Chapter Forty-Three

Two days later, April got out of the car with her camera, taking each step into the park carefully, as if she carried a bomb that would explode if she took a wrong step. If a person wanted to live in the light, they needed to get in the light, so she came to the park and, on an impulse, had brought her Nikon. It was early still, cool, and the park appeared empty.

Sierra and Carlos had been busy this week setting their plan into motion. Tomorrow would tell whether it would succeed or fail.

She found the bench, hers and Nick’s now, and sank onto the seat. She was in the light, but she didn’t feel the light.

Sierra was making progress.

Luca had told his story and appeared stronger, physically and mentally.

Ms. Baines had already put one of her photos on the gallery wall, and several customers had shown interest.

But April had felt so bruised since her talk with Nick. Talking about Gary hadn’t brought healing. It had brought a terrible, soul-deep ache. Maybe it had been there the whole time and she’d been smiling too hard to notice.

She closed her eyes. A soft whisper seemed to carry on the breeze. There is a time to tear and a time to mend.

The Bible verse didn’t bring much comfort. She’d been waiting for mending for so long, and every time she hoped, the fault line in her life only seemed to tear deeper into the surface.

The breeze continued to sift around her, ruffling through the grass, tattering the flags at the park entrance. A profusion of Indian paintbrush grew on the levee, and rushes lined the banks of the pond. Meadow green and petal scarlet and sky blue. How long had it been since she’d seen the colors around her—really seen them? The world had browned like a sixty-year-old photo the day Joe called to say Gary had killed himself.

The colors practically bathed over her now. It was so beautiful, so incredibly easy. She looked up into the cloudless sky as if she might catch the hand that had painted it all still at work.

A woman jogged on the trail with her dog. She stopped and kneeled down to untangle a knot in the leash, looping her arms around the husky’s neck, burying her face into his fur, the way someone might give an affectionate hug to a young child. April couldn’t help herself. She raised the camera, zoomed, and clicked. The woman stood and was gone.

April tilted the screen to avoid the glare. It was all there on the camera: the woman’s patent loneliness, how she poured her life into a simple dog because almost certainly he was the only one to love her back. It was an image of loneliness and love, sorrow and affection. The pixels told the truth.

She aimed once more, taking a picture of the rushes on the pond, bowed in the wind, and the water rippling to the center.

A bit of poison drained from her. The ache wasn’t gone, but it was a moment—His promise that life would not be filled with thorns forever. One day there would be pine tree instead of brier. Color would replace dullness. Moment by moment, she would lay Gary to rest and life would return.