“Are these all of them?”

Harper glanced up at Kip and straightened the edges of the prints spread out on her coffee table, “Yes.”

Photographs cluttered the table where she sat cross-legged on the cream shag rug in the living room of her apartment, leaning over the glass surface to view all her work spread out in rows. She picked some up, smiling or gazing at them before putting them in chronological order. The eye of Harper’s lens trapped stories in time. Like black and white memories captured at the click of a button. “We just need the end now.”

“Sounds ominous.” Kip looked up from the screen of his laptop, adjusting his glasses with his index finger as he continued typing with his other hand. He sat with his back against the couch, watching Harper as she fingered the photos.

“It is.” Harper stared out the window at her fourth floor view of the parking lot. Not very impressive. Golden light filtered in through the panes, catching dust dancing in the air and floating down to rest on her photographs. She brushed them away with her hand. These images were holy ground. They were life’s mysteries in tangible form. “It will be beautiful,” Harper clarified, “The end, I mean.”

Kip tapped a key and shut the lid of his computer, stretching out his legs. “Are you ready?”

Harper pondered for a moment, glancing down at the images before her. Five years of life spread out in her living room. The face of joy, despair, strength, and worry represented in every way a young girl could. Lilly was more than just a subject; she was a life. A life that felt nearly as familiar to Harper as her own. Lilly would never truly be gone because she was here, within the pages of this book, where youth sprang from the pictures.

“Yes. She’s lived a full life. Fuller than some ten times her age.”

Kip nodded thoughtfully, looking at Harper through the lenses of his glasses, “I know she’s more than just an artist’s muse for you.”

“Of course she is. She is art itself.” And my second chance to say goodbye. Harper twisted the simple wedding band she wore on her right hand.

“There you go being philosophical again.” Kip allowed himself a smile.

“It’s true. She was born to teach us how to live.” Harper picked up one of the photos and fingered it carefully. It was a picture of Lilly on a particularly hot summer day holding a popsicle in her hand as it melted, dripping down her arm and onto her white sundress. She was laughing as the family dog raced along the yard as if his sole purpose was to entertain her. It was one of the pictures taken a few months back, before her last trip to the hospital, when everyone thought her book might be longer than they had anticipated.

Kip leaned in closer to Harper to see the photo, his smile widening, “She’s so happy.”

“Mm,” Harper nodded and set the photograph back in its place. Her eyes scanned the rows and rows of black and whites. She reached for the most recent one.

“That one’s sad,” Kip said, letting his lips droop.

“But it’s real.”

“Real sad,” Kip insisted.

Harper kept her gaze on the photo in her hand. She had taken it just last week. The few moments she spent at Lilly’s bedside made her wonder, not at the cruelty of life but at the mystery of living. Each time Harper and Kip came to capture images of Lilly, the doctors and nurses cast disapproving looks in their direction, despite the joy it brought Lilly and her mother to see them. Harper knew what they thought, they are exploiting the death of a child, but they weren’t exploiting death. They were freezing time.

That day Lilly had been covered in blankets with tubes running from her nose and mouth, and the machines by her bedside made crude incessant beeps. Harper’s lens had captured Lilly curled against her mother while the woman slept with her arms around her daughter. Lilly didn’t smile for the camera like she oftentimes liked to do, she just snuggled closer to her mother and closed her eyes. The photo caught the two in a peaceful rest, neither worrying about the other in sleep.

Harper sighed and placed the photo back in its row. “We can paste the new ones,” she grabbed the glue and began spreading it on the back of one of the pictures, the first in the top row. Kip knelt beside her and set to work, assuming his role as assistant producer of their project.

The two of them had been working on Lilly’s memoir together since the summer after high school, when Harper met Lilly and her mom at the women’s shelter she volunteered at. Since that day, Harper knew she needed to do more than to just help out on the weekends, she needed to feel life to the fullest, so she invented this project, her own creation. It was meant to be a book of memories for Lilly’s mom to treasure, but as Lilly grew, so did Harper’s book. One of Kip’s film professors got wind of their project and the whole idea came to life. Now the two were new college grads with the promise of publication for Lilly’s still documentary upon its completion. But neither of them wanted it to end.

Harper kept straightening and pasting the pictures on the pages. Kip had opened his laptop and was typing again.

