Tiptoeing to the bathroom, she cleaned her face and teeth and brushed her hair, and put on her wedding band. Pulling on a sweatshirt and jeans, she slipped out of the house and headed for town.She parked at the pier and turned off her headlights. Camera and tripod in hand, she wandered from spot to spot before choosing the landing at the top of the stairs to the Grill. She disabled the flash and adjusted the settings for dim light, as the manual had suggested she should. Extending the legs of the tripod, she screwed on the camera, opened the monitor, and took a look.The harbor was quiet, the water as gentle as she had ever seen it. Lobster boats rocked at their moorings; those in slips seemed simply to rise and fall with each breath of the sea. Without the range of color that daylight would bring, the world was simplified. In this predawn dark, with the headlights of pickups raking the dock, the shadows of sleepy lobstermen carrying their gear, and lights going on in one wheelhouse after another, Julia found her drama.She photographed from the distance, then zoomed in—zoomed back out when another piece of the harbor caught her eye.
