“Some images of the ocean, a few old fishing boats tied up at the dock. Bryce had me make adjustments to the aperture and shutter speed, and when I got the contact sheets back, I was…” She searched for the right word, remembering. “Awestruck. The differences in effect just floored me, and that was when I first and truly began to understand what Bryce meant when he said photography was all about capturing the light. After that, I was hooked.”
“That fast?”
“You had to be there,” she said. “And the funny thing is, the more I got into photography over the next few months, the easier my schoolwork became and the faster I completed it. Not because I was suddenly smarter, but because finishing early meant more time with the camera. I even started doing extra homework at night, and when he’d show up the next day, I’d hand over two or three assignments first thing. How crazy is that?”
“I don’t think it’s crazy at all. You’d found your passion. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find mine.”
“You’re going to be a pastor. If that doesn’t require passion, I don’t know what does.”
“I suppose. It’s definitely a calling, but it doesn’t seem like the same feeling you had when you saw the contact sheet. There’s never been a ‘Eureka!’ moment for me. The feeling has just always been there, simmering in my bones, ever since I was young.”
“That doesn’t make it less real. How does Abigail feel about it?”
“She’s supportive. Of course, she also pointed out that it means she’ll have to be the principal breadwinner in the family.”
“What? No dreams of being a televangelist or building a megachurch?”
“I think we’re all called in different ways. Neither of those appeals to me.”
Maggie was pleased by his answer, convinced that many television preachers were hypocritical salesmen, more interested in their celebrity lifestyles than in helping others become closer to God. At the same time, she admitted, her knowledge of such people was limited to what she’d read in the newspapers. She’d never actually met a televangelist or a megachurch pastor.
The waitress came by with an offer to refill Mark’s cup and he waved it off. When she left, he leaned over the table. “Can I pick up the dinner tab?”
“Not a chance,” Maggie said. “I invited you. And besides, I know exactly how much you earn, Mr. Have a Slice of Pizza Before You Go to Dinner.”
He laughed. “Thank you,” he said. “This was fun. What a terrific evening, especially at this time of year.”
She couldn’t help flashing on her long-ago Christmas in Ocracoke, knowing there had been beauty in its simplicity, in spending time with people she cared about rather than being alone.
She didn’t want to be alone on her last Christmas, and taking a few seconds to study Mark, she knew she suddenly didn’t want him to be alone, either. The next words came almost automatically.
“I think we need more to get into the spirit of the season.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“What the gallery needs this year is a Christmas tree, don’t you think? How about I make arrangements to have a tree and decorations delivered? And then we’ll trim it together after we close tomorrow?”
“That sounds like a fantastic idea.”
*
The late dinner left Maggie feeling both exhilarated and exhausted, and she didn’t wake until almost noon the next day. Her pain level was tolerable, but she swallowed the pills anyway, washing them down with a cup of tea. She forced herself to have a piece of toast, puzzled that even with butter and gobs of jelly, it still tasted salty.
She took a bath and dressed, then spent some time on the computer. She ordered a tree, paying triple for expedited delivery so it would arrive at the gallery by five. For the decorations, she went with a complete set called Winter Wonderland, which included white lights, silver silk strands, and white and silver ornaments. Again, to have it expedited cost a small fortune, but what did the cost really matter at this point? She wanted a memorable Christmas, and that was that. She then texted Mark, letting him know to take delivery and that she’d be there later.
Once that was done, she settled into the couch and wrapped herself in a blanket. She thought about calling her parents but decided to wait until tomorrow. On Sundays, she knew they’d both be around the house. She knew she should probably call Morgan, too, but she put that off as well. Morgan wasn’t the easiest person to talk to lately; really, when Maggie was being honest with herself, aside from a few rare exceptions, talking to her sister had never been all that easy.