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By the time it’s Silvia and Isla’s turn, the little girl is hopping to get into action.
“I think we better start in the pumpkin patch for my little pumpkin; what do you think?” I suggest, stooping to ask Silvia’s little girl.
“Yeah!” she agrees excitedly, before racing her mom to the bright orange gourds.
The mom and daughter are so cute together, it seems impossible to miss a shot. They take turns coming up with ideas for what to do for the photos—everything from placing the pumpkins on their heads like hats to stacking them into a vibrant version of a snowman.
Before I know it, we’re losing light, the evening bringing my project to a close sooner than any of us are quite ready for. Because I don’t know when I last had this much fun. It feels good to be surrounded by happy, laughing women. And it warms my heart to see the girls who had looked so haunted and frightened when they showed up at the Veles house a few short months ago now looking healthy and at ease.
“This was so fun,” Melody says, looping her arm in mine as we make our way downstairs. “You can ask me to model for you any time.”
“You better mean that if you’re going to offer it because you’re a natural. I could definitely put you to good use,” I say warmly.
I like the cheeky girl from Oahu. She has a kind of energy around her that almost glows. It’s a powerful, determined kind of energy that fills me with confidence just by standing by her.
“Really?” she asks, turning her big brown eyes on me.
“Oh, definitely. Actually, if you don’t mind sticking around a little longer, I’d like to try some ideas for my headshot compositions. Do you have time?”
Melody glances at the battered old watch I’ve never seen her take off. “I have about a half hour before I need to head to work.”
“Great. I’ll take it if you’re willing.” I’m genuinely excited to be working with the striking young woman.
She’s right around my age but seems to see the world through different eyes. At eighteen, her gaze is wise and thoughtful, almost suspicious. But how can I blame her for that? Silvia told me once that the girls are from a cargo truck Pyotr stole from the Zhivoder. They were on their way to being auctioned off, probably sold into sex slavery or something horrible like that.
Taking Melody into the theater room of Silvia’s expansive home, I work on the lighting, increasing and lowering the dimmer, then bringing in extra lamps and removing shades until I’m completely happy with the mixture of light and shadows.
“Okay, I’m just going to give you free rein here,” I explain. “If you just sit on that chair, you can move your head however you see fit. Give me a few pauses where you’re looking directly at the camera and a few where you’re maybe looking off into the distance. I’m going to try for a few different angles so I can figure out which ones make for the strongest composition.”
“Okay,” Melody agrees, seeming perfectly at ease.
She’s ready as soon as I am, offering me a range of expressions and angles, shifting from intense to amused, sad to contemplative. And each time her mood changes, her head and shoulders seem to match the new emotion.
I move around her, snapping pictures from several different perspectives. But within fifteen minutes, I’m confident she’s given me a wealth of material to work with.
“Wow,” I observe as we call it a day, and I click back through her headshots.
“Did you get a few good ones?” she asks, coming to peer over my shoulder with interest.
“Are you kidding me? They’re all good. You’re a natural. Maybe you should consider a career in modeling,” I suggest, blown away by some of the captivating images on my camera.
“Really?” The interest in Melody’s tone would tell me she finds the idea intriguing. Maybe even exciting.
“Yeah, really. I mean, I’m not a professional photographer. I’m still in school. But you gave me some great content. Like this,” I say, stopping on a photo of Melody with her chin tipped down, her big eyes looking up at the camera with an expression of intense betrayal. I don’t know what hard knock taught her that emotion, but wow, she evokes it well.
“Thanks,” she says softly, giving me a warm smile. “Do you… think I could use these to send pictures to a few agencies? See if anyone is willing to give me a chance?”
“I’d be happy to. I’ll make sure you get a copy once I’ve printed them.”
Melody beams now, and the toothy smile makes her look her age in an instant. “Thanks.”
She’s off a minute later, rushing to ensure she gets to work on time. I clean up, putting Silvia’s lamps back where they belong. Then I stop in Isla’s bedroom to wish them a good night before I head home.
11
EFREM
My back and shoulders ache with the tension of the day even as I step out of the shower, finally clean of the gore from the explosion. Pyotr’s sworn me to secrecy, knowing Silvia would straight-up panic if she found out he nearly died today.
