Kelly continued. “All she needs is us at the moment. In fact, she needs me at home.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “That conversation again. It’s only another couple of months until I can get the next book written. And to be honest, if you’re referring to something else, it’s better for us to have things out in the open with no secrets—”
Kelly leaped to her feet, plates and utensils crashing together as she snatched them from the table. “Now you’re doing it to me.” She stormed over to the kitchen sink. The entire house seemed to echo with the harsh wash of pounding water against polished stainless steel.
“I’m sorry, okay? I found out something today that could be the reason for her withdrawal, so I wanted to—”
Water flicked from the sink with Kelly’s intense rinsing. “You push her away every time you try to fix her.” She flung open the dishwasher door.
As Daniel placed glasses next to the sink, Kelly saw the flash of gold on his shirt cuffs. They were new.
“As I was about to say, I found out something today that might explain why she’s so down. A photo from her birthday party.”
Kelly’s scrubbing slowed. “What photo?”
Daniel raised a finger and headed toward his study, returning with an old briefcase. He placed it on the kitchen counter, thumbed in a combination, and popped open the clasps with a thunk. The smell of Old Spice wafted toward Kelly, waking memories of Gramps, as Daniel pulled out a small book. The pages groaned as Daniel flicked through them, before he held the book open for her to see. “Do you remember that?”
The pain she felt was like a knife slicing deep into her heart. Her daughter sat in her beautiful party dress at her own birthday celebration, tears shining on her cheeks. And Kelly had no idea it had happened.
“That’s why I was asking her about the party.”
“Why wouldn’t Gramps tell us?”
“It’s bad enough someone needed to.”
“I’m sorry. You didn’t tell me.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “There wasn’t time. There’s not a lot of time to tell you most things.”
A heavy silence collapsed on them as Kelly perused the photo album. In it were strange, colorless photos of people who seemed unaware of the camera’s presence. Gramps’s friend Garth in one of those participation fundraisers for homeless people. Gramps in his recliner, although it was no longer burgundy but a washed-out dull pink. She turned another page and stared at the stark reality of her marriage: her and Daniel sitting on their couch unhappy at what should have been a celebration. And something was under her hand.
Was that . . . The packaging was unmistakable. She carried it around with her every day. Why would she be holding a bottle of Mendacium at Milly’s party? She scanned her memory. Maybe she was talking to someone about work? That wouldn’t be right. She made sure she left work at work, even more so during a family event.
Daniel inclined his head and waited for her to speak. Now she needed an answer—one she didn’t have.
“What do you see in that photo?” Daniel finally asked.
So he had seen it. Kelly frowned.
Daniel reached into the briefcase and withdrew something Kelly had seen for years but never held. Gramps’s camera. Daniel held it out to her as his voice rose with excitement. “He let no one touch his camera when he was alive, but he wanted me to have it. Not Mom. Me. I took it to work to show Peter, and he pointed out that all the photos have been taken. Do you know what that means?”
The weight settled onto Kelly’s palm. Her fingers brushed an inscription on the bottom of the camera: No matter what you think you might see, the camera never lies. She peered at the tiny red F behind a miniature plastic window. “Gramps’s last photos.”
“That’s right. The last photos he ever took. He’s gone, but there’s one last thing he wants me to do.” Daniel reached for the camera. “So now I need to find somewhere to get his film processed. I don’t even know where Gramps went for that. I might get Monique to find a place tomorrow.”
Kelly’s breath crawled out from between her teeth at the mere mention of Daniel’s perky young receptionist.
Daniel threw his hands into the air. “Seriously, Kelly, every time I mention the people at work—”
Another flash of gold caught in the downlights. Kelly nodded at one cuff. “Are they a gift for Gramps’s passing? From her?”
The elephant in the room. One of many. Conversations between them were becoming like a perilous night drive through a safari park. A delicate journey to avoid spooking the great beasts and being trampled. Kelly could almost feel Daniel’s cogs whirring. His silence was loud. “I see.”
