Chapter 5: The Pier

On Thursday the river was the color of a nickel.

Romy parked her truck on River Street and carried both cameras down the stone steps to the water.

The old cotton warehouses stood behind us with their lights coming on, one window at a time.

A container ship was sliding upriver, slow and huge, with a line of red lights along its deck.

"There," Romy said. "That's him."

"Troy?"

"Your fiance texted me a picture of the ship." She held up her phone. "He says he'll be on the bridge wing in four minutes."

"He texted you?"

"He texted us both. Check your phone."

I checked.

He had written, Wave at the big green one. I'll wave back.

I felt a tug of love so ordinary it almost hurt.

Troy was good at this.

He was good at remembering to tell me where he would be.

The pier stuck out into the river on old black pilings.

We walked to the end of it.

The planks were damp and gave a little under my shoes.

Romy set one camera on the rail, took the other, and stepped back to look at me.

"Stand there," she said. "Against the light."

I stood where she pointed.

The wind blew a strand of hair out of my knot.

It slid across my mouth, and I pulled it away.

"Leave it," Romy said.

"It's in my lips."

"It's perfect. Leave it."

I left it.

The shutter clicked, and clicked again.

"Tell me about your mother," she said.

I laughed in surprise.

"That's not a normal photographer question."

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