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“Can’t you tell me?”
“Can you come?”
She looked around. She thought of her father inside. He was already tucked up in bed, settled. And he’d seemed a little brighter today, despite the fact that the night before, Tom had talked to him about moving downstairs. It was set for tomorrow, Tom arranging for Fred, her father’s assistant, to cover for him at the store.
“Yes, I guess I can come now.”
“Great. As soon as you can. Meet me at the dock. And bring your camera and your lenses.” He ended the call then, and she looked at her phone a moment, puzzled.
* * *
She got out of the car and, after retrieving her camera bag, headed from the gravel drive toward the dock. She could see Ethan there, the moonlight casting a glow on him, as he sat with his feet dangling over the side, staring out across the lake, his navy jacket and shaggy dark hair almost ethereal against the water and sky he was silhouetted against. A soft breeze disturbed his hair.
Without thinking, she withdrew her camera from the bag, and with the lens fixed, she lifted it to her eye and framed the shot. With the angle of the moonlight, the cloud, it was an extraordinary shot. She pressed the shutter, and changing the angle slightly, took several more shots. She moved forward stealthily, as though she were stalking a deer, bringing him closely into focus so that he almost filled the frame, the edges of the light playing against his shape. Even with the jacket, she could see how well built he was, the broad shoulders, the trim waist, the arms, bracing himself on either side.
She lowered her camera and moved closer, but this time he heard her and turned. A wide smile broke out on his face. He rose and came to meet her. There was no hat or glasses of any kind to obscure his face or the expression now filled with pleasure.
“You made it,” he said.
She nodded. “How could I refuse a command like that?”
“You won’t regret it.” He reached out and took her free hand. “Come with me.”
His grasp was warm, firm. Those hands, the long beautiful fingers she’d always admired when he played the guitar. Now they felt strong, confident, even safe.
He led her to the dock and positioned her so that she faced slightly off to the right. He stood behind her and reached over her shoulder with his left hand and pointed, his right hand resting on her shoulder. She felt his touch again, so strong, confident, warm. But this time it didn’t feel as safe. Not safe at all. She made herself follow the direction of his finger.
“There,” he said. “Can you see it?”
She took a deep breath and willed herself to look, pushing aside all the dark thoughts the lake brought back for her. She blinked a few times and then she saw it. A small gasp escaped her. The lake, glass-like in its stillness, reflected the sky and landscape in almost perfect imitation. Clouds that drifted low across the sky also moved across the lake in mirrored action. But in an accident of angle and refraction, the house, Zig’s cabin, stood half-tucked inside a misty cloud that seemed more magical than real.
“Wow,” she said, staring for a moment.
She lifted her camera and began to take shots, pausing momentarily for her usual adjustments in F-stops or lenses. Beside her, Ethan stood silently, his hands in his jacket pockets, watching her work.
When she was done, she turned to him, her face filled with joy. “That was amazing. Thank you.”
He smiled. “Do you see it, though?”
She looked over at the reflection again, tilting her head. The clouds had shifted shape and the house had emerged, no longer half-obscured. The reflection had softened some of the house’s weathered appearance she’d noticed the first time she’d been out here. The rotting end of one of the wooden plank steps, the peeling paint, the sagging porch. In the reflection it looked more well-loved than neglected. She wondered if Zig’s family had used it recently, before Ethan had come.
“The House of Clouds,’” said Ethan.
“The House of Clouds,’” she said, repeating his words, trying to understand.
Ethan turned and looked at her, his eyes twinkling.
I would build a cloudy House
For my thoughts to live in;
When for earth too fancy-loose
And too low for Heaven!
Hush! I talk my dream aloud—
I build it bright to see
