They took Zach’s Jeep up the road to Meerskill Falls. It was plowed now, because Jenny was living up at the lodge. They wouldn’t disturb her though, as the hiking trail led to the head of the falls. The cascade tumbled hundreds of feet down the cave-studded granite cliffs and emptied into a deep pool, quite far from the winter lodge.
Daisy got out of the car and turned her face to the sky. Then she checked to make sure her camera had plenty of power and a big memory disk. There was something about the quality of light in winter that she found both pleasing and challenging to photograph. She loved the contrasting depths, the stark images against the endless white snow, and she’d learned to adjust her light meter and filters to create beautiful pictures even when the light was dull and flat. That wasn’t the case today. The sun had emerged, carving dramatic shadows and textures in the landscape. She took a picture of a birch grove, the slender branches like long strokes of ink against the field of snow. The way the morning light fell over them made the trees glow.
The trail was covered by a season’s worth of untouched snow, and it wasn’t long before they had to put their snowshoes on. Zach had three pairs of high-tech shoes that weighed next to nothing and practically floated them over the snow. It was a funny thing about Zach. His dad, who was way older than most dads, seemed to spend money like there was no tomorrow—although God forbid he should ever leave anything in the tip jar at the bakery. Yet, Mr. Alger had a habit of buying the best, most expensive of everything including cars and clothes and even snowshoes. He was kind of schizoid because then he would lecture Zach about not pulling enough hours at the bakery. Crazy. People ragged on teenagers for acting crazy, but maybe that was only half the story. Maybe they ought to look at the parents for a change.
She tried to picture her kid as a teenager, but the image wouldn’t form. She simply could not fathom the idea that her body could create a life-sized human, let alone one that sassed its mom and got in trouble at school. Still, she vowed she would be a different kind of mom. She’d be best friends with her kid. They’d listen to the same kind of music and she wouldn’t yell about grades and getting into the right school. All that belonged to some far-off someday, though. At the moment, she needed to worry about breaking the news to her friends.
One thing about snowshoeing, she discovered. It was hard work. Halfway up the trail, she stripped off her parka and tied it around her waist. Then off came her muffler and hat, which she stowed in her backpack. She might have attributed this to a hormone surge, which her pregnancy books talked about, but then she noticed that Zach and Sonnet were trudging along, too, bathed in sweat.
When they reached a footbridge spanning the waterfall at midpoint, she called for a water break. “I have to get some pictures, too,” she added. Last summer, the waterfall had been a raging torrent bursting from its hidden source high above and then hurling itself onto the tumbled rocks far below. Winter had frozen the cascade into blue-green ice that striped the hillside like tall, delicate pillars. Icicles bearded the fringes of the cataract. In the middle, a tall column of ice plunged like a dagger into the frozen pool at the base.
Daisy found amazing angles to photograph. She lay flat on her back to frame the bridge, an old concrete structure with two tall arches spanning the deep chasm below.
“There are rumors that it’s called Suicide Bridge,” Sonnet said. “I’ve heard two tragic lovers jumped off it and killed themselves.”
“Yeah, and you can hear their ghosts wailing on windy nights,” Zach added.
Sonnet sniffed defensively. “This is Washington Irving territory. Ghost stories come with the landscape.”
Daisy took a picture of her friend, whose expression was both annoyed and cute.
As though she felt the attention, Sonnet turned to her. “Hey, what would you say to taking my senior photo? You know, for the yearbook?”
Daisy was surprised and flattered. “Sure, why not?”
“I’d pay you, of course,” Sonnet offered.
Sonnet and her mom had to pinch every penny, saving for college. “I wouldn’t charge you anything,” she said, experimentally framing Sonnet in her viewfinder.
“I would insist on it.” Sonnet’s sense of fairness rose up. “Dale Shirley charges, like, three hundred dollars. I’d have to save up for weeks to afford him.”
Shirley was a busy local photographer whose work adorned the Chamber of Commerce brochures, the annual Christmas calendar they gave away at City Hall and of course, the Avalon High School yearbook. Daisy thought it sounded like a dream job, getting paid to take pictures. “He can charge because he’s got all these credentials and his own studio and stuff,” she said.
“Nah,” Zach said, “it’s because he’s been around forever. I don’t want to use him, either, but my dad will probably make me.”
Zach’s dad was all concerned with looking good for his run for mayor.
“Not if I take a better shot,” Daisy said, and snapped a candid picture of Zach as he contemplated his father. Zach was totally made for the snow, the way a wolf was. His blond hair, smooth clear skin and strangely light blue eyes made him look wild and unearthly.
Sonnet peered over her shoulder, reviewing the shot. “Crazy,” she said. “You’re like the Aryan nation poster boy.”
He tossed a handful of snow at her. It burst into a cloud as it hit her shoulder. “Shut up,” he said.
“You shut up.”
Daisy turned the
