Maybe a part of me still found it appalling as well, even though I had forgiven my father years ago.
I tried to sleep in the next morning so that I could identify more closely with Brady’s desire to do so, but by eight o’clock I could stand it no longer. I got out of bed, dressed, and took Frisco outside.
After my morning devotions, coffee, and two bowls of Cheerios, I headed for Dad’s study to go in search of the cameras Brady had told me were in there. My first lesson was later today, and I wanted to be prepared. Sure enough, after poking through several cabinets, I finally found what he’d been talking about. Three different cameras shared space with neatly labeled electronics cables and small computer components. I had no idea if they would even function, but I knew Lark could tell me, so I grabbed all three and set them on the counter in the kitchen.
After that I headed out to the garage. I opened the doors to let in plenty of fresh air and then got to work on staining the wood for the container boxes. I had plenty to think about as I did, so the morning passed quickly.
I was still confused about my time with Lark and the questions our conversation raised. I was also feeling guilty about the depth of my anger toward my father the night before. He obviously had his reasons for ignoring my request to retrieve my mother’s photos myself, and for now I had no choice but to respect that. Patience was an important virtue to the Amish, but in this situation, my own patience had been in short supply.
At least there was nothing like a good ol’ hands-on, sweat-it-up project to help me sort things out. Before long my mood had improved considerably, especially when I saw so many other people outside enjoying their day, walking dogs or jogging or riding bikes, soaking up the California sunshine. Of course, it wasn’t as though any of them stopped and spoke. But for a while a least, they made me feel not quite so alone.
They also made me realize how very much I missed my community.
At noon I went inside for a sandwich. Brady had just arisen and was eating waffles he had heated in the toaster. He seemed in a better mood than he had been in last night, or maybe it was just that I hadn’t had the opportunity yet to say anything that irked him. I decided to make two peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwiches, a favorite since my childhood.
“What time are your friends coming for you?” I asked, trying to sound merely curious, not parental.
“Three. I won’t be here for dinner, by the way. One of the guy’s moms is making ribs.”
“Sounds good. I hope you have a great time.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Brady reached for the syrup and squirted some onto his plate. “So does Lark think she’ll be able to find you a tutor?”
I made a concerted effort not to congratulate him for asking me a question for a change.
“Sort of. She decided to tutor me herself. We’re starting today.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“It’s not like that. I have a girlfriend back home, remember.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure she’d be totally cool with you taking private lessons from a hottie like Lark Parrish, right?”
This time, it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.
He laughed, but mirthlessly. “Fine, whatever you say. It’s just about learning photography, nothing more.”
“Nothing more.”
Brady shoved the last piece of waffle in his mouth as he walked with his plate to the sink. “I still can’t figure out why you’re interested in learning about something you’re not allowed to do. That seems like a waste of time to me.”
“I don’t think it’s ever a waste of time to learn something,” I said, not adding that he would probably come to realize this once he was older and out of school and learning was no longer mandatory for him.
I finished making my sandwiches and he headed back to his room. After I ate, I went upstairs as well, showered and changed, and then left for Lark’s house.
She lived just eight miles away, but with traffic and my cautionary driving it took me twenty minutes to get there, even with Liz’s GPS talking to me the whole way.
The Parrishes lived in a subdivision not unlike the housing tract of Dad and Liz and Brady. The stucco-and-red-tile-roofed houses were similar to each other in what seemed to be a repeating pattern of fives.
Lark was waiting for me on the front stoop, a polka-dotted camera bag slung over her shoulder. Today she was wearing red high top sneakers, tattered jeans, a black T-shirt, and enormous hoop earrings. Her hair was swept up on top of her head and held in place with an odd clip that looked painful to wear. She jumped up when I pulled to the curb. I stepped out of the Honda. As Lark walked toward me she pointed with her thumb to a turquoise, older-model VW Beetle in the driveway.
“My sad car,” she said.
I pulled open the passenger side door. “Sorry it’s not working. If it were a buggy I could fix it for you.”
“No buggy, just a Bug.” She laughed at her own joke. “Hey. Can I drive?”