Daniel reddened, and Kelly prepared herself for another round of a never-ending argument. Her eyes drifted up the stairs to the closed door to Milly’s room. She didn’t need to hear this again. Not today.
She saw that tears had welled in Daniel’s eyes. “It’s been a trying day, so let’s not fight.”
He clicked his fingers. “Also, with our thousandth client case coming to the practice since Howard left us, we’re holding a work dinner to celebrate. What do you think about hosting it here? You could cater . . .”
Another flash of gold in the downlight. Kelly placed an over-rinsed plate into the dishwasher. “That’s fine. I’ve got a few ideas I’d like to try. So is everyone coming?”
“Of course everyone’s coming. Apart from a celebration for Crossroads Counseling, Anna suggested I should focus on something fun after losing Gramps.”
And there was the other name. His work-wife.
Five
Daniel strolled away from Crossroads Counseling, his final favor for Gramps bouncing along in his shirt pocket. A last chance to impress his hero.
Monique had shaken her head at Daniel’s disbelief. Google was clear—only one place in the city would process his film: Simon’s Film Lab. And it was just around the corner from work. Who didn’t believe Google?
Daniel didn’t. Who opened a new shop for something nobody needed anymore?
Hands thrust in his pockets, Daniel strolled along with a whistle on his lips and a spring of anticipation in his step. He would have the privilege of seeing these unique memories first, fresh out of the camera and even before Gramps. He hoped the quality of the photos would be better than the ones in his album.
Daniel’s mission helped wash away the residue from Kelly’s continued distrust. He’d all but given up convincing her that, despite all her suspicions, he’d never once violated his marriage vows. And there had been opportunities. Plenty of opportunities.
Daniel turned the corner onto Northbound Avenue, a boulevard of leafy green that hit the middle ground of suburbia—upmarket enough to appeal to those from the higher-income brackets but welcoming enough to those who would settle for a rung on the bottom of the ladder—battling house payments and bills as much as each other.
The group of three shops was the barometer of a sputtering economy. In front of the shop on the left swung the familiar red-and-yellow paper lanterns of Ming’s Court Chinese Restaurant. Daniel often bought Mr. Ming’s steamed dim sims to support him before he succumbed to the economic sledgehammer of franchised food.
The shop on the right was one Daniel had neither the need nor desire to frequent. Handwritten posters filled the window: “Thursday is half-price dryer day!!” “Your dirty laundry is our forte!!” A hand-painted cardboard sign: “Coming clean! Laundromat now open!!!” What was it with exclamation points and small businesses? Beyond the paper-plastered glass, a floor-to-ceiling bank of silver washing machines ran the depth of the shop like a computer room from the 1970s.
The shop in the middle had changed. Darkness was replaced with light. The landlord’s pleas for a tenant had been answered, the For Lease sign that had hung in the door for months missing. A glossy cursive on the sign above the freshly painted doorway announced Simon’s Film Lab, and through the sparkling window he could see a shop dazzling in pristine white, dotted with color fr
om framed photographs and a whole wall of cameras and lenses.
Google was right.
A tiny bell jingled as Daniel pushed open the door, and a waft of acrid chemicals stung his nose. To his left, a wall covered in photos of varying sizes, wooden, painted, and metal frames filled with people. To his right, shelves spanning the length of the wall, holding cameras of every description—large and small, old and new, black and chunky, even wooden and boxy. An exhibition on the history of photography. Each carried a tiny white price tag tied on thin cotton, fluttering as the air conditioner shunted the chemicals around the room. On higher shelves between cleaning cloths and camera bags, camera lenses stood short and tall like a Manhattan skyline. On the floor sat a row of cardboard boxes filled to the brim with tiny film canisters.
Ahead of him was a white counter, clicking and whirring coming from behind it, a small sign standing proudly on it. “Clarity like you’ve never experienced before!!”
