The Camera Never Lies

by David Rawlings

  Daniel had to proceed with kid gloves. For the first time in a long time, Milly had opened a crack in the door she’d shut between them.

  “So how is school?”

  Milly crossed her arms again. “Maybe if you paid more attention to Mom, my family wouldn’t feel like it was falling apart.” And after lobbing that grenade at him, she stormed back along the path to home.

  “Milly!”

  She slowed ever so slightly before increasing her pace. She wasn’t coming back, and rushing after her would only make things worse.

  One positive thought broke through his growing frustration. He now knew what was bugging her. He walked a little farther along the path and again lifted the camera to his eye. Foaming white sea spray surged over the rocks below, and as the ocean retreated from its pulsing attack, the lime-green seaweed glistened in the afternoon sun. Daniel again squeezed the trigger.

  Milly’s words burned, even though they gave him a plan.

  Work again elbowed its way into his thoughts. It was flattering to have Monique’s attention, to feel the buzzing pulse of youth. But he would need to reinforce the boundaries. He was proud of his efforts to be a man of integrity. A few patients had thrown themselves at him—he was an obvious white knight to some—but he’d always stayed true to his wedding vows. At least Anna had his back.

  The grass whipped at his shins as Daniel plowed along. He lifted the camera to his eye, and the flowers came alive, their yellow-and-white faces basking in the afternoon sun. Another satisfying clunk. An uncomfortable thought perched in his mind. If the camera was this good, why did the photos in Gramps’s album look so disappointing?

  The thought of Gramps ushered in a wave of grief. He needed his wise counsel now more than ever. And he would ask him what he meant about seeing “where your hearts are.” More words that teetered on the edge of discomfort.

  Daniel turned on his heel at the end of the path to face a perfect panorama. His home sat perched on the cliff top, floor-to-ceiling windows bracketed by white boards and topped by gray slate. A symbol of success, to be paid for by his second book, the one Amanda was sure would cash in on the success of No Secrets.

  Anxiety clawed at his neck. Who would take a photo of his book and scrub his name from the cover?

  The gray clouds parted, and the white boards of his house glowed and throbbed in the afternoon sun. Daniel put the camera to his eye, but the brightness faded as if the clouds had joined again.

  His finger closed down on the shutter but met resistance. There was no clunk. He squeezed the trigger again. Resistance. He checked the top of the camera. Next to the serrated silver knob was the tiniest window, and in it an angry, red F.

  The film was used up. Again.

  Someone had taken photos with the camera. Again.

  Daniel breathed hard. This time it couldn’t have been someone at work. It was either Milly or Kelly.

  He tramped back to the house, annoyance growing with each step. It would cost him another thirty-three dollars to get this roll of film developed, and he still hadn’t used the camera like Gramps wanted him to.

  * * *

  Daniel stared at his reflection in the polished floorboards of the foyer as if seeking strength in numbers. He would confront Kelly first.

  The banging of cupboards drifted across the kitchen as he entered the hub of his home. Exposed Baltic pine beams stretched their way across the dining area to a series of white cupboards framed in gray. Their sheen caught the light from the full-length windows that opened onto their deck and the million-dollar view of the ocean. Kelly had stepped into this room and almost signed the contract on the spot. This kitchen could cater for three or three hundred.

  Daniel composed himself as he pulled back a tall wicker chair from the counter and placed Gramps’s camera in front of him.

  Kelly looked at him over the remaining shopping bags. “How did the camera go?”

  Daniel ordered the words in his mind. Restraint fought with frustration. Frustration won.

  “I should ask you.”

  Confusion swept across Kelly’s face. “What do you mean?”

  The anger started its rise. “I took a few photos.”

  Kelly’s brow wrinkled. “Okay.”

  Daniel clenched his hands, tired of the games. “But only a few because someone used the camera. Again.”

  Kelly gasped. “Are you insinuating I used it? Because I didn’t.” She folded her arms. “And what do you mean again?”

