Page 89 of The Irresistible Distraction

My elation lasts all through Sydney’s introductory speech. As she explains the goals of today, talking about her process and how she hopes she’ll be able to guide us, I am brimming with excitement.

“Ah, and you must be our last student.” Sydney turns toward the side door, which has just banged shut, and I feel my stomach drop, even though I know, scientifically, that’s not actually a real thing.

Because it’s been so many years, I actually allowed myself to forget: Adeline Williams likes photography too.

26

YOU DON’T CARRY PEPPER SPRAY?

Sydney puts us in pairs and groups of three so we’ll have buddies as we go out for seventy-five-to-ninety-minute excursions, or “flash trips,” which Sydney says will help us focus on speed as opposed to perfection.

“A poorly framed shot can be edited or cropped or used to teach what not to do next time. Unused film is nothing beyond a reflection of your fear.”

I sat in front, and there was only one empty seat when Adeline arrived. My ex-mother-in-law was forced to be next to me, and so of course, of course, of course Sydney pairs us together.

I swear I twitch a little in response, which makes Sydney ask, “Is there a problem?”

I open my mouth to say . . . something, but Adeline beats me to it. “Sophie and I are old friends.”

While I wouldn’t say all the joy has been sapped from the experience, my feelings as we begin what is meant to be up to a 2.7-mile trail are at least complicated.

“I’d forgotten you enjoyed photography,” I try, which hopefully sounds like the olive branch it’s meant to be. She’s dressed far more casually than I’ve ever seen her before, in jeans (I didn’t even think Adeline owned jeans) and a (I think for once, not designer) long-sleeve shirt.

“I keep forgetting you dabble in photography,” Adeline replies, in her normal frosty tone. “Though I suppose it makes sense, given how close you live to Vera.”

There is an edge to her voice as she says Vera’s name. “Didn’t you used to be . . . friends?”

Adeline looks away; she’s silent for a long time. “Before I married Arthur, we were friendly. But you know Vera, and her opinions. She and Arthur never saw eye to eye.” She doesn’t offer more and I don’t press because for once, I think I understand. Everything changed after I married Jesse: the pregnancy, yes, but also the expectations, the nights I was expected to go to the country club and the ways Adeline coached me on presenting myself, now that I was a Williams.

Never before have I wondered about Adeline’s life, pre-her Mrs. Williams status, when living on the third-largest estate on Lake Arrowhead wasn’t yet the fundamental core of her identity.

I nod and we lapse back into silence. Though the scenery is beautiful, it’s obvious Adeline and I both feel tense enough that we’re walking more quickly than the others—Sydney’s made it clear we don’t need to finish the hike, but at the pace Adeline and I are eating up the trail?

After about thirty minutes of walking, we lapse into an almost comfortable silence and we begin to take small, tacitly agreed-upon breaks. I spot a large osprey, its brown-and-white feathers difficult to distinguish amongst the equally brown-and-white branches, the grayish-brown rocks. And when I turn to capture the best shots, I’m vaguely aware Adeline does the same.

She’s the one who spots a nest I would have walked under, and we’re both quiet as we stop to get our shots.

“The photos at the diner . . . aren’t bad.”

And okay, “aren’t bad” isn’t the high praise people would throw parades for, but my internal Sophie is both keeling over in shock and also . . . dancing an Irish jig? Because I don’t remember the last time Adeline said anything even approaching neutral about me or anything connected to me.

We continue stopping and taking pictures, and perhaps around the fifth time this happens, Adeline shows me the picture she’s just captured and I return the favor. She allows her eyebrows to rise and she nods a little but says nothing.

Which I document, internally, as one hell of a win.

We’re about three-quarters in when I see the coyote. They’re not rare, at Lake Arrowhead or here, but I still tap Adeline on the arm because they’re nice shots. It’s a handsome one, glossy coat, long bushy tail with cinnamon-gray coloring that’s beautiful and framed almost perfectly from above us by trees that are helping to filter the sunlight just so.

I’m smiling as I angle Vera’s camera, thinking about everything Brody and Maggie have suggested with my photography. This is the first time in years that I’ve considered this as more than a hobby. I can see in my mind the way these shots could be made into stickers or postcards. It wouldn’t cost me a ton of money to set it up . . . and it would give us another revenue stream, potentially justify the cost of me getting my own camera.

We’re silent for long minutes while we plan, and I’m getting some clean shots . . . until we both still when a second coyote joins the first. My breath catches in my throat, because one coyote is a great photo opportunity, but two starts to feel like they’re the predators and we’re . . . prey-adjacent.

I turn in a semicircle, my camera still half raised, to see a third as well.

“Are there at least three?” My voice is low, and I know that’s wrong because we’re supposed to be making noise, but it’s hard to remember basic coyote safety when faced with at least three coyotes. My panicking brain is thinking about how far ahead of the other groups we must be for me to not hear any trace of them, and I’m wondering if perhaps they turned back already, because Adeline and I were so engrossed we lost track of time. I start raising my arms, because you’re supposed to make yourself larger in a situation like this. You’re supposed to appear threatening.

“Four,” Adeline replies, looking at me curiously as I start waving my arms, because maybe she took a different wilderness safety class?

“Shouldn’t we start making noise?” I’m not bothering to keep my voice down.