Free Fortune's Rocks by Anita Shreve Page B

face.
    “Olympia, lift your shoulder . . . ,” he says. “There. Now turn your head toward me. Slowly. Yes. Now stop. Good. Hold that.”
    She does as she is told.
    He squeezes the shutter, simultaneously looking up and moving the film through the camera.
    “No,” he says in a disappointed tone, as much to himself as to anyone else.
    “She looks fine to me,” says Philbrick, who, having already had his sitting and having examined every aspect of the camera, is now impatient to reach the beach during the family bathing hours of noon to one and, perhaps more important, to eat the picnic that will be brought there.
    “Lovely pose,” says Catherine, who is knitting.
    “I think she should sit up straighter,” her mother says. “Olympia often slouches.”
    “Relax your arm,” Haskell says, “and tilt your head like this.”
    He demonstrates.
    Slightly annoyed at all the instruction, Olympia lifts her arms and removes the pin that secures her hat to her hair. She pulls the hat off quickly and tosses it to the steps. She folds her hands in her lap. She thinks her mother, sitting near the railing, actually says, “Oh no,” for no female has been photographed this morning without a hat, not even the girls.
    Haskell stands unmoving for a moment. And then he steps forward. She thinks he might speak to her. Instead, he lifts her chin with his fingertips. He raises her chin high and then higher, so that she is forced to look into his eyes. He holds this pose at its apex, studying her face, and then he allows his hand, which she is quite certain is hidden from the others’ view, to trail under her chin, to her throat. The touch is so brief and soft, it might be a hair floating across the skin.
    This fleeting brush of his fingers, the first intimate touch she has ever had from a man, triggers a sudden image from the previous night’s dreams. Her gaze loosens and swims, and color comes into her face. There must be on her cheeks the hectic flush of confusion, she thinks. And she is afraid that she will, in the several seconds she is required to remain still, betray the content of the scenes and pictures that float before her eyes.
    She waits for some confirmation that the others have observed Haskell’s touch. But she realizes, from the impatient and bored tones of the onlookers, that no one has noticed the moment at all. And she wonders then: Did it really happen, or did she imagine it?
    Later, when she sees the photographs for the first time, she will be surprised at how calm her face looks — how steady her gaze, how erect her posture. In the picture, her eyes will be slightly closed, and there will be a shadow on her neck. The shawl will be draped around her shoulders, and her hands will rest in her lap. In this deceptive photograph, she will look a young woman who is not at all disturbed or embarrassed, but instead appears to be rather serious. And she will wonder if, in its ability to deceive, photography is not unlike the sea, which may offer a benign surface to the observer even as it conceals depths and currents below.
    “Very good,” says Philbrick, standing. “I, at least, am off to the beach.”
    • • •
    As promised, they make their expedition at noon, all of them, that is, except for her mother, and then Catherine, who remains behind to keep her mother company. Josiah has packed an elaborate picnic in a wicker basket, so large it requires two boys to haul it. The day continues to be bright and breezy, and although the surf is decidedly energetic, everyone except Olympia and Haskell ventures into the water. Olympia has deliberately chosen not to wear a bathing costume, being uncomfortable in that company to be in such a state of undress. Haskell has not had time to change, since he has been working with the camera until the last minute. Indeed, he still has it with him in its mahogany box.
    The day and the hour seem to have brought out nearly all of the population of Fortune’s Rocks. Olympia observes