From behind the counter a man rose and stood tall before rising on the balls of his feet. His face said he was midthirties, but his slicked-back silver hair hinted at an age some decades older. He offered a broad smile to Daniel, presided over by a shining glint in his eye. He was wrapped in a white laboratory coat with a tight knot of light blue under his chin and a splash of color on his chest—a red-and-yellow name badge reading “Welcome! My name is Simon!!”
What was it with small businesses and exclamation points?
“Welcome to Simon’s Film Lab! How may I help you today?”
Daniel pulled the roll of film from his shirt pocket. “I’d like to get these photos printed, please.” He handed over Gramps’s last memories with gravitas.
Simon inspected the canister with a quiet awe. “This is from an old camera, back from a time of proper photography.” A warm voice, a slow nod, and a solemn smile. “Proper photography that meant something.”
Daniel smiled at this eccentric young but old man. It was always nice to see someone who loved their work. It made a nice contrast to the stream of disaffection that sat in his office and declared this Saturday’s lottery win would forever cast off the drudgery of Monday to Friday.
“My grandfather left me his camera.”
The glint in Simon’s eye beamed like a lighthouse beacon. “What sort of camera did he gift to you?”
Daniel should have brought it with him. “It was an old Olympus camera. HS-10, I think it said on the front.”
Simon’s voice dropped to an expectant whisper. “Were there any more words?”
One other drifted across Daniel’s memory. “Infinity?”
The smile on Simon’s face shifted into high beam as he clicked his fingers in recognition. “I know you!”
That was the downside of having your face on TV. “Yes, I’m that marriage counselor with the No Secrets book.”
“It’s wonderful to be talking with you.” With a bright smile, Simon reached under the counter and produced a white plastic clipboard. He spoke to himself as he scribbled away on the form. “I don’t need to ask your name, do I? Camera model is an Olympus HS-10”—he flashed a grin—“Infinity. How many copies would you like?”
That was a question Daniel hadn’t even considered. You didn’t in a digital age. “One, I guess. If they’re any good I can always get more copies later, can’t I?”
A sudden seriousness clouded Simon’s face as he tapped his pen on the standee. “The HS-10 Infinity gives you great clarity.” He handed over the clipboard, and Daniel scrawled his signature across the form.
Simon perused his signature with something approaching awe. “That will be thirty-three dollars, payable now.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “Thirty-three dollars?”
Simon smiled and rose again on the balls of his feet. “That’s right.”
“That seems steep.”
Simon kept smiling.
Daniel reached for his wallet. “Well, these are the last photographs Gramps ever took.” He would get Monique to ask Google for a second opinion.
Simon took great care to tear off the bottom part of the form and handed it over with near reverence. “This is the record of our contract.”
Contract? Daniel accepted the slip, now wary of the fine line between eccentric and something to guard against.
The transaction complete, Simon burst around the counter and headed for the shelves. “You’ll need more film.” Giddy with excitement, he pushed a box forward with his foot. “We’ve got an opening special at the moment for fifty rolls of film.”
Fifty? “Simon, fifty is optimistic. I’d just like one, please.”
Disappointment shaded Simon’s face. “But with our opening special, it would be much more cost-effective to—”
“I’m not even sure how to use the camera. One is fine.”
Simon spun to face him. “The camera will be very easy to use. And once you see the clarity from an HS-10 Infinity, you’ll want—”
Daniel’s professional poker face slipped. “One roll.”
“One?”
“Just one.”
There was a slight hesitation as if Simon were weighing up the final tilt at a big sale. He smiled again and crouched over the boxes, his fingers turning film canisters. He extracted one and then placed it in Daniel’s hand. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I give you this roll for free? That way you can test it out. Maybe next time?”
After the frenzied enthusiasm and heavy sales pitch, this was a strange and unexpected change of gear. “Yeah, next time. That’s kind of you.” Monique would have to find another place.
A luminescent smile chased away Simon’s disappointment. “Thank you so much for coming to Simon’s Film Lab. I’ll see you tomorrow when your photos are ready.”
