I inhaled deeply, bracing for the darkness to overwhelm me, when, suddenly, Poppy jumped to her feet. “I’m going to the water,” she announced and walked past me without another word. I watched her walk off. I watched her sink her feet into the soft sand, the breeze flicking up her short hair. I stayed, mesmerized, as she skipped to the water’s edge, allowing the breaking waves to lap over her feet. She held her dress higher on her legs to avoid the splashes.
Her head tipped back to feel the sun on her face. Then, she glanced back to where I sat. She glanced back and she laughed. Free, without abandon, like she had no cares in the world.
I was transfixed, even more so when a reflected ray of sun from the sea cast a golden sheen on the side of her face, her green eyes emerald in this new light.
I lost my breath, actually fought for breath at how stunning she looked. Before I had even thought it through, I had my camera in my hand. I felt the weight transfer into my hands, and closing my eyes, I let the urge succeed.
Opening my eyes, I lifted the camera to my eye. Uncapping the lens, I found the most perfect angle of my girl dancing in the waves.
And I clicked.
I clicked the button on the camera, my heart stuttering at every snap of the shutter, sure in the knowledge that I was capturing Poppy in this moment—happy.
Adrenalin surged through me at the thought of how these pictures would develop. It was why I used the vintage camera. The anticipation of the darkroom, the delayed gratification of seeing the wonder that you had caught. The skill it took to work the camera to achieve that perfect shot.
A split second of serenity.
A moment of magic.
Poppy, in her own world, ran along the shore, her cheeks flushing pink with the warmth of the sun. Lifting her hands into the air, Poppy let the hem of her dress fall and dampen with splashes from the water.
Then she turned to face me. As she did, she grew perfectly still, as did my heart in my chest. My finger waited, poised over the button, waiting for the right shot. And then it came. It came as a look of pure bliss spread across her face. It came as her eyes closed and her head tilted back, as if it were a relief, as if uncensored happiness possessed her.
I lowered the camera. Poppy held out her hand. Feeling high from the rush of having my passion sprung upon me, I jumped to my feet and walked across the sand.
When I took Poppy’s hand, she pulled me close and pressed her lips on mine. I let her take the lead. I let her show me how much this meant to her.Thismoment. And I let myself feel it too. I allowed myself, for this brief moment, to push aside the heaviness I always carried like a shield. I allowed myself to get lost in the kiss, lifting the camera up high. Even with my eyes closed and no direction, I was convinced I had captured the best picture of the day.
Poppy stepped back and silently guided me back to the blanket, sitting us down, resting her head on my shoulder. I lifted my arm over her warm, sun-kissed shoulders and pulled her in close to my side. Poppy glanced up as I lazily placed a kiss to her head. When I met her eyes, I sighed and pressed my forehead to hers.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, as she looked away to stare out over the sea.
I hadn’t felt like this in so long. I hadn’t felt this peace inside since before we parted. And I was thankful to Poppy.
More than thankful.
Suddenly a quiet, awed gasp escaped Poppy’s mouth. “Look, Rune,” she whispered pointing into the distance. I wondered what she wanted me to see, then she said, “Our footprints in the sand.” She lifted her head and smiled a beaming smile. “Two sets. Four prints. Just like the poem.”
I pulled my eyebrows down in confusion. Poppy’s hand lay over my bent knee. With her head tucked under the shelter of my arm, she explained. “It’s my favorite poem, Rune. It was my mamaw’s favorite too.”
“What does it say?” I asked, smiling slightly at the tiny size of Poppy’s footprint next to my own.
“It’s beautiful. And it’s spiritual, so I’m not sure what you’ll think of it.” Poppy sent me a teasing look.
“Tell me anyway,” I urged, just to hear her voice. Just to hear that reverence in her tone when she shared something she adored.
“It’s more of a story really. About someone who has a dream. In the dream they are on a beach just like this. But they’re walking beside the Lord.”
My eyes narrowed and Poppy rolled her eyes. “I told you it was spiritual!” she said, laughing.
“You did,” I replied, and nudged her head with my chin. “Keep going.”
Poppy sighed, and with her finger, she traced lazy patterns in the sand. My heart kind of cracked when I saw it was another infinity sign.
“As they’re walking on the beach, in the dark sky above the person’s life is played out for them to see. As each scene is played, like a movie reel, the person notices that two sets of footprints were left in the sand behind them. And as they continued, every new scene brought with it a trail of their footprints.”
Poppy’s attention honed in on our footprints. “When all the scenes had been played, the person looks back on the trail of footprints and notices something strange. They notice that during the saddest, or most despairing times of their life, there was only one set of footprints. For happier times there was always two sets.”
My eyebrows furrowed, wondering where the story was headed. Poppy lifted her chin and blinked in the bright glare of the sun. With watery eyes, she looked at me and continued. “The person is really troubled by this. The Lord said that, when a person dedicates their life to Him, He would walk with them through all the ups and downs. The person then asked the Lord: why, at the worst points of their life, did He abandon them? Why did He leave?”