Chapter 90 - The Photograph With One Face
The first camp photograph arrived on Tuesday.
Noah stood beside two boys and a counselor, holding a badly painted wooden sign.
His smile was enormous.
Nico looked at it for several seconds.
Then he handed back the phone.
“He’s having fun.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He went upstairs.
I found him later working beneath his own desk lamp.
The good one from Noah’s room remained where it had always been.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded.
“Do you miss him?”
“Yes.”
“You can miss him and still enjoy your week.”
“I know.”
He said it with the impatience children reserve for adults who continue explaining a point after it has become obvious.
I accepted that.
At the museum workshop, Nico made something entirely different from what I expected.
Not a bridge.
A small moving sculpture with uneven wings that opened when a handle turned.
He had changed the design twice after watching other children test their ideas.
When he brought it home, Isabel immediately wanted to know whether it could fly.
“No.”
“Why did you give it wings?”
“Because I wanted wings.”
She considered that a satisfactory artistic explanation.
Noah’s first scheduled call came that evening.
He told us about the food, a boy who snored, and a game whose rules sounded impossible until he explained them a third time.
Then he asked for Nico.
We passed over the phone.
Nico described the moving sculpture.
Noah asked whether it worked.
“Yes.”
“Can I see when I come back?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
Then Nico asked, “Did you open the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Were the instructions all right?”
“They were good.”
Another pause.
“The counselor said we could try it tomorrow.”
Nico smiled.
After the call, he remained at the table, turning the sculpture’s handle.
The wings rose.
Fell.
Rose again.
When we collected Noah at the end of camp, he came toward us carrying a bag that smelled as though several damp forests had been packed inside it.
He hugged everyone.
Then he began talking.
Nico interrupted before we reached the car.
“You already said that.”
“I’m telling Daddy.”
“I can still hear it.”
Lena looked at me.
We both laughed.
That evening, we put the camp photograph beside a picture of Nico holding his sculpture.
One boy in each.
Isabel studied the arrangement.
“Where’s the one with both?”
“We can take another,” Lena said.
The boys stood together beneath the kitchen doorway.
Noah put an arm around Nico’s shoulders.
Nico complained that it was too heavy.
May you like
I took the photograph before either moved.
Then they went upstairs, arguing about whose turn it was to use the good lamp.
