Page 4 of The Calendar of New Beginnings
“You’re not monopolizing me,” Lucy quickly answered. “I’ve…been looking forward to seeing you.” She’d wanted to tell him everything, but to what purpose? He’d only worry, and besides, he’d had a recent scare with his mother’s health. The last thing she wanted to do was add more to his plate.
“Theyaremonopolizing you,” a gravely voice said behind her. “But that’s a doctor for you. Always making you wait, even if you’re lying on death’s doorstep.”
She turned around as Arthur Hale tapped his cane on the dark hardwood floor to garner her attention. “Hello, Mr. Hale.”
“I keep telling you not to call me that, girl. Aren’t you nearing forty now? High time to give in and call me Arthur. You’d better, or I may bean you with my cane.”
“Okay,” she said, laughing. “You’ve convinced me.”
“Come over here, Lucy, and give an old man a hug,” he said, thrusting his cane to his very pregnant granddaughter.
“Hi, Meredith,” Lucy said, watching as the woman handed the cane to her husband. “Hello, Tanner. It’s been a while.”
Of course, she’d met the warzone correspondent in a few hotspots. Expatriate communities were smaller than a small town like Dare Valley in some ways.
“Good to see you too, Lucy,” Tanner said. “I’m going to be sneaking into one of your classes this fall when I’m not teaching myself. I have a feeling I could learn a thing or two.”
“Didn’t I tell you teaching was a fine idea, Lucy?” Arthur said, ambling forward and hugging her briefly. “Tanner here loves it.”
The former correspondent nodded like he still couldn’t believe it. “Who knew?”
“I’m glad I could arrange it with the Dean of Journalism last minute after you called me,” Arthur continued. “You young people never plan anything anymore.”
Lucy hadn’t been in much of a position to plan anything. But she was also not very good at sitting still. She’d made a call to Arthur, the one person who could make miracles happen at the last minute, as soon as she realized her right eye needed more time to heal. Though she wasn’t eager to start teaching, at least she’d be doing something related to her profession.
“Didn’t you just tell me I’m nearing forty?” she asked. “I can’t be youngandold at the same time.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “You’re still younger than I am, my dear, and that will never change. All that matters is that you’re finally teaching here after all the years I’ve been asking you. We need more professorswho can show these green-behind-the-ears journalists about the proper use of photos to tell a story. No one’s better at that than you are, Lucy.”
“Amen,” Tanner said, and she was humbled by their respect.
“Your last photo on the cover ofTimemagazine of the young Congolese girl dragging an AK-47 up that dusty road to the peacekeepers in exchange for a chicken pretty much did me in,” Arthur said. “I might have gotten misty-eyed.”
“Me too!” a woman behind her suddenly exclaimed. Lucy turned around to see Moira Hale standing a few yards away. “Sorry, I was eavesdropping,” Moira said with a shrug. “I’m a big fan of your work.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving Andy’s sister a warm smile.
“Hard not to be a fan,” Arthur said, tapping her to regain her attention. “Tell us how that photo came about.”
“Well…” she began, remembering the moment she’d seen the little girl approaching the battalion of UN peacekeepers.
Dressed in what amounted to dirty rags, her bones protruding from her skin, the child had looked to be all of seven. Though Lucy hadn’t immediately understood what the little girl wanted, she’d pulled her camera out on instinct.
The girl had spoken in hesitant French, a language Lucy spoke fluently, asking if the peacekeepers would trade her the gun she’d found for a chicken so she and her younger siblings could eat. Their parents were dead, killed by the warring forces destroying the eastern part of the country, and she was responsible for her remaining family. They hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks.
The commander had sent for a chicken from theircompound. Not all of the peacekeepers helped the unfortunate like that. There were simply too many of them. But the girl’s request for a weapon-for-food trade had sparked an idea in the commander’s mind. Everyone wanted to rid the Congo of the barrage of weapons destroying the country, so perhaps a gun-for-food exchange was the place to start.
Lucy had stayed through the whole process, taking hundreds of photos. When the girl left with the bag holding the dead chicken clutched to her chest, Lucy had turned away and cried.
Only three of those photos had been published, but they told a powerful story.
She tried to hold on to her memory of that story and others like it after everything that had happened.
“Amazing,” Moira said when Lucy was finished. The younger woman had edged closer with the telling.
“I owe my start to you, Arthur,” Lucy said, carefully hugging the older man who blustered protests in her ear. “If you hadn’t agreed to let me intern atThe Western Independentin high school, where would I be now?”
“Bah!” Arthur exclaimed. “In the same place you are now. Since the moment your daddy put that first Polaroid in your hands, you were destined to take great photos. You have a gift, Lucy.”
