As usual, morning comes too soon. Your mouth still stings but gentle probing tells you that you haven't further injured yourself in the night. The dry taste of ash is both irritating and comforting and makes the smell of food wafting into the room even more appealing. Bacon. Eggs. Something... else. You can't place it, but it doesn't smell like breakfast. Or at least, not something that should be smelled at breakfast and for a minute you forget all about the past night as you try and determine with your nose if your husband is in the process of burning the house down.
At last curiosity and hunger are enough to rouse you fully. Off go the covers, on go the slippers and the fuzzy robe. Down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen you go.
Warren is making eggs, bacon, and is trying to dispose of an attempt at waffles. He hems and haws, running a hand through his hair as if to crank a good answer out of his head. "I, uh... The batter was, ah..." His cheeks puff as he blows out a long breath then grins that sheepish, adorable grin he has when he gets self-conscious or thinks he screwed up. "Yeah, that didn't work so well. Too much something, or maybe not enough something else. I'll try again."
He turns back to the counter but you catch his arm and gently spin him back. "I love it," you say, smiling and giving his cheek a soft kiss. Your arms go around his waist and pull him to you. "And thank you. For last night and for this. It smells delicious."
His arms envelope you and hold you close. Closing your eyes, you breathe him in and rest for an all-too-brief moment you can forget about the nightmare and simply be a woman in the arms of her doting husband. If only this moment could last forever.
Your hand twitches and your head begins to ache. You must have tensed or recoiled because Warren hugs you close and starts whispering that it will be okay, that he's got you, and he won't let anything happen to his Super Max. Very reluctantly pulling away, you explain that it's just your head and that you'll be okay, it was just a rough night.
He doesn't push and instead begins to empty the stovetop of food. You set the table and wait for breakfast to begin. It is just as delicious as it smelled and conversation soon turns to the rest of the day. Warren should be at school for a lab session this afternoon. Something with math and computer models that sounds quite impressive, even if you can't understand most of it. He does, and that's what's important.
You talk about the photo shoot this afternoon in the park and how it's most likely going to get rained out like the last two have been. Kate liked the pictures of the kids playing in the rain, but it just wasn't quite what she was looking for in her book. Another rain cancellation and you might just have to settle for some indoor shots. It pains you to consider sacrificing the original vision, but you're Max Graham: professional photographer, and you have a reputation to uphold.
"Oh, what time is the gallery thing?" Warren asks as he finishes the last of his food.
"It starts at seven, but we don't have to be there until eight."
"Trying to avoid the art snobs?"
You can't help but smile at the way he says it and decide to try to make a joke of it. If you can laugh at something this morning, then maybe the rest of the day won't feel quite so heavy. So you roll your eyes and sigh dramatically. "Pretentious art snobs. Ugh."
"Says the self-proclaimed hipster who swears by the instant polaroid." Warren retorts with a wink.
Trying to stifle a laugh, you glare at the man as best you can. "I know where you sleep, Warren Graham."
He waggles his eyebrows and picks up his glass, holding it like it's filled with something stronger than orange juice. "I'm counting on it, Maxine Graham." His voice oozes with lounge lizard charm.
That breaks it and soon the kitchen is filled with laughter for a good, long time. As it finally begins to settle down, you wipe a tear from your eye and look across the table at the man who at one point thought "let's go ape" was a good line, but has never failed to be there and support you in this and every other timeline. Through the last few shudders of laughter you shake your head and ask softly, "what am I going to do with you?"
Warren shrugs and his grin fades into a warm and slightly embarrassed smile. "I don't know. I'd ask you to marry me, but I don't think they let you get double married around here."
Before he can get caught in that train of thought you stand and walk around the table to put your arms around his shoulders and plant a kiss on the top of his head. "Maybe not. But if you promise to dress nice, I'll let you escort me to the show tonight."
"It's a deal." You can't see his smile, but you can feel it through the hands he places on your arms. Demons may come in the night, the past may haunt, but here is love enough to hold them at bay. Even so, you think about the picture on the dresser and tiny bit of guilt sneaks in.
A couple hours later Warren is driving to school and you are driving to the park. This was supposed to be a rare sunny day in October, but there are more and more clouds in the sky and you're beginning to think that rain is inevitable. If there is one thing that you've never gotten to like in Seattle, it's the weather. Once Warren finishes his degree, maybe the two of you can move down to California or New York, or anywhere that doesn't spend most of the year framed in grey.
The park is nearly empty as you pull into the parking lot and begin to get ready for the shoot. To your surprise the rain holds off for another hour and a half, giving you the chance to get most of the shots you were looking for. Margaret and the kids are wonderful to work with as always. Kate is going to love the pictures, you're sure of it.
