as he studies his own photos. While I was left breathless by the pictures, I can see that he’s critiquing them in his mind. Something tells me he has no idea how good they are.
And the truth is, I couldn’t say with absolute certainty that they’re any good, either. I don’t have an artist’s eye. I don’t know about light and shadows, angles and dimension. All I know is that when I look at these photos, they bring a mixture of emotions storming through me. They make me feel.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to help with our assignments.”
It takes him a second, but when he responds, his voice is light, almost jovial. Good old laid-back Quint. “I forgive you,” he says. Easy as that. “But first, can I grab my phone and record you saying that again? For future reference.”
I glower, but there’s no heat behind it. I look back at the photos. “You could sell these, you know.”
He snorts.
“I’m serious. In fact…” I point at the image of the sea turtle caught up in all the garbage. “I think this is the image we should use on our posters for the beach cleanup. Although”—I shrug at him—“you’re the designer, so I guess it’s your call.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“Hi there! I’m with our local sea animal rescue center. We’re hosting a beach cleanup party tomorrow, right here, where we’ll be releasing four harbor seals back into the ocean. I hope you’ll join us!”
I have said some version of this speech so many times, it’s beginning to lose its meaning. Words slur together. Get jumbled in my mouth. But I keep smiling, keep moving. I have a bag full of blue flyers printed with the details of the beach cleanup, and—yeah, Quint kind of nailed it. That is, we nailed it, since I insisted he let me proofread them before he printed the whole batch, and I did end up catching two typos and one misspelling. I have to admit, though, that the finished product is far better than what I would have done had I made them myself.
The flyers are eye-catching. Simple but effective. On the back, Quint even included short biographies of the seals we’ll be releasing—where and how they were found, what was wrong with them, and notes about their personalities. Plus, each one has a photo. Even in black and white and slightly grainy, the photos are fantastic, and people’s reactions seem to be universal. A surprised gasp, followed by a soft aww that tapers into a bittersweet sigh. The reaction may not be original, but I can tell it’s heartfelt. People are touched by these animals’ stories. I hope that translates into attendance, and donations.
I pause to take a swig of water from the bottle in my bag. The festival started at nine this morning, but newcomers are still swarming the beach, and will continue to arrive until sundown with the promise of a fireworks show that will be set off from a barge out in the bay.
From where I stand, I can see the line of cars stretching down Main Street as people desperately search for parking that no longer exists. Homeowners as far as two miles away will be raking in some dough today, allowing people to park on their lawns for twenty bucks a vehicle.
A long row of tents is set up along the cliffs and boardwalk, selling everything from handmade bird feeders to spice packets. I’m inundated with the smell of sunblock and the sizzle of bratwurst from someone selling hot dogs off a tiny charcoal grill. A rope has been set up to keep a clear pathway for people to shop the vendors, but otherwise, the beach is packed full with blankets, towels, chairs, and umbrellas. It’s the most crowded I’ve ever seen it.
I spy Jude farther up the shore and he catches my eye and waves. Ari is a little past him, talking to a woman selling tie-dyed sarongs and T-shirts. I’ve recruited them to help pass out flyers today, and even Ezra, Quint’s best friend, showed up to help, though he claims it’s only because Fourth of July weekend is when all the cute summer girls show up. I reminded him that he’s representing the center today and to please not sexually harass the tourists. Then I armed them all with the blue slips of paper and explained as many details of tomorrow’s cleanup as I could, trying to fill their heads with phrases like community outreach