  Daniel scuffed his shoe against the chair leg. “You know that roll of film I thought was Gramps’s last photos? Well, it turns out someone at work used the camera instead.”

  “And what did they take photos of?”

  “The other staff, but they were strange photos.”

  “How were they strange?”

  Daniel handpicked his words with care. “Just not what you’d expect. People doing everyday things . . . although there was an upside. Whoever took the photos took one of Jade in tears. It turns out her father had just been told of his secondary cancer. So I could help.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, but why wouldn’t the person who took the photo help her instead of taking her photo?”

  “That’s a question that’s bothered me ever since I saw it. I thought we had a caring team, so that doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Who would do that?”

  Daniel scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I asked around, but no one is owning up to it.”

  “So did someone at work use it again?”

  “No, the camera has been home all this time.” Practiced silence hung in the air to draw out an admission.

  Kelly bristled. “I’ve told you I didn’t. Have we reached a point where you don’t believe me?”

  “Well, it was either you or Milly.”

  Kelly sighed hard as she closed her eyes. Words deserted them, and a call on her cell phone broke the heavy silence that had settled on their standoff. She flicked a glance to the screen. “It’s the school.”

  “Kelly Whiteley.” She nodded in recognition. “Mrs. Kowalick. What can I do for you?”

  Kelly’s expression ebbed and flowed with the conversation. Quick nods, a painful squint with eyebrows clenched. There were few words, but her face said so much.

  Daniel looked up the stairs at the closed door to Milly’s bedroom. She had to have been the one who used the camera. He wrenched his gaze back to Kelly as she gasped, a hand over her mouth.

  “Yes, we’ll come and see you tomorrow after school.” Another nod. “Yes, I’ll make sure Milly is with us.” A pained glance at Daniel. “Thanks for your call.”

  Kelly placed the phone gently on the counter, shock settling onto her face.

  “That was Milly’s teacher. She’s worried about her because her marks are sliding toward failing grades.”

  Daniel’s mind kicked into its analytical drive. So that explained Milly’s withdrawal. She was struggling at school. Bad news, but good to know.

  “Did you know about that, Daniel?”

  He shook his head. “News to me, although it does explain why she’s withdrawn into herself. And now I know how to talk to her.”

  Kelly folded defensive arms. “Don’t push it on her, okay? For me? We’re meeting at the school tomorrow, so I’d like to talk about it together.”

  “Whatever you like.” Daniel’s cogs continued to whir. Failing grades meant Milly’s scholarship was under threat, and they couldn’t afford fees at that academy and this house. “Her grades can’t have fallen that far, can they? She needs to maintain a B average to keep the scholarship, so I’m glad the teacher nipped it in the bud. That’s good news, at least.”

  Kelly’s expression didn’t agree as she slumped against the counter. “She’s failing at school and couldn’t talk to us about it?”

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter how we found out. Now at least we know what to fix.” Daniel looked up the stairs again, glad for a piece of the puzzle that would
hopefully lift the first of the clouds that hung over their home.

  Fourteen

  Shame burned through the greasy, spidery strands of the young woman’s hair, her face hovering inches from the toilet bowl.

  Daniel moved to the next frame on Simon’s wall. Why would someone allow that photo to be on display?

  The next frame held a couple’s altercation. A balding, ruddy man, his business shirt unbuttoned, stood with his arm around a young woman in a disheveled blouse. She clutched at his tie as if scrambling for a lifeline while a middle-aged woman in track pants and an orange San Francisco sweatshirt pulled at his arm, an angry sneer directed at her rival.

  Daniel looked down the wall. While the photos were in sharp focus and dazzled with color, they were beyond embarrassing. A young woman caught mid-blink, cake falling from her overstuffed mouth. A man’s leering grin, illuminated by his phone, his wife sound asleep beside him. A cloud of sharp, acrid chemicals tickled and then stung his nose. The smell of something developing.

  Simon folded his white-gloved fingers as he stared into a small LED screen on the side of the blue-and-white processing machine. “They’re nearly ready.”

