Page 49 of You, with a View

There’s a cornered look in his eyes, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

I let his silence hang for approximately two seconds. “I’m going to need more than that.”

Theo’s mouth curls into a barely-there smile before he squints out at the horizon. “It’s what he’d say to me every summer when we were getting ready to take off somewhere. He always knew where we were going—he had to clear it with my parents first—but he liked to pretend we were going on this unknown adventure together.”

“Why that moment, specifically?”

“It meant I got to spend time with someone who let me be me, without expectations. We got to go to places where no one knew us—all over the country when I was young, and internationally once I was older.” Our arms brush, bringing goosebumps to my skin despite the heat. But it’s not just Theo’s touch; it’s the emotion coating his voice. I recognize it in myself, the bittersweetness of recalling perfect moments you can’t get back. “It was freeing to get away from my life. So, when Anton and Matias and I were thinking about names, it was the first thing that popped up. It felt right. I want everyone to feel that when they travel.”

I fiddle with my lens cap. “That’s kind of a pay-it-forward moment for you, over and over again.”

Theo’s features are painted golden in the light falling down on us. The tips of his lashes are honey hued, the blue of his eyes so clear, nearly bright. After my disastrous assistant stint, I prefer to shoot landscapes instead of people, but the urge to get this shot of Theo is intense.

He swallows. “I’ve never thought of it that way. But yeah. I guess that’s right.”

“You’ve done something pretty amazing with it,” I say quietly.

“Yeah.” His voice breaks, and he lets out a breath, running his hand through his hair before giving me a wry look. “You still ask a lot of questions.”

I bite back a smile. Sometimes in class, he’d tally up all the questions I asked and slip the paper into my hand on his way out the door. I hated that touch as much as I wanted it. “Some things never change.”

“True.”

The air between us is thick, his sadness sitting on top of it. I bump his arm with my shoulder. “You can tell me to mind my business, you know.”

“I know.”

The basin stretches out in front of us, bleached-white salt flats shaped like polygons. The sun is starting to sink in earnest, and though I’m eager to take some photos, I’m disappointed our conversation is winding down. Theo giving a piece of himself to me feels like a gift, and I want to grab it with both hands. Ask for more.

He turns to me. His gaze traces the path of my ponytail pulled over my shoulder, moving up to that spot he touched with his mouth the other night. But it’s not sexual; it’sfamiliar. It makes me ache.

“No one’s ever asked me that question before. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to answer it.”

I hear thethank youhe doesn’t say. I nod, too taken aback to come up with a casual response. He flashes me a quick smile, then wanders away, hands in his pockets.

I watch him for too long. I’m going to miss the sunset. My pictures. But I can’t seem to step outside of our moment.

A gentle hand on my arm sends me crashing back down to earth.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, sweetheart,” Paul says when I whip around. His camera is cradled in his hands.

“It’s okay, I was just... thinking.”About your grandson and how I seem to be sliding headfirst into something a little terrifying—

Paul saves me from myself. “You shoot mostly landscape, right?”

“It’s what I’m most comfortable with, yeah.”

“Have you done much portrait work?”

“I—” I lift a shoulder. “I assisted a photographer for almost a year right out of college. I got burned, so I stepped away from it.”

He hums, appraising me. “You truly do have a storyteller’s heart. I recognize it in you just as I knew it in myself. I hope you discover that, and use it to make art that touches people.” He elbows me, conspiratorial. “Even if it’s justyouit touches.”

He lifts his chin toward Theo, turned toward the mountain range with his face in profile. The shape of him is lonely.

“I’m not sure I should interrupt,” I stall.

“You’re not interrupting. You’re recording a moment.” Our eyes meet and he smiles, a mixture of sadness and joy there. “Teddy’s been my loyal subject his entire life. It’s okay, I promise.”

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