“Can’t you leave that alone for a while? This is important,” Harper said.

Kip saw Harper’s frown and set the computer aside. “You’re right,” he picked up a photo and began helping her again, “but…so is that.”

“I know.”

“You said yourself the end is coming soon.”

“I know,” Harper continued picking up pictures and placing them in order, avoiding Kip’s eyes with her own.

“All these years following Lilly has shaped us into people who care. That’s important. This job is important too. It will shape the post-Lilly chapter of our lives.”

Harper turned to look at Kip as he spoke. She doubted any job that either of them could get would teach them as much as Lilly had. But they did need money.

“Let’s finish this chapter first,” she handed him a picture, forcing levity into her tone.

He took it and pasted it beside a photo of Lilly’s first trip to the beach. “She’s so little,” he smiled down at the picture. Harper couldn’t help but smile too. Lilly’s light eyes were wide and her tiny fingers clutched her mother’s as the cold water touched her skin.

“I think black and white becomes her,” Harper said. “I’ve always loved it because it makes ordinary things stand out, like the shine in her eyes,” she pointed at the photo, “it’s glamorous but honest.”

“It strips us to our true selves, without the boastfulness of color or the distraction of hue.”

“Like an X-ray of the spirit,” Harper smiled down at Lilly’s bright countenance.

Each photo she pasted into the book brought back a flood of memories, not just of Lilly but of her and Kip, working on their project together. If it weren’t for Lilly, Harper might not have Kip. It was a thought she often pondered, wondering at the irony of life. The prospect of living in a post-Lilly world was nearly beyond her comprehension, or she liked to tell herself that anyway, so she could go along not thinking about the day that they all knew was coming. Kip would get a job and she would work at the women’s shelter and continue to take pictures…but of what?

When Harper had pasted the last picture in place, she closed the book.

“What are you doing?” Kip frowned, “We’re not done.”

Harper stretched and shifted her position on the floor. “I want to remember her like this for a while, until the end comes.”

“It might still be a while off.”

“You don’t know that.” She looked up at him, you’re too optimistic. Harper knew how these things worked. Just last week Lilly had started to look better, but that’s how she knew the end was near. The thought of the unopened welcome home card collecting dust in her desk drawer justified her conclusion in Harper’s mind. Mom was too young and so is Lilly. She twisted the tangible memory of her mother on her index finger.

Kip stood and stretched, coming to stand over Harper, he put a hand on her head. “Want some coffee?”

Harper took a deep breath and let it out, “Sure.” Taking Kip’s hand from her head, she got up to help him. The ring of her cellphone stopped her where she stood. She moved to let Kip through to the kitchen without her and reached for the phone. A glimpse of the caller ID spurred her heart. She sat on the sofa behind her before answering the call.

“Hello?” Harper said into the phone.

Kip returned from the kitchen carrying two mugs, “You’re out of cream. Do you want me to—” he saw the look on Harper’s face and set the coffee on the table.

Harper looked at Kip but spoke into the phone. “We’ll be right over.” She pulled it away from her ear and ended the call, “We need to go.”

Kip fished in his pocket for his keys, “I’ll drive.”

Harper grabbed her coat and slipped on the flats she’d left by the door earlier that morning. She pulled her camera strap over her head and reached for Kip’s hand. They strode down the hall to the elevator, Harper pulling Kip along. “We have to hurry,” she jammed the down button with her fingers.

Kip squeezed her hand and she let out a breath as they waited for the elevator. It’s only four floors, come on! Harper nearly leapt inside when it arrived, pulling Kip with her. When they finally reached the lobby, Harper’s palms were slick with sweat. She knew this day was coming. She said that she was ready, but she wasn’t. Not at all.

The drive to the hospital felt longer than the ten-minute commute through heavy rush hour traffic but when they reached the front steps, she wished they could turn back. She hesitated at the door.

Kip bumped into her when she stopped, “What?”

She turned around, “I lied. I’m not ready.”

“I know.” He took her elbow with a gentle hand and guided her through the front door.

The sterile smell of antiseptic greeted them. The scent turned Harper’s stomach. They signed in at the front desk and waited for the elevator to take them to the second floor, this time with less anticipation. The doors opened with a ding; it was Kip’s turn to pull Harper into the elevator. They slipped inside as a nurse with an ailing elderly patient in a wheelchair got out. Harper rested her hands on the sturdy black strap of her camera, and looked up at her reflection in the metallic ceiling. Her red face betrayed her anxiety. Kip stood beside her; his solid frame silently giving her strength.

