When he returned to the parlor, Cynthia had emerged from her quarters in time to catch a mini-rerun of Brandon Westlake's slide show-enough to be enthralled. The other guests, bored by his technical answers to her questions, formed their own pockets of conversations. Dean fixed his wife a sandwich and was pleased to see she was more herself as she chatted with the elderly man about various flowers and camera settings, all beyond Dean's comprehension or interest.
"Your images are so sharp," Cynthia marveled as she held up a print. "The color is amazing."
"It all has to do with the light. Those were taken on a very clear day, in the late afternoon sun. But even when it's overcast, like today, you can get some interesting images; not so much close ups, but distance shots, with fog rolling down the valley and blankets of flowers shrouded in mist."
Cynthia apologized for asking so many questions, but Westlake waved her off. "I'm just pleased to have someone interested in what I do. I tried to make a photographer out of my godson Billy, but I'm afraid at his age there are a lot more interesting things to do, and they all have female names."
"He's been busy shooting hoops with Pumpkin Green," Dean said. "He's a personable young man and a whale of a basketball player."
Westlake laughed. "When he was little, I couldn't chase him away. I rented a room from his mother for years when I'd visit out here summers. I've known the boy since the week he was born- from cribs, to toys, to basketballs, to girls. They all grow up. Now I'm afraid it's married life." The Deans both looked at him. "I don't like to spread rumors," Westlake continued, "but his mother tells me our Billy is going to be a father."
"There goes any chance of college," Dean said. "That's a shame."
"I'll help if they'll let," Westlake said.
"It serves him right for being so irresponsible!" Cynthia said, with anger in her voice. "No one wants to think about the result of their actions nowadays, and no one talks about how this ruins the poor girl's life."
"People make mistakes," Westlake muttered, obviously sorry he'd raised the subject in the first place. He busied himself with his equipment but after glancing outside and turned to Cynthia. "Why don't you come up with me now while I photograph?" he said. "The wild flowers are spectacular in Yankee Boy Basin and with this weather, we'll have the place to ourselves. I'll show you how I set up my shots."
"I'd love to, but no, but thank you. It's too busy at Bird Song and I've been-goofing off all morning." Westlake's eyes met Dean's in knowing sympathy.