As you finish putting your camera away the wind picks up and rain begins to sweep in across the lake. Inspiration strikes you suddenly at the sight and you grab the old, white, plastic camera tucked to the side of the expensive digital equipment and run towards the lakeside. The rain line is a hundred yards out and rushing in as you reach the scattered metal fins and line up the first shot.
SNAP
The picture pops out of the front of the camera and you tuck it into your jacket before turning and holding out the camera. The first drop hits your hand as you take the selfie of you next to the dark metal with the trees and rain in the background.
SNAP
There's a smile in your eyes that threatens to sneak into the rest of your face in the photo that you tuck in with the other one before you run back to the car, shielding the camera. The rain isn't hard, but you don't want to risk the camera. It's too full of memories.
Once the camera is safely back in your car, you turn to look at the lake. It looks so peaceful and calm, and the rain has transformed it in that intangible way that a gentle fall rain does, adding mystery and ethereal beauty to the scene. So up goes the hood and out you go back into the park. Even if you don't like the weather you can still enjoy the softness it brings every now and then. So very different from the pelting, driving, angry rain that haunts your dreams from time to time, flung at you by a storm that looks like it could eat the world. The storm that never was because of the sacrifice of one person. Now you're glad it's raining, because now the water on your face hides the tears.
It's been almost five years since that day. Next week you'll be going down to Arcadia Bay to see Joyce and David… and Chloe. In your mind's eye it's that golden evening in the cemetery and you stand next to the coffin of your best friend and watch that blue butterfly land and for a moment it feels like she's there beside you. But the moment passes and you watch mutely as the box is lowered into the ground while Joyce weeps and David tries to comfort her.
And then life continued for the rest of you. A lot of parents wanted to pull their children out of Blackwell and many did for the rest of that semester. Classes resumed, though it was some time until a replacement photography teacher could be found. The petty high school bullshit came creeping back in on the fringes as people tried to forget about the immediacy of the tragedy that had occurred. The trials of Nathan Prescott and Mark Jefferson dominated the local news, though you tried to avoid as much of it as possible. That Sean Prescott ended up quietly pulling out of most of his real estate plans for the town was the only upside to how public everything was.
That final semester at Blackwell hard for you, though there were some comforts. Brooke and Warren had gotten together and split up over the holiday season and in late January you and Warren started dating. It was hard to not confide in him what had happened to you over that week in October, but after the way the state-sponsored therapist had reacted when you finally opened up and told them the whole story you didn't want to run the risk of losing him to some crazy story. Yes, he had believed you in one timeline, but that was when you were both staring an otherworldly storm in the face.
Kate, of course, was just as much a comfort to you as you were to her over the course of that semester. Somehow, she seemed to know that you had gone through more than you let on but never pushed or prodded to try and uncover it all although at times you wish she had. But she was there and she was a friend.
The biggest surprise had been Victoria. She was devastated by the trial and the revelations that came out of it, especially when it finally came out that her name had been next on Jefferson's list. It wasn't quite the transformation of Ebenezer Scrooge, but it was enough that you two eventually left the Blackwell on civil terms and that she and Kate had become friends.
And on it goes. Moving back to Seattle to live with your parents and start your photography career while Warren went to the University of Washington. Marrying him in the summer two years ago, and finally sharing the story of that October week with him, and the relief you felt when he believed you. And now you're here, standing by a lake in the rain next to a metal whale fin, watching these memories pass by in the falling water. Life has been strange. Life has been beautiful. Life has been difficult. But it is life: your life.
A sharp shiver runs through you as you realize that you've been standing out here for far too long and are soaked to the bone. You need to get home and start getting ready for the gallery show tonight. An exhibition of local artists and your work, most of it from Kate's books, has been selected as the showcase. It wasn't how you had planned to get recognized, but the books have been very popular.
Back in your car you see that you have a few new texts. A couple from your parents wishing you luck tonight, some from Warren complaining about how boring these simulations are, with pictures of numbers on a computer screen included and a few thoughts on how he'd like to help you celebrate your big night later that leave you blushing and reaching for the A/C knob. And then there's one you didn't expect to see.
It's from Kate and it reads: "Hey Max! Guess who's going to be at your big show tonight? ME! I wanted to keep it a secret but just couldn't help myself. I'll see you tonight! xoxoxo"
Now you're actually excited to be going tonight. It's been ages since you've seen Kate in person and the photos on display are just as much because of her. You'll have to give her a call once you get home and warmed up. This will be a night to remember.
