Chasing Sunsets by Eva Marie Everson Read Free Book Online

and pulled open a drawer. When he returned to the chair he dangled a key from between his index and middle finger.
    Not just any key, a house key.
    Not just any house, the one on Florida’s west coast.
    “What’s this?” I asked, knowing the answer full well.
    “I want you to go to Cedar Key while the boys are with Charlie.”
    I stood. “What? Go to Cedar . . . why would I go to Cedar Key?”
    A tap on the door brought Dad to his feet and me to swirl around to face Anise as she stuck her head in. “Dinner is almost . . . oh. I see you’ve told her already.”
    She walked in, leaving the door ajar, and crossed the room to my father. Like butter over hot toast, she slipped her arms around his waist, bringing her body close to his. He kissed her temple and said, “I only got as far as telling her I’d like for her to go.”
    I stepped away from the two of them and over to the bookcase where my father’s priceless collection of first editions was displayed in alphabetical order, according to author. “You’d like me to go? But why? I haven’t been to the house in years. Not since . . .” I couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t say it.
    “Your mother died.”
    I nodded.
    The kids had gone with their grandparents, but not me. There was too much of Mom there. Too many memories. Too many of her photographs.
    The one thing Mom and I shared—that none of her other daughters were interested in—was photography. When she was a child, it had been the connection between her and her father, a professional photographer. The only thing they had in common, she told me. Mom made sure that was not the case with us.
    When I was eight years old, she’d slipped a Kodak 110 in my Christmas stocking along with a package of cube-shaped flashbulbs. While the relationship between the camera and me was somewhat disastrous (I kept cutting off the very thing I was trying to photograph), Mom said I had “the eye for photography.” By the time I was twelve, I was shooting with a basic .35mm, and by age fifteen I had a case full of lenses, filters, and a bulk loader for rolling my own film. While my friends participated in a variety of sports, I stood on the sidelines and photographed them. I became the official photographer for any and all high school events, which made me feel satisfied, as though I’d participated in them. Volunteering to photograph my senior prom allowed me to say no to any guy who asked me to be his date. Mom finally demanded that I at least allow my cousin—who was a year younger than me—to escort me because “no young lady should ever go to a dance unescorted.”
    It was their effort. Not to make sure I went to the prom with a date but that I continue to move forward after that past summer in Cedar Key.
    And Steven.
    “Dad,” I said, breathless. “I’m just not sure I . . .”
    Dad crossed his arms as Anise’s arm fell from around his waist. She said, “I’ll stall dinner.”
    She left the room.
    “Tell me something, Boo.” His voice was firm but kind. “What’s keeping you from the beach house? You always loved it there when you were a kid.”
    I shook my head. “When I was a kid, yes. But really, Dad. I’m a grown woman now. What in the world would I do there all by myself, day in and day out? It’s not like I’m a teenager killing time with Rosa or Heather.”
    Or Steven.
    “Good point, but what do you plan to do in Glenmuir? What do you have planned for the long weeks the boys are with their father?”
    “Well . . .” I said, pacing a few steps along the bookcase. “I thought I’d read.”
    “You can read in Cedar Key.”
    “And I thought I’d work on my lesson plans for next year.”
    “You can do that in Cedar Key too.”
    “Heather and I have talked about doing some girl things . . . you know, like manis and pedis and shopping trips.”
    My father raised a brow.
    “Dad, why is it so important to you that I go to the coast?”
    Dad looked at his feet and sighed. “Do