She picked up Lisette’s camera and focused on the lighthouse in the distance. A memory of their conversation drifted into her mind. His sister Margaret Ann had found the film roll in a box of their father’s things that had been in storage.

The memory niggled at her. She wondered if the box had been anything like the box of things Madame Olivier had sent to her father. Things left behind by someone gone too soon.

A lone seagull flew past the lighthouse, and Camille took the shot, so grateful to have her grandmother’s camera. She remembered the moment as if it were yesterday. Finding the camera. Realizing there was film inside. Knowing there was one person who could help her sort out the images: Professor Malcolm Finnemore. That was the moment that started it all.

The pictures in Lisette’s camera had taken Camille on a journey she’d never expected. She had learned so much from the phantom woman. Lisette had been smart. Intuitive. Talented. And above all, fearless. The love of her life had literally fallen from the sky, and she’d given her whole self to him and damn the consequences. Had she lived, Lisette would have risked all and gone with Hank.

Camille felt ridiculous by comparison. Cowardly. She did love Finn, so much that her heart felt ready to burst. She should have stayed and fought for him. She should go back and fight for him.

Lisette’s last images had opened the door to her heart as surely as—

And then it hit her. Hard.

“Oh my God.” She scrambled to her feet and rushed into the house. Rummaging through her desk, she found the courier’s slip that had been delivered to her with Finn’s film. The copy was dull and smudged, but she could make out the sender’s address and phone number.

Margaret Ann picked up. Camille hastily explained who she was, then asked, “Where is your father’s camera? The one that was found with his effects from Cambodia.”

“I have it here, with everything else,” said Margaret Ann.

“Whatever you do, don’t open it. Don’t wind it or touch anything on it.”

“Fine, I won’t touch the camera. It’s been in its case for forty years,” said Margaret Ann. “Why?”

“I’ll explain when I get there.”

“There,” Camille said, securing the parcel for the courier service. “It’s done.”

“What?” Julie was ironing. Ironing. She never ironed, but her new clamdiggers and white cotton shirt were getting special treatment for the first day of school. “Are those the pictures you found on that old camera?”

“That’s right. I’m so glad I thought to look in Sergeant Major Finnemore’s old camera. I blew it when I ruined the first roll Finn sent me. We’ll never know what was on that, but at least we have this one. It’s the best way I can think of to make it up to him. I already e-mailed the digital images, and now I’m sending the film and prints.”

She had taken pains to make the pictures as perfect as she could. The images were startling and mysterious, but Finn was an expert. He would read the photos, the way he had for her. Maybe he’d find answers to questions that had haunted his family for decades. Or maybe he’d find a new mystery to solve. “It brings everything full circle,” she concluded.

“Well, that’s just dumb.” Julie put on the shirt and folded away the ironing board. She checked herself in the mirror of the hall tree. “You can’t be done with Finn. He makes you happy. This summer was the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“And summer is over. You’ve got school, and I’ve got work.”

“Right. Work.” Julie plucked a gauzy peasant blouse from the laundry basket. “Wear this one today,” she said. “It looks great on you.”

Camille remembered the last time she’d worn it—on a date with Finn, the day he’d taken her to Gordes. The day she’d started taking pictures again. The day had ended with a magical, golden evening half a world away. She remembered how he’d undone the tasseled tie at the neckline, sliding it down to bare her shoulder and kiss her there.

She pushed away the memory. “I’m not going anywhere, except to the darkroom.”

“You can still look great.” Julie took a breath and started to say more. Just then someone tapped a car horn outside. “There’s my ride,” she said, shouldering her book bag. “Gotta bounce.”

Camille gave her a hug. “Today is going to be awesome. And you’re amazing.”

Julie’s smile was a bit shy. “Yeah. Well, we’ll see.”

“I’m really proud of you, Jules.”

“So far, all I’ve done today is iron a shirt.”

Camille laughed and held open the door. She waved at Tarek and his sister. Her heart swelled as she watched Julie going down the walk with a decided spring in her step. She was inches taller, with the figure of a young woman now, not a little girl. Look what we made, Jace, she thought with a wave of affection. We did well. She’s doing well.

Alone in the house, Camille slipped on the peasant blouse and a pair of skinny capris, and headed for the darkroom. Back to school for Julie, back to business as usual for Camille. She had some prints to make for a D.C. client. She was studying a contact sheet, trying to decide which print to bring to light, when she heard the crunch of tires on the driveway, and then a knock at the door. The courier, probably. Here to take away the last tenuous remnant of Finn.

She picked up the parcel and carried it to the door. But it wasn’t the courier. On the other side of the threshold stood Finn. He wore a rumpled shirt and jeans, and was holding a thick manila envelope and a bouquet of flowers.

She stepped back in shock, then yanked open the screen door. “I just hit send an hour ago,” she said.

“I saw your message come in on my phone as I was driving. Something about pictures?”

She almost forgot to breathe. “Your father’s pictures. There was an exposed roll in his camera—”

“Cool, but I’m not here because of somebody’s pictures,” he said, stepping inside. He laid the flowers on the counter and handed her the envelope. “Lisette’s letters to Hank,” he said. “We found them among the stuff from the attic.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing. She wrote letters to him?”

“So it seems. I didn’t read them,” he said.

“Then I won’t either. I’ll send them to Hank, and he can decide.” She looked up at him, still reeling with surprise. “Thank you, Finn. But you didn’t need to bring them in person.”

“True. I’m not here because of the letters. I’m here for you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been traveling all night to get to you.”

“What?” she said again, gaping like an idiot. “Why?”

“Because you left, and we’re not finished.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her heart felt as if it might beat out of her chest.

“I love you. That’s what’s not finished. Don’t write us off, Camille. We’re not such a long shot. Besides, you once told me you specialize in long shots.”

“I was talking about old film.”

“I’m talking about us. And we’re not a long shot. We’re going to love each other forever.”

She looked down, because she had to make sure her heart was still inside. “You can’t just come in here and say . . . You . . . you said we were going to be together just for the summer.”

“I lied in order to get you in bed.”

“Hey—”

“The main reason I lied is that I didn’t want to scare you off. I’m actually a lousy liar, but I would do anything, stoop to any level, to get you to keep me around.” He took her by the shoulders and gazed down at her. He had beard stubble, and lines of fatigue bracketed his eyes, but there was such energy in his expression, such confidence.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“To say what I should have said before you left. Listen. I’m sorry for what happened to you five years ago. I’m sorry your husband died and your heart broke. What happened, what he did, was tragic and heroic, and I get that you don’t believe someone will ever love you like that again. Maybe you’re right. I won’t love you like he did. I’ll love you the only way I know—my way. Your husband died for you—the ultimate sacrifice. I hope I’m the kind of man who would do the same. You make me want to be that kind of man, the kind who would die for you.”