Max twisted back, looked down at me and he didn’t look happy.
His words proved my guess true. “Swear to God, this doesn’t quit happenin’, I’m gonna kill someone.”
He sounded like he meant it.
“You can’t kill Jimmy Cotton. He’s an American Treasure,” I informed him.
“Right now,” Max returned, letting me go, “he’s a pain in my ass.”
I watched Max stalk to the door, flip on the outside light and exit, closing the door behind him and I didn’t know whether to laugh, scream or count my lucky stars.
I didn’t do any of those. I got out a cookie sheet and the tube of crescent roll dough, popped it open and started to unwind the dough.
I was forming the crescents when the door opened and Max walked in. His eyes hit me the instant he did. He had a funny look on his face and he was carrying what looked like a somewhat large frame wrapped in plain, brown paper wrapper.
I was forming crescents but I did it while I’d stopped breathing, my eyes on the wrapped package.
Without a word, Max set it on the floor, leaning it against the wall between the doors under the loft, turned and walked right back out.
My eyes stayed riveted to the frame as my hands automatically rolled crescents.
Then Max and Cotton walked in together, Max backing in, Cotton moving forward, both of them carrying what looked like a huge frame wrapped in the same paper.
My heart stopped beating.
“Get over here, girl,” Cotton ordered when they’d set it beside the smaller one. It was so big it engulfed the space.
Silently I grabbed a dishtowel, wiped my hands and then walked into the open space entry, my eyes still on the frames. I came to a stop right beside Max.
Cotton had moved forward, taking out a penknife, he pulled it open and carefully slid it into the paper at the edge on the larger frame. Then he moved the knife through.
He did this all the while muttering, “Meant to do this when your Dad was alive, kicked myself when he passed. Holden didn’t have a place on the land. He would have wanted this at his house, seein’ as he had to live in town.”
Then Cotton yanked the paper down and exposed a huge black and white panorama of the view from the bluff and I caught my breath at the sight. It was all there, the river, the banks on either side, the mountains rising up them, all of it framing the river trailing away, leading to an opening that exposed a vista of valley, river and far away white peaks.
Without thinking, I reached out my hand and found Max’s, my fingers sliding up and through the webbing of his, before I curled them, linking our hands.
Max’s finger’s curled back and his grip was tight.
When no one spoke for awhile and I realized Cotton was staring at us, I struggled but found my voice. “It’s… it’s,” I looked at Cotton, “there are no words.”
Cotton turned to look at the picture assessingly then he mumbled, “Yeah, kinda like that one myself.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that fluttered from my throat. “You kinda like it?”
Cotton grinned at me. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.” Then he looked at Max. “It’ll look great here in the A-Frame.”
I felt Max’s body grow tight and his hand flexed in mine.
“What?” he asked.
“Givin’ to you, boy,” Cotton answered.
“I can’t –” Max started but Cotton waved his hand.
“You can, you will,” Cotton interrupted. “I’m old. Wanna know, when I die, my photos are in the places where they need to be. This one needs to be here.”
Oh my God.
“Cotton –” Max started again but Cotton had turned toward the other picture and he kept talking.
“This one’s for Nina.”
I started, this time my hand flexing in Max’s and whispered, “I’m sorry?”
Cotton didn’t answer. Instead he slid the knife in and along then ripped the paper down, bending to pull it away.
“V&A,” he said, turning back to me but I was staring at the picture.
I remembered it. It was a close up photo of the rock on the side of a mountain, again in black and white which was all Cotton did. The lines in the rock prolific and almost mesmerizing, sliding through in random undulations, one lone, yet utterly perfect wildflower growing out of the rock.
“Cotton,” I whispered.
“I like that one too,” Cotton declared, gazing at it critically.
“I can’t take that,” I said to him and he looked at me.
“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“I… it’s…” Why not? Was he mad? “Because it’s worth a fortune,” I explained.
“I know,” Cotton retorted. “Got about a dozen offers on it, all, like you said, a fortune. Didn’t like the feel of any of ‘em. Didn’t want it hangin’ wherever those folk would be.”
“But –” I began but Cotton cut me off.
“Like the feel of it hangin’ wherever you might be.”
At his words, which rocked me to my soul, I let Max go, my hands went to my cheeks and before I could stop myself I cried, “Oh bloody hell! I’m going to cry!”