Hailee’s father is sitting on his porch as I approach, two black-and-white photographs in my hand.
“Oh, thanks,” he says. Maybe he had bigger things on his mind—no job, no money for groceries—but he doesn’t seem particularly thrilled.
“I’d love to take a few more of Hailee,” I say. “She’s so photogenic.” We agree on 4 o’ clock tomorrow.
Next day, I’m on schedule arriving at Hailee’s porch. She is sleeping, I am told. (What eight year old sleeps at four in the afternoon?) An older woman, her grandmother, I suspect, sits on a porch chair, face freckled and tanned, the possessor of one lone front tooth. I ask if I can take her photograph.
“But who are ya’?”
I explain: Making a book on West Virginia, freelance photographer, etc. She is pleasant but answers:
“No, no pictures today. I’ve a headache,” wrapping it up with a smile, then disappearing inside the house.