was sitting at the table, drinking a protein shake and looking at a magazine.
“Where have you been?” he said, almost the way a parent would.
“I don’t know. Errands.”
“Errands,” he repeated. Irritation shone clearly on his face, but when our eyes met, he did a sort of double take. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look…different.”
“Different bad or different good?”
He shrugged. “Different better, I guess. Not so Amish anymore.”
“Ah,” I said, moving further into the room. “Haircut.” Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I set the books down next to him on the table and changed the subject. “I also found the library.”
The pile spilled over. Brady picked up one of the books, shaking his head. “Seriously, Tyler? You think a history of photography is going to teach you how to take pictures?”
I took the grocery bags over to the counter by the fridge. “Of course not. I just needed to clear my mind with something interesting and uplifting after reading about the Vikings. They weren’t very admirable people. At least not the ones I read about.”
Brady pulled the two Viking-related books from the pile. “Hey, thanks.” He flipped through them both, pausing at several of the goriest pictures. “These look cool.” Finally, he set them aside in their own pile. “Are you really going to read all these others?”
I opened the fridge and set the potato salad inside. “Maybe. The history of photography really is fascinating, all the inventions and discoveries and developments and things. Do you know that the first photo-sensitive compound was created by accident? If the guy hadn’t realized what he’d done, who knows how much longer it would’ve taken to come up with the chemistry for preserving images on film?”
“Captivating,” Brady said dryly.
Ignoring his sarcasm, I continued. “I guess I’d just forgotten how much I liked learning new things. I didn’t get to go to college, so—”
“Or high school.”
He said it in an almost condescending way.
“Learning the family trade was my high school.” I pulled out the package of hamburger and set it on the counter. “It’s no different than a vocational high school. I know about those. And it’s never seemed to bother you before that I finished school at eighth grade.”