Capturing You

Chapter 18: All This Time

     The rest of the day after my call with Joe was spent frolicking around the farmhouse with Micah, Hunter, and Claire; heading out to eat at our favorite diner for lunch; and visiting another set of cousins about an hour and a half away from Lake Charles. I hadn't realized it had been so long since I'd seen some of my younger cousins, not having had much time when I came home during college on account of needing to work to help pay for school. A lot of my little cousins — who I'd once known as tykes when I first started college — were now finishing up elementary school and just a couple of years away from heading to middle school.

Time flew.

     We went back to the farmhouse that night, and I'd fallen asleep on the way home, coddled by the evening breeze coming through my dad's window as he drove us all home.

     The next day, I was long overdue for a day out in the water. This lake in my cousins' backyard had no real moniker, but it was known to our family as Thompson Lake, named after us by my great grandparents when they first settled at the farm.

     After breakfast, my dad and my uncle had revved up the two boats out by the lake for us all. My cousins and I would get the smaller, motorized rusty fishing boat while my dad and the adults got the luxurious cabin cruiser. It felt a little unfair, but it was tradition: Of course, the four of us were older now and very well earned our place on the cruiser, and yet it would have been wrong to sit there amongst the adults.

     Hunter and Micah ran the boat while Claire and I looked around for sights to see, choosing music to blast from the tiny radio we had on board and goofing off as we tended to do. I didn't think too hard about what Joe had told me before we hopped off the phone, assuming it was a simple slip of his tongue. It was something we had said often to each other when the season was ongoing — "See you tomorrow."
   
     Besides, I felt much better about where we were, even if there were still unanswered questions. I had heard from him and he was doing okay and that was all that mattered in the long run. Whatever remained was just moss to wipe off the next time we saw each other.

    My newfound clarity meant I felt even more free while spending time with my honorary siblings. As always, I dangled from the edge of the boat, camera around my neck, snapping photos of whatever we'd found along the lake. There was a wide open body of water that bottlenecked into a small swamp and we would save that for last. In the meantime, there was plenty along the edge of the lake that I took photos of: snapping turtles, water snakes, doves called this lake their home, plopping in and out of the warm water as they pleased. Their wet backs glistened against the sun, and Claire and Hunter had even been close enough to touch a few frogs before they hopped away. Of course, I captured those moments — some blurry, but all beautiful.

    I missed this whole ecosystem. Not just the wildlife and the plant life, but the tiny community that my family had made in this part of Lake Charles. I was never lonely when we were all together; only filled with regret that I wished I'd joined in sooner. When I was younger, I often tailed my mom, who loved spending time with family but just like me had a social cap that filled quickly. She much preferred to be with her paintings and I'd come to find out later in my life, a few months before she was hospitalized, that she took herself out of being with the family because she never truly felt like she belonged.

    Not that my dad's side of the family was unwelcoming in any way — my mom was a foster kid growing up — but perhaps a part of her felt as if she was undeserving of the love they poured into her. Maybe I would be making up for that, be more present in this part of my life and not feel so much like I had to watch everything from the sidelines. I needed to learn the nuances of when to be on the outside looking in and when to push myself.