LANCE SETTLED AT HIS COMPUTER TO UPLOAD PHOTOS FROM AN early-morning shoot. He’d met a couple from church, with their newborn in tow, at Forest Park. They’d wanted to take as many shots as they could while the baby and the weather cooperated, since rain was forecast. He felt they’d gotten some good ones, but seeing them in thumbnails on the screen now got him excited.
He loved this, capturing precious memories, and capturing them in creative ways. That’s what he’d become known for—innovative shots. He much preferred the creativity of camera angles and natural lighting to the creativity of Photoshop.
Once every photo was uploaded into Lightroom, he scanned them for the perfect shot. There could be dozens of pictures his clients loved, but he had to find the one or two that stood head and shoulders above the rest. And he always knew when he’d found it.
He smiled at the various shots, all of them adorable. But this one . . . He sat forward in his chair and magnified it. Father holding son tenderly in his arms, kissing his forehead, with a beautiful backdrop of trees and a slight burst of sunlight through the branches. Bingo. He five-starred it.
He went back to the beginning, whittling out the least favored ones, then paused when he heard footsteps coming downstairs. He waited for Trey to show with some sort of request. His dad kept him financed, but taking time to buy what he needed wasn’t Trey’s thing. Now that Lance was here, he’d taken to asking, “Hey, man, are you going by the store?”
But it wasn’t Trey who appeared; it was Kendra, in yoga pants and a GW Law T-shirt, hair brushed into a neat ponytail, eyes telling the tale . . . She was drained.
She walked closer. “Lance, I had to come tell you . . . You can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Help me.”
He turned toward her in his swivel chair. “Why not?”
“Because . . .” Kendra lifted her hands as if it were obvious. “It’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me, not really, and you’re cleaning up my vomit and bringing food on a tray? No.”
“Was it helpful?”
“That’s not the point.” Her eyes narrowed. “And how’d you know to bring headache medicine anyway?”
He shrugged. “I Googled to learn a little about chemo effects. It said headaches were common.”
She stabbed the air. “Right there, that’s what I’m saying. Why would you do that? Why do you even want to help me?”
Lance was incredulous. “I live here.”
She spread her hands. “And?”
“You think I could live here, watch you go through this, and do nothing? What kind of human would I be?” He crossed a leg over the other. “You know what I think? I think you’re stubborn. Why else would you refuse help when you know you need it?”
“You can call it what you want,” Kendra said, “but I’ll do what I need to do myself. And when I can no longer do it—what’ll happen? I’ll die?” She threw up her hands. “I’m dying anyway. I mean seriously, who cares if I choose fried chicken over grilled or ice cream over apple slices? What does it really matter if my health fails in 1.8 years instead of 2.5? I’m dying, Lance.” A hand went to her face, covering the tears. “I’m dying.”
Lance didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could do. Tentatively, he got up and brought her head to his chest. And she sobbed, the pain of it bringing him nearly to tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said, chest heaving. “This is not . . . what I wanted to . . .”
“Stop.” He spoke gently. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not . . . okay . . . to be crying on you like this . . .”
“Yes, Kendra, actually it is.”
She allowed herself a few seconds more, mostly because the pain seemed determined to express itself whether she liked it or not.
“I need to sit down,” she said. She took the closest spot, his desk chair, wiping her tears into submission.
“What can I get you?” he said.
She gave him a look.
“I can’t help it. Shoot me.”
She glanced at the computer screen. “When did you take these?”
“Earlier this morning.”
“May I look?”
“Sure.”
She clicked thumbnail after thumbnail, gazing at the photos of mom, dad, and baby. “This is where I thought Derek and I would be in about a year, happy with a newborn.” She kept going. “You’re a good photographer,” she said, her voice barely present. “I bought a nice camera once and never learned how to use it. I like your style.”
He watched, pained by her pain. “Thank you.”
She got lost in the images again, clicking through more than a dozen. “I was supposed to be taking pictures today too. Our photographer was planning to capture photos at the rehearsal and dinner.”
Lance winced inwardly. He hadn’t realized this was the big weekend.
Kendra stopped and swiveled in her chair. “Do you think God is punishing me?”
He stared at her. “Why would you say that?”
“I went to Living Word when I was younger, Sunday school and all that. But I haven’t really been to church since I left for college.” She paused. “And haven’t exactly abided by the things I learned.”
Lance got a folding chair from the corner—Lord, You know I need wisdom for this one—and sat near her.
“The short answer is no,” he said. “God is not punishing you. He loves you.”
“He loves me.” She nodded. “And He shows His love by giving me cancer and taking my fiancé.” She continued, “Because God can do anything, right? He could’ve made it so I not get cancer, or so that Derek would stay with me regardless.”
Lance took his time to respond. “I wish the answers were that easy, but nothing is easy with fallen people in the mix, and fallen bodies that suffer horrible diseases like yours.” He looked her in the eye. “But, Kendra, I do believe with all my heart that God is in control always and has a purpose in it all.”
Her eyes cut away.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said. When she didn’t refuse, he continued. “Why did you say it wouldn’t matter if your health failed in 1.8 years instead of 2.5?”
“I don’t understand that.”
“What’s not to understand?” Kendra shrugged. “I have terminal cancer. The life I’ve known is gone, and the life I’ve dreamed of will never happen. If I’m only living from one treatment to the next and feeling like crap in between—who wants that?”
“Okay, I get it,” he said. “I wouldn’t want that either.”
She looked at him.
“It’s a choice, Kendra.”
“What’s a choice?”
“Whether you’re going to live from one treatment to the next, or live.”
Kendra frowned. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t understand.”
“All I’m saying is, maybe it’s not the life you’ve known, and maybe you won’t have the life you dreamed of. But it’s life, and it can be a rich one if you let it.”