Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Bess’s laugh was hearty, like I was a comedian she couldn’t get enough of. “That’s rich, Avon. If the rest of us never tried things we weren’t comfortable with, there wouldn’t be a paper here.”
“Bess—”
She cut me off. “You’re the owner of this place now, so grab that camera and get to work.”
I rolled my eyes. “I guess I’ll have to use the urinal, too, since that’s what Pete did.”
“You go right ahead,” she said. “And clean up when you’re done.”
On my walk to Pete’s office to get the camera, I saw someone at a desk that was usually empty. He looked around twenty, had shaggy dark hair and a small hoop nose ring, and wore headphones. A wise move when Bess was your office mate.
“Hey, I’m Devon,” he said, raising a palm in a wave and smiling. “I’m a part-timer; I help Bess with layout.”
“Hi Devon, I’m Avon.” I shook his hand. “By any chance do you like photography?”
“He’s got work to do!” Bess said sharply.
I sighed softly and Devon’s grin widened.
“She’s all bark and no bite,” he said in a low tone. “Believe it or not, she’s a really nice person.”
I wasn’t about to argue with him right in front of her, so I just nodded.
“Well, I’m off to figure out Pete’s camera,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
“He’s got extra batteries for it in a desk drawer in case you need them. And if you need help learning Photoshop, I’ve got you.”
“Thanks.”
Once inside Pete’s office, I stopped and looked around. His desk was older, a few scratches and dents marking the wood, his office chair a simple rolling one covered in gray fabric that was either brand new or rarely used. Photos he’d taken and others with him in them were scattered on the paneled walls; in most of them he was dressed in camo or fishing gear.
I didn’t feel Pete in this office any more than I felt him in his apartment. But his photography was full of him. He was patient, as shown by his perfectly timed photo of a fish jumping out of the water, droplets of water flying around it in a flawless arc. He was down to earth, as shown in his many award-winning photos of people in his hometown doing everyday things.
His camera sat on a waist-high cabinet that spanned an entire wall of his office, looking innocent enough. Was I intimidated by the camera? Yes. But more so, I was intimidated that it was his. He was an artist, and this was his paintbrush. Who was I to pick up his brush and use it as my own?
My father’s voice echoed in my head. What’s the worst that can happen? He always asked me that when I was scared to try something.
Maybe my photos would be terrible. Likely, actually. But they could be deleted.
After a deep breath, I picked up the camera and turned it on. I held it up and looked through the viewfinder, then carefully hung it around my neck with the strap.
First stop: a store that sold boots. And then I’d take an extended walk around town to take photos.
“I’ll do my best,” I said to Bess as I walked out of Pete’s office. “If I’m not back within two hours, I’m probably buried in a snowdrift.”
She ignored me, probably because she was hoping for that outcome.
I went to the bathroom in the back of the building, which had a piece of computer paper hanging up on the wall behind the toilet. MEN USE THE URINAL OR LIFT THE SEAT. THERE ARE WOMEN WHO WORK HERE TOO. Definitely a Bess creation.
Before washing my hands, I gently moved the camera so it rested against my back instead of my chest to avoid any splash from the water touching it. I turned the handles on the faucet and one of them immediately came off in my hand, a geyser shooting up from the little pipe that fed the cold water.
“Oh my god!”
Water launched at my face as I frantically grabbed at the pipe, trying to turn it. It was fixed in place, though, and water was puddling on the floor.
“The water is shooting everywhere!” I yelled as I ran out of the bathroom.
“I told you to only use the hot water,” Bess said, not looking away from her computer screen.
“I forgot! How do I fix it?”
Bess shrugged, unconcerned, and Devon frowned at me, his headphones around his neck.
“Pete was the only one who could fix it,” he said. “The hardware store is just a few doors down; you want me to go get some pliers or something and see what I can do?”
“I’ll go.”
I ran out the door, grabbing behind my back at the camera to get it turned around. I was pretty sure I’d seen the sign for the hardware store across the street, a few buildings down from City Hall.