Page 74 of Everything We Give

CHAPTER 21

IAN, AGE THIRTEEN

“Where’s the film?” Ian leaned over his dad’s shoulder. They were in his office next to Ian’s bedroom. Stu was showing him a new type of camera he and some of the other professional photographers had received to test. He called it a digital camera. It was large and bulky and seemed unwieldy to Ian.

“There isn’t any film.” His dad pointed at the compartment at the base of the camera. “This is a built-in hard drive. The pictures are stored here.”

“Like a computer?” Ian leaned closer, putting weight on his dad.

“Something like that. Pull up a chair. Let’s have a look.”

Ian dragged a wood chair around the desk. The same chair he sat in whenever his dad lectured him about homework and chores. He always seemed to be lecturing, Ian thought with a virtual eye roll. He plopped onto the seat.

Stu scooted his own chair closer. The tarnished brass casters squeaked and the leather seat creaked. He plugged the camera directly into the computer and clicked the mouse, opening a file that displayed ten icons, then double-clicked the first icon. On the screen appeared an image of Ian that his dad had taken only fifteen minutes before. Ian stood on the porch, grinning, his hair waving like a flag above his head, caught in a gust of wind.

“Whoa.” Ian was impressed. There he was, on the screen, no darkroom needed. The quality wasn’t great. There were features in the image that could be sharpened. “Why’s it in black and white?”

“I don’t have a color monitor. I guess I better get one.” His dad leaned back in his chair, studying the photo, his hands clasped over his middle.

Ian picked up the digital camera and inspected the dials and buttons. “Will this be your new work camera?” His gaze dove to the professional Nikon his dad used for shooting ball games. Ian imagined the pictures he could take should he get his hands on that camera.

“Not this camera. The technology has a way to go.” Stu took the digital camera from Ian’s hands and returned it to the desk. “I predict in ten to fifteen years we won’t use film, not like we do today.”

“You think so?” Ian parked his elbow on the table and propped his chin in his hand. He reached for the digital camera again. He studied the casing. It was heavy with the additional compartment. Not convenient at all to lug around on a photo shoot.

“Put it down, Ian.” His dad took the camera from him again and Ian huffed. “It’s an expensive piece of equipment. Keep in mind, digital photography is the future.” He leaned toward the monitor and clicked through the photos. Pictures of him and Ian around the property.

“Why didn’t you take any of Mom?”

“I just didn’t.” His dad opened another icon. Ian hung upside down from a tree limb.

“She’s pretty.” Especially when Jackie doesn’t cake Sarah’s face in makeup or isn’t getting into Ian’s face. She’d get drunk and threaten to take his precious mama away from him. She never did. She always came back whenever she left.

But Sarah, when she was his mom, Sarah, was beautiful to Ian. “We need more pictures of her.” He had too many of Jackie, and they weren’t pleasant. He didn’t like looking at those.

“Don’t take pictures of your mom,” his dad snapped.

Ian jerked back at his harsh tone. Where had that come from?

Don’t take pictures of Jackie. That was the rule. Ever since Jackie drove them to the dive motel and met that biker, Ian had no problem whatsoever obeying it. There had never been a rule about not photographing Sarah. This was new.

“You take pictures of you and me all the time. We’re family. Mom needs to be in those pictures.”

“Just lay off the camera with her. She doesn’t want her picture taken anymore.”

“Why not?”

Stu dragged a hand down his face. “It’s not important. Just don’t do it.”

“But—”

“End of discussion.”

Ian hunched in his chair, simmering. He was thirteen. He didn’t like being told what to do, and he especially didn’t like not being given an explanation. What was wrong with taking his mom’s picture?

Sheesh.Ian pushed away from the desk. He hated being treated like he was ten. If his dad were around more often, he’d see that Ian was almost a man himself. He was done hanging out with his dad. He had places to go, better things to do.

Ian stood, kicking the wood chair out of his way. It bumped into the wall.

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