He was the professional, she was an aficionado who went around with him and enjoyed his work. That was how things had to be. She had to stand aside and let him show off. Perhaps that’s why she wound up exiled to the studio, the way she’d once been exiled to the kitchen at the bar. ID photos, developing, indoor work. She never thought of it as giving something up. It was a choice. But one that slowly killed her enthusiasm and stunted her gaze, and she withdrew, as though she never wanted to leave there again, or didn’t know how. Until now. Until recently.
