She took the camera. “I went on your website,” she said. “I saw the pictures of Lucia in the maternity section.”

I experienced a mild burning sensation in my chest. “Did you like them?”

“I didn’t know you were in touch with her. I didn’t know you took pictures of her.”

“Mm-hmm.” Yes, I’d taken pictures of Lucia. Of course. I’d taken pictures of most people in my life. I was a photographer, after all.

“Weird that her boyfriend reappeared.” She snapped several photographs, then stopped taking photos and looked at me directly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“You never know what people will do.”

Natalie shook her head. She studied my camera and adjusted several of the dials. We played some of the photos back. She had no interest in glamour. She went out of her way to find the moments when I’d divorced myself from my appearance.

“Natalie. I’m amazed by who you are. And astounded by your generosity and your talent.”

I opened the door to the patio. It was pleasantly cool outside, a breezy spring afternoon. She followed me out.

“Photography is always better outside,” I said. “The sun does the work. Energy is added, not subtracted.” Natalie asked me to sit on the chair opposite her and she continued to photograph me. When she played the photos back, I looked over her shoulder to see the images.

“Take pictures of Eliza,” I said. “That’s one of the most challenging things. Animals keep moving. Same with small children. And they can’t help their honesty.”

She knelt on the bluestone patio and photographed my cat. Eliza was champagne colored with very dark gray accents on her paws and streaks everywhere, which made for some interesting abstract photos.

For the next two hours, she photographed the patio, the cat, the apartment, my shoes, my face, my sofa. The sun began to set.

“Your parents are going to want you home soon.”

“Just a minute.”

She was enjoying herself. I went to my camera shelf and looked at my collection. I had two relatively new DSLRs and two mirrorless cameras. I also had an early, but very good, Sony digital, my first camera, that I didn’t use anymore.

I handed her the camera, along with its charger and memory card. “You can keep this one and practice.”

“What?” Her face expanded with surprise.

“I don’t use it.”

She was trying not to smile, but I could tell how pleased she was. “It’s too big a present. My mom will tell me that I can’t have it.”

I put my arms around her frame and kissed her warm cheek. “Tell your mom it’s a loaner.”

Eyes shining, she put the strap around her neck and placed her hands on the Sony in a proprietary manner. I was her mentor now.