Jill had known hunger when she was a kid. It was frustrating not to be able to focus in school and humiliating to have to ask for food. Jill wanted better than what she’d had for the children in that school. She’d figure out the money later; maybe lower the house price even more, or work two jobs instead of just one, to make up the difference.
“Nonsense,” Brenda said sharply, though her expression was soft. “We can afford to pay you. In fact, we insist on it.”
They spent the next several minutes discussing the logistics of getting Jill’s pictures to Ryan. She’d been given free rein to photograph anything in Dewberry Beach that looked interesting, so long as the images were natural. The work paid surprisingly well, better than anything Jill would have gotten from a temp job, and the best part was that she’d be allowed to keep copies of her work for her portfolio.
For the rest of the meeting, Jill positively glowed, feeling her luck had finally changed.
With their business concluded, the meeting adjourned. Brenda rose to clear the table while Betty filled the sink. Kaye and Mrs. Ivey walked Jill out and paused at the front door.
“Starting tomorrow won’t be a problem?” Kaye asked. “I realize this is short notice, so we’ll try to make it easier for you. Parking at the Yacht Club is limited, I’m afraid, and the building itself can be difficult to find. We’d be happy to pick you up if you tell us where you’re staying.”
“Oh—I’m staying with a friend.” Jill waved a breezy hand through the air. “I’m sure she knows where it is.” She hated lying to these women, especially after they’d taken a chance on her, but she didn’t feel as if she had a choice. They’d made their feelings about The Monstrosity very clear and might not have offered her the job if they knew she owned it. And she really wanted the job.
“How nice.” Betty commented, out of interest. “Is your friend anyone we know?”
Mrs. Ivey laid her hand gently on Betty’s arm.
“Alright then,” Kaye continued. “We’ll be there early. See you tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Jill shrugged on her jacket as Kaye returned to the kitchen and was surprised when Mrs. Ivey saw her out.
“A great many people are counting on you, Jillian.” The older lady reached out to gently grasp Jill’s arm. “Please don’t let us down.”
Jill shook off Mrs. Ivey’s strange comment as she made her way back to the house, focusing instead on everything the women had said about her photographs, committing each compliment to memory. Brenda had remarked on Jill’s instinct for capturing texture and light. That was something she’d been working on, so to have that encouragement from someone as accomplished as Brenda? Well, that was everything.
Marc had called her passion a hobby for so long that Jill had almost begun to believe it. But not anymore.
And although she still entered the house through the garage, so as not to be seen by the neighbors, she would not spend the night in her car again.
Those days were over.
Eighteen
The chirp of an incoming text woke Jill before her alarm did. Bleary-eyed, she pushed herself upright, squinting against the screen’s light as she skimmed the message.
Client I mentioned is interested. Wants to see the house as soon as possible. Hoping for this morning?
Now fully awake, Jill composed a quick reply and sent it off.
This morning is fine. I’ll be out all day.
Heart thumping, she stared at the three pulsing dots on the bottom of her screen, waiting for a reply. Could it really be this easy?
Great! We’ll be there around nine. Shouldn’t take long.
Excited, Jill pushed away the blankets and headed for the shower. It seemed that her luck had changed after all.
Before leaving the house, she gave it a quick once-over, plumping pillows and running the vacuum once more. Satisfied the house was show-ready, she stocked her camera bag and let the excitement of the day propel her forward.
She was ready with her camera when a gust of autumn breeze swirled a handful of crimson leaves across the sandy beach steps. And when the wind spun the leaves into a vortex, Jill slowed the shutter speed to blur the image. The result was a wash of fall color against a canvas of sandy beach. On the dunes, she found another scatter of wild roses and photographed the jagged green leaves, edged with lacy frost and dotted with frozen dewdrops. Then, her attention drawn to activity on the beach, she switched to a telephoto lens and captured the foamy churn of seawater as a black Lab frolicked in the surf. Further out, she saw a lone surfer on a faded green surfboard, waiting for the perfect wave.
As she made her way from the beach into town, she saw again that everything had been decorated for the festival and paused to look closer. Every shop had something out, even tourist shops closed for the season. A rusty wheelbarrow overflowing with lumpy gourds was parked outside the T-shirt shop, a tier of haybales stacked beside the ice cream stand. Even a web of fake cobwebs had been stretched across the doorway of the beach-pass office. She took several pictures for the festival website then continued into town.
Even from two blocks away, she could see a flurry of festival activity in front of the fire station. Work crews unloaded long tables from a flatbed truck, delivering them to the lawn, where another crew were busy erecting tents for the cook-off. Hurrying forward, Jill pulled out her camera and went to work. She found a group of bleary-eyed volunteers awaiting the morning’s instruction, and captured expressions of excitement and exhaustion. Moving to the green, she watched a man set up his grill for the cook-off, noting his expression as he scooped wood chip from the bowl of water.
