Page 47 of Plus One

Maurice looked back toward the sea and at Monique. She swiped her brow and looked around as if measuring the distance from beach to cabana.

He started walking again.

Eighty-three steps.

Maurice counted without meaning to. An old habit from measuring distances to safety, from always knowing exactly how far he was from anything. Eighty-three steps from the cabana to where Monique crouched by the tide pools again, her attention fully absorbed.

“Hey,” Maurice said quietly.

She looked up, and her face transformed, tension melting into something softer. “Hey.”

“Brought you water.” He held out the bottle. “And a hat. Sunny said the sun’s brutal.”

“Thanks. My daughter will chew me out if she finds out I’m out here without cover.” She took both, drinking deeply.

She placed the ridiculous hat on her head. “How do I look?”

Beautiful.“Like you’re about to serve tea at a garden party.”

Monique laughed. “That’s oddly specific. You must attend a lot of garden parties.”

His chest rose, and he smiled back. “Not really my scene, but that is a very fancy hat.”

“It really is.” She turned back to the tide pool. “But look at this. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Maurice crouched beside her, looking where she pointed. He’d never seen a tide pool before. Never seen the ocean before yesterday, not really. Never had the chance. The pool was maybe three feet across, carved into volcanic rock. Inside, there was a whole tiny universe. Small fish darting between rocks. Sea urchins clinging to sides. Shrimp, practically see-through, picking through sand.

“It’s like my dentist’s office,” Monique said, wonder in her voice. “Remember those fish tanks in waiting rooms?”

Maurice had never been to a dentist with a fish tank. Had barely been to a dentist or a doctor or a church until prison. But watching Monique’s face, her eyes bright and smile unguarded, he understood the appeal.

“I wish I’d brought a waterproof cover for my camera,” she continued. “I could get closer, get the shrimp and urchins.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Don’t have one. I mostly shoot around Chicago. Don’t exactly need waterproofing.”

“How’d you get into photography?”

Monique sat back on her heels, still watching the tide pool. “The year my dad died, Aunt Don gave me an old Kodak Instamatic 100 camera that she’d found when cleaning her office. I was eleven. Said I needed something to focus on besides grief.”

“Did it work?”

“Eventually. I studied some in college. Never thought about pursuing it professionally, but…” She shrugged. “It’s been a comfort. Something that’s mine. Evidence. Memory.”

“Evidence of what?”

“That I existed, that I was here, bearing witness…” She shook her head. “I don’t mean to get all philosophical on you. I’m in my head a lot.”

Maurice understood that completely. “My phone has a waterproof case. If you want to use it.”

Monique’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s rugged. Made for job sites. Should handle saltwater.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”