  Daniel moved to the shelves on the opposite wall, the price tags hanging from the cameras fluttering at his approach. His finger flicked at the tag on the leather-concertinaed camera. “Fifteen hundred? This camera was ten thousand dollars last week. That’s one heck of a discount.”

  “It’s now the right price for the person who needs it.”

  “W.I.N.? What does that even mean?”

  Simon smiled, his cheeks bathed in the faint glow of the LED. “Whatever Is Needed.”

  “So your cameras are for sale for either a set price or whatever is needed?”

  “Yes, and most of the time ‘Whatever Is Needed’ is the higher price to pay.”

  Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “You must be new to business.”

  “This shop is new. I used to have another one not far from here.” He clicked his fingers and then moved around the counter to the boxes under the shelves. “You’ll need more film! Once you see the great clarity the Olympus HS-10 Infinity gives you, you’ll want as many rolls as you can get.” Simon pulled out a box filled to the brim with film canisters.

  Not this again. “I haven’t used the camera much yet. To be honest, the photos you produce are pretty disappointing.” He waved a hand at the frames on the wall.

  Simon stood and stroked his chin. “Why are they disappointing?”

  “Have a look. People aren’t smiling, and they look like they didn’t even know the photo was being taken. I wouldn’t put them in frames.”

  Simon’s eyes glistened. “They have great clarity.”

  “Well, they are sharp, but they aren’t great photos.”

  Disappointment clouded Simon’s face. “So you can’t see?”

  “See what? These aren’t the best photos of people at all.”

  Simon shook his head. “What if these are the moments that are the very definition of truth? The camera never lies, you know.”

  Daniel’s pulse quickened. The phrase from Gramps’s camera again.

  A soft buzz came from the back of the lab. Simon drifted back to the processor as it spat photographs into its tray. He flicked through them, his fingertips tracing the images. “Just wonderful clarity.” He placed them in an envelope and padded back to the counter.

  Daniel held out his hand. “Thanks—”

  Simon raised a finger and then reached under the counter, pulling out the roll of wax seal stickers. He delicately peeled one off and sealed the envelope. Then he held it out to Daniel in two hands and bowed his head. “It has been my pleasure to serve you.”

  In his hands Daniel held the answer to the question of whom he would confront at home.

  “And a box of film?” Simon’s plea rang over his shoulder.

  Daniel dropped his head as his hand rested on the door handle. It wouldn’t hurt to get another roll of film, just to save another visit. “Just one roll.”

  He turned, and Simon held one out for him. “When you bring this back, would you mind bringing in your grandfather’s camera? I haven’t seen the Infinity model in years.”

  Daniel pocketed the film canister and reached for his wallet. “Of course.”

  Simon held up his hand. “You take this one until you’re ready for a box. You can learn so much even from just one roll of film.”

  Daniel headed for the door. There was movement in the corner of his eye, the slightest flutter of butterfly wings, as the little bell jingled his departure.

  He peeled back the wax seal and steeled himself. He would be confronting either a wife who accused him of cheating or a daughter who didn’t talk about anything.

  In the first photo, clouds hung in brilliant, puffy white above an azure ocean, waves caught mid-pound over rocks shining emerald green. Along the walking path, flowers didn’t so much bloom as threaten to burst through the photograph.

  Simon was right about clarity.

  He stopped short at the next photo. His own bedroom, pillows strategically placed on a made bed. The next photo, his living room, fashion magazines fanned over the coffee table next to fresh flowers. An invitation for a potential homeowner.

  Daniel bit his lip. So it was Kelly, but was she preparing to sell the house? That was why she didn’t want to own up to using Gramps’s camera. She was preparing to leave him and sell the house. That explained her distance. A chill swept over him.

  In the next photo, the purple and white pillows where Milly buried herself each night fronted her headboard, next to a nightstand on which sat her ever-present phone. Daniel squinted hard as he brought the picture closer. The glass on the framed family portrait next to her lamp was cracked. Angry scratches covered his face. And Kelly’s.

