Another day, another venue. This one is pretty small, but perfect for the occasion. Black and silver helium balloons are fixed in an arch with a large metallic number 16 floating in the middle. The birthday girl poses in the middle of the arch. She twirls and preens like she thinks she’s a supermodel. I snap away as she blows kisses and flutters her eyelashes. She has so much makeup on that she looks orange. I adjust the filter on my camera to neutralize the tangerine tone and make a note to myself to make some adjustments on photoshop when I get to the edits.

“That’s great, Ally. I think that’s plenty before the party. I’ll make sure to get a ton when you go in.”

She grins, thanks me, and takes off into the hall that her parents have rented.

Dennis lets out a long breath. “Jesus. What’s with all these sweet sixteens these days? We used to get one in a blue moon, and now, everybody’s going nuts for them. If I’d have asked my parents to blow five grand on a party as a teenager, they’d have laughed me out of the room and told me to get a job.”

“Anything to give me a break from weddings. At least we can get some entertainment watching these kids get blitzed on non-alcoholic punch.”

I scroll through the pictures I’ve taken, deleting a few with the birthday girl’s eyes closed and one where the huge silver helium balloons had floated too far into the frame.

Dennis pulls up a plastic chair from the back of the room and sits down as he unfolds his tripod. He looks over to me and says cautiously, “Don’t suppose you’ve seen the latest Time magazine?”

I grit my teeth and nod. “Uh-huh.”

“Great shot, huh?”

“Phenomenal.”

It was one of those iconic once-in-a-generation images taken of a young girl; part of a newly-discovered tribe deep in the Amazon. The picture shows the amazement on her face as she sees a camera for the first time. It’s sensational.

“Did you see who took it?”

“Edward Bates, right?”

“Yes. You used to work with him, didn’t you?”

I clench my jaw and adjust the lens on my camera. “Mm-hmm.”

Before my fall from grace, I’d worked with Edward at The New York Times. We’d started around the same time, and he’d waited patiently in the background while I’d reveled in the limelight—only to step into my shoes the moment I was out the picture.

“They’re saying that the shot might win the Pulitzer.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s some picture.”

“Do you miss that life?”

I pause, my hands becoming still around my camera. I cast a glance toward Dennis and nod. “I do.”

“It must kill you to see Bates making shots like that.”

“My life has moved on.”

“If you hadn’t had the accident, would you have ever left it?”

I shake my head. “God, no. I loved it.” I pull up a chair beside him and make a sweeping gesture with my hand to paint a picture. “It’s a life like no other; adrenalin, travel, adventure, and the feeling that you’re doing something significant with your life. It’s a mixture of art and daring; not a career, but a calling.”

Dennis looks at me blankly. “Wow. Doesn’t sound like you’ve moved on.”

“What can I say?” I can’t keep the nostalgia out my voice. “I was made for that life. I was born restless. Weddings and sweet sixteens don’t cut it for me. I crave the adrenaline; I crave the danger; I crave the thrill. I miss the feeling of taking a picture so meaningful that they print it for the whole world to see. To capture a moment forever and publicize it so as a species, we realize we’re closer than we think. That girl that Bates shot—who’d have ever known she existed without that picture? A whole hidden civilization has been shared with the entire world. There’s no greater buzz.”

“Getting hurt was a tough break. Who knows where it could have taken you?”

I hold up my hand. “I try not to think about it. This is what I do now, and it needs to be enough. Besides, now I have Sophie again, and she’s just—” I can’t find the words. “—wow. If I were still out there taking pictures, our paths would never have crossed again. I’m thankful for that.”

“She’s a lucky woman.”

“I’m lucky that she was still single. She makes all this worthwhile.”

* * *

I arrive back to Sophie’s apartment and have to remind myself that I’m home. As soon as I step through the door, I can smell her home cooking and hear her humming to herself. I smile. It’s better coming home to her.

I set down my equipment and head into the kitchen. Sophie is cooking, still wearing her work uniform. The jacket is thrown over the arm of the sofa. She’s wearing the blue collared shirt, with the long sleeves now rolled up to her elbows and a couple of buttons undone. Her hair is in a messy high ponytail.

She looks up when I arrive, and grins. “Welcome home, Mr. Tanner.”

“God, it’s good to see you.”

“Tough day?”

“The worst. I’ve had hundreds of teenage girls screaming at me for hours. How was yours?”

“A couple of customers had their little tantrums, but nothing I can’t handle.”

I go to her and sweep her into a kiss. It takes her by surprise, and she loses her breath. She smiles. “I was starting to think we’d slipped into acting like an old married couple.”

I slap her rear playfully. “Not quite yet.”

Sophie serves dinner, and we take it into the living room to eat on our laps. We put on the evening news. There’s a story about a fire at a hospital and another about a shooting downtown. Then a headline appears that makes us both put down our knives and forks.

“Renowned photojournalist Edward Bates, thirty-four, has been killed in crossfire in Sudan while documenting the crisis.”

“Oh, my God!” Sophie exclaims.

“It is believed that Bates separated from his team to take a closer shot of the action. It was at this time that he was fatally shot.”

Sophie closes her eyes in horror and shakes her head. “It’s a dangerous profession.” She reaches for my hand and grips it. “Thank God you’re not doing that anymore.”

I stare in disbelief at the screen. I see the newsreader’s lips moving, but I don’t hear anything after the initial headline. “I worked with him.”

Sophie turns to me with wide eyes. “You did?”

“We worked together for a while at The New York Times.”

“I’m sorry. Were you close?”

I shake my head. “We didn’t know each other that well.”

“Still, how terrible.” She moves closer to me. “I’m so glad you’re here. That work was dangerous. It could have been you.”

It should have been me. If I hadn’t been injured, I would have still been out there, on the frontline of journalism. I’d been to that country. I’d witnessed that gunfire. “It’s a hazard of the job,” I say hoarsely.

“It’s not worth it.” Sophie’s voice is soft and distressed. “To give your life for a photo.”

“It’s more than that. The photo is symbolic of so much more. Those pictures may be the only way to give the most oppressed and suffering people in this world a voice. Those pictures are documentary evidence of history at its best and its worst. When it’s caught on camera, nobody can deny it. Nobody can look away. That significance of the work is priceless.”

“Do you really believe that, Cole? How can a picture ever be worth a man’s life?”

“People don’t take jobs like that unless they believe in the cause. Journalism is the only way to shine a light in the darkest corners of the world and on humanity’s darkest acts. It’s powerful. A hard-hitting exposé has a ripple effect that affects real change.”

Sophie’s silent for a moment, thinking about what I’ve said. Eventually, she sighs and shakes her head again. “All I can think about is everyone left behind—his parents, brothers, sisters, friends, partner. All those people who have to go on without him because he wanted the perfect close-up. It seems like such a waste.”

She pats my hand and buries her head against my chest. “You’ve done your part for the truth, Cole. Now you’re here, and safe. Thank God. That poor man; his poor family.”

I say nothing. My eyes glaze over as I look at the screen. Seeing Edward’s face on the news has shaken me. I think of the photo he took for the cover of Time. No matter what Sophie or anybody else says, Edward Bates has left a legacy.