Daniel turned on his heel and, with the jingle of the tiny bell, left this strange shop with its photography-obsessed owner. He whistled as the single film canister nestled in his shirt pocket. He wasn’t sure about this idea of clarity—the photo album didn’t agree. If the camera was as good as Simon was saying, he might need more film, but not fifty rolls. Squeaky guitar and the first line of an early Beatles hit burst out of his pocket. “Listen . . . do you want to know a secret?”
Daniel had had the ringtone since his book launch. A love of the Beatles had been ingrained in him since a childhood spent leaning against the woven fabric and dark wood of Gramps’s record player. He pulled the music from his pocket. Amanda Porter, his editor.
“Daniel! Do you have a moment?”
A numbing sense of dread engulfed him. A lurking anxiety he was fighting hard to push away.
“I do, Amanda! What’s up?” He knew.
“Just following up on those emails I sent. That extension I gave you for your next book is almost up.”
The numbness seeped into Daniel’s bones. His sizable advance for the follow-up to No Secrets—their down payment on cliff-top luxury—required another book. And the numbness sank deeper with each passing day as the elusive big idea stayed in the shadows.
“You’ve got the advance, and we need to see something for our money.”
Daniel tried to keep it light. “Yes, all still percolating.”
Amanda laughed. Was it forced? “We’re beyond percolating. You’ve already produced one bestseller, and I’ve already given you leeway in good faith based on your success. You’re now months overdue.”
With a stumbled apology, Daniel hung up and shoved the phone deep into his pocket. His whistle didn’t come back. Instead the icy hand of doubt clamped itself on his shoulder. Amanda was right; it should be easy for an author who’d already written one bestselling book to write another one.
But he had nothing to follow it up.
Nothing at all.
Six
The lights dimmed, and smoke snaked its way from under the heavy black curtains that lined the back of the stage. The crowd that filled the theater around Kelly dipped to a hush, and dueling colored spotlights knifed through the fog as a pulsating dance beat flo
ated across the excited throng.
Kelly turned to Jasmine, her best friend and only friend at Rubicon Pharma. “Do we have to do this every time there’s an announcement?”
“Come on, it’s all part of the show. It’s exciting! You loved it when you first started here.” Jasmine leaned toward the stage, her eyes glued to the performance.
A middle-aged man, suit jacketed over a black T-shirt and jeans, bounced across the stage, pumping the air with his fists. The crowd of two hundred rose as one with a giant cheer for their leader. Kelly joined them on reluctant feet.
“Welcome! Welcome!” CEO Tarquin Gascon seemed to be relishing inciting the crowd to praise. Their cheers ebbed and flowed, played like the orchestra they were.
Jasmine whooped and hollered as Kelly put enough energy into her applause to be unnoticed.
“Who is the number one pharmaceutical brand in the world?” Gascon threw a hand behind his ear theatrically so his team’s volume could hit 110 percent, the only number acceptable in the corridors of Rubicon Pharma.
“We are!” the crowd roared as Kelly grimaced, embarrassed at the memory of her own first days at the company when she had bought into this cult of personality.
“Friends, friends, take a seat.” The crowd hushed as they settled back into their seats and Gascon steepled his fingers in front of him, strolling across the stage until he had absolute quiet.
“Two team updates for you today.” He faced the throng. “First, I would like to present to you our new staff. They’ll be joining our family here at Rubicon, and nothing is more important to me than team.”
The commandments about teamwork hung in Kelly’s cubicle, in the lunchroom, in the restrooms, and in the elevator.
Gascon ushered a lineup of what looked to be supermodels onto the stage. Young men with chiseled jaws and hair that cost a fortune to look like it cost nothing. Young women with pristine white blouses and skirts that could have passed as large belts.
Kelly pointed at the young blond woman on the end of the lineup and elbowed Jasmine. “The one on the left looks like Daniel’s receptionist.” Tall, thin, and fifteen years away from the battle Kelly was fighting with gravity.
The Camera Never Lies Page 3