  Questions exploded in his head like fireworks. Why would Kelly see this and not tell him?

  Daniel flicked to the next photo. A school report sat on their dining table. Across the top in Mrs. Kowalick’s flowery handwriting was Milly’s name, but the usual proud display of As didn’t trail down the page. Instead, he saw a dirty flood of disappointing Ds and an occasional F. He was sure he hadn’t seen this. He would remember grades this bad. That explained the phone call from the teacher, but why would Milly take a photo of this? Then a ray of revelation. She had reached out. She couldn’t put the struggle into words, and this was the only way she could raise it with them. Somewhat relieved, Daniel’s pace picked up. He held photos that wouldn’t cause confrontation; they would provide the starting point for a solution.

  Daniel skidded to a stop at the next photo. Kelly’s suitcase sat next to their front door, and on it rested what looked like a letter or an invoice. A logo with a flash of purple was like the one on the bank statement in the photo he’d pulled from Gramps’s recliner.

  What else was Milly telling him through her anonymous photography?

  Daniel’s breath deserted him as he shuffled the final photo to the front. On his study desk sat a copy of No Secrets, his name again erased from the cover.

  In its place, two initials.

  His own.

  Engraved on two cuff links.

  Fifteen

  The unforgiving plastic of Kelly’s seat creaked as she shifted under the harsh fluorescence from overhead and a searchlight stare from Milly’s teacher. Next time Milly said school wasn’t much fun, she would agree.

  The empty classroom filled with the slow tick of an aging second hand under the dusty face of the wall clock. A discordant player in a digital age.

  A sixtysomething woman wrapped in a gray cardigan, her hair losing the battle against volume and control, tapped an impatient pencil on the desk as she glared over her half-moon glasses.

  Kelly mimed taking out earbuds. Milly complied with a frown.

  Mrs. Kowalick continued to tap. “I am surprised you waited for my call before coming in to talk about Milly.”

  Kelly looked across at her daughte
r, who looked away and stared out the window. “What do you mean?”

  “The downward trend in Milly’s grades is reflected in her report.”

  “Mrs. Kowalick, we haven’t yet seen it.”

  Milly stared harder out the window.

  The pencil froze mid-tap. “I see. Milly’s work has always been of the highest standard—that’s why we offered her the scholarship in the first place—but she is failing.”

  The chair next to Kelly creaked as Daniel threw an arm around Milly’s shoulder. “Well?”

  Kelly felt the outnumbering and stepped in. “Milly is coming to an age when things are changing and there’s extra pressure on her.”

  Milly’s eyes narrowed. Kelly would be unhappy, too, if she were spoken about as if she were a zoo exhibit.

  Mrs. Kowalick straightened the pencil on her desk blotter. “I’ve got other students the same age in my class, Mrs. Whiteley, and their grades aren’t slipping. Milly’s are.”

  The slow ticks peeled away from the clock on the wall as Mrs. Kowalick laced thick fingers. “It’s also her demeanor. I know girls can be on a roller coaster of emotion, but she seems more . . . flat than the others. That raised a red flag.”

  The news was a hammer blow to Kelly’s maternal instinct. The depth of their disconnection was revealed when someone outside their family knew more about her daughter than she did.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Whiteley, I don’t mean to pry, but the welfare of one of my best students is at stake. Is everything okay at home?”

  Daniel drummed his fingers harder on the back of Milly’s chair. “Like most families, we’re under pressure, but we’re working through it.”

  Kelly could feel Milly’s eyes roll from two seats away.

  Mrs. Kowalick’s fierce eye contact locked on to her. “I’m more than happy to recommend the family to the school counselor—”

  The electrical jolt of Daniel’s cackle cut across the offer of help and bounced back from the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. “I’m not sure we need to go down that path.”

  Kelly’s disappointment burned, fueled by the depth and speed of Daniel’s reaction. Seeing someone was exactly what they needed to do.