They walked down the shiny white halls to room 201. The door was open. Harper stepped inside first. Lilly’s mother was bending over her, stroking her small hairless head, tears dripping onto Lilly’s pillow. She looked up when they came into the room, wiping her eyes and forcing a smile.

“She’s asleep, but she’ll be glad you’re here.”

Harper approached the woman and gave her a sad smile, “We’ll wait.”

“Sit,” the woman stood and offered her the chair beside Lilly’s bed.

Harper shook her head and clasped her trembling hands behind her back, “No, you stay.”

It is different this time. You’ve been preparing for this. You knew this day was coming.

But it wasn’t and she hadn’t.

The woman sank back into the chair, stringy blonde hair falling onto her face. She brushed it away and fixed her eyes on her daughter again. Harper came to stand on the other side of the bed. Kip stood at the foot, overseeing the situation with a watchful eye.

“What will you do?” Harper looked down at Lilly while addressing her mother.

The woman sniffed and wiped at her cheek. Harper looked up to see her shake her head.

“I’m sorry,” Harper’s face flushed, regretting her words. “You can stay with me,” she found herself saying, “If you need a place to stay or a change...” She glanced in Kip’s direction who had turned to face her. Harper couldn’t read his expression but she knew her offer caught him by surprise. They hadn’t talked about it. In truth, the idea had just now come to Harper. It wasn’t a bad one though. She knew Mindy would want a change of scenery.

“Thank you. I haven’t thought about it much,” Mindy admitted.

Harper swallowed and forced her lips into a half smile. “The offer stands whenever.”

The woman nodded and thanked Harper again. A nurse came in to check on Lilly and asked them to leave. It was a long time before they could come back in, but when they did, Lilly’s eyes were open and her back was supported by pillows. She looked weak and tired, but her lips curled into a small smile when she saw them. Her mother sat in the same chair next to the little girl’s head, stroking her hand. Harper came to stand beside the bed.

“Are you gonna take pictures?” Lilly whispered.

Harper leaned over the bed to hear her. She swallowed and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. She looked so small and frail. “Do you want me to?”

“Take one with Mr. Frog,” she stretched out her thin arm towards a stuffed green frog sitting on the table by the window.

“Okay.”

Lilly’s mom smiled and Kip went and retrieved the frog that had lain beside Lilly since her first surgery before her second birthday. “He’s looking nice today,” Kip said, handing the stuffed animal to the child. Lilly liked to dressed up her companion. Today Mr. Frog wore a floppy sunhat and pink slippers.

“That’s his favorite outfit.” Her voice was strained and she looked tired. Mindy placed the toy next to Lilly and blinked back tears again. Dark circles colored her eyes and Harper wondered when her last night’s sleep had been. She hadn’t left her daughter to go back to the small apartment where they lived since Lilly’s latest hospital stay.

Harper stepped back from the bed and turned on her camera. Lilly rested her head against the stuffed frog and yawned, as if their short conversation had worn her out. The slow beeps on the monitor and the tears that Mindy cried told Harper that her fears were warranted. Harper snapped a few shots of Lilly, then widened the frame to capture the woman with her daughter. The last picture she took that day was of Lilly sleeping against Mr. Frog, Mindy’s hand on her head.

Harper and Kip stayed only a little while longer after that before walking back down the shiny white halls and out into Kip’s Camry. That night Kip developed the pictures and Harper pasted the best photos onto the crowded pages. The next morning, they got the call that Lilly’s book was finished.

Harper set down her phone and stared at the book. Kip came to sit beside her on the sofa.

“Was it worth it? Do you think it even matters now?”

Kip put his arm around her, “It matters. You immortalized her. Not much else matters but that.”

The well of old loss threatened to engulf Harper. Her chest squeezed and she felt a tear drop from her chin onto her pants. “It doesn’t bring her back.”

“No, it keeps her here.”

Harper stared at the book she had poured five years of her life into and doubted whether she had made a difference at all. “But she’s dead.”

Kip flipped open the cover of the book to the first page, where pictures of Lilly smiled back at them. “Death can be beautiful too.”