Golden Hour

Before Any of Us

We lay here for years or for hours
Your hand in my hand
So still and discreet
So long we become the flowers
We'd feed well the land
And worry the sheep

And they'd find us in a week

(In a Week, Hozier)

TUESDAY 
ALICE

My team is all smiles when I gift them each with a pair of genuine leather cowboy boots. It's a larger-than-life purchase on Carlisle's plastic, but I know he'll forgive me. It's been a long time since I've gone overboard shopping. Besides, only one of the pairs are actually for me. There's no way Carlisle — Dr. Generous himself — will begrudge my giving spirit.

In fact, I'm sure he'll be just as thrilled as I am.

Our shoot goes seamlessly after the addition of proper footwear. Jasper's suggestion works without a hitch, helping us through all types of terrain without a single issue. We all manage to stay upright, and any mud that gets kicked up just slides off the polished leather. We're all clean, and comfortable, and happy.

It's a long day, but a great one. I hand out my optimism like it'll never run out, cheering my team along until we collect all the shots we had planned for today, and most of the looks we missed yesterday, too. It's a freakin' miracle.

The boots even make it into most of the shots. I think, Hell, why not? They compliment my designs strangely well. I like how they look. Then, I think, Jasper will like them, too.

That alone is enough to justify the purchase.

When we're all done for the day and back at the ranch, I volunteer to stay back at the cabins to get our equipment put away while the others head off to dinner. It'll add an extra ten minutes to my day, but ensures that everything is done properly.

Besides — when I'm done, I'll have the time, the quiet, and the privacy to start uploading images onto James' laptop. I'll be able to see how everything turned out without having anyone breathing over my shoulder.

I'll miss dinner, but I'm not that hungry anyways.

James insists on staying to help me. I turn his offer down, more than once. If James stays, I'll get his immediate judgement on the pictures we took today. I appreciate the man's artistic vision, of course, but there's something to be said about having time alone with my designs before someone drops in to start complaining about the exposure, or the rule of thirds, or whatever.

As I'm cleaning up, I notice we've got everything — cameras, stands, lighting meters — everything except our first memory card; the one we filled before switching to the card currently in the camera.

I check James' camera bag first, to no avail. I check the ground around me, my purse, pockets, my usual tote bag filled with necessities — nothing.

Okay, I think. It's okay. Keep calm. You'll find it. Check again.

When I come up empty handed a second time, the loud tick, tick, tick of my panicked heart starts ringing in my ears.

Think, Alice. Think! Where'd you put the card when James handed it to you?

I remember being in the field. I remember that we moved to a spot by the river for awhile, right when the sun was setting. I think that's when James gave me the card. But where'd I put it? I rack my brain for answers until I have the vague recollection of throwing the card in my tote bag — the one I'd already checked multiple times.