Part Two
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Chapter Fifteen
Seth’s restless from the moment I step into the library, his usual mug of tea clutched in his hand, and his long legs carrying him back and forth along the shelves in the corner of the library. Koda paces uncertainly at his side, her tail drooping lower than usual.
“Hey,” I say, sitting at the same table we were at yesterday. “You okay?”
He nods, but quickly changes it into a shake of his head. “I was going over the photo part of Parker’s project last night,” he says. “He was about a third of the way done with it when he passed away.”
“Oh,” I murmur.
He pauses, frozen between two shelves of classic novels. Koda lets out a soft whine and nudges his hand, and he runs his fingers through her thick scruff, clinging to the fur a little longer than he needs to.
“I still can’t figure out what Parker was aiming to do with it,” he says, his tone so low it sounds almost like a confession. He slips his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, and judging by the dark bags smudged below them, I’m guessing he was as sleepless as I was last night. “I think I might have asked for your help too soon,” he mutters. “If I can’t figure out Parker’s thesis, there’s no way we can finish his project.”
I pick at a loose thread on the strap of my backpack, winding it around the tip of my finger. I know Seth can’t see me, but I still don’t want to look up and watch the grief in his eyes.
“You said he wrote a paper, right?” I say. “Doesn’t that explain what the photos are supposed to contain?”
Seth presses the heel of his palm to his forehead. “No. The paper was about how certain literature concepts can be applied to photojournalism, too. So I know he was going to create a series of photos following a literature concept, but I don’t have many details beyond that.”
“What about asking his professors?” I ask. “I mean, didn’t they have to approve his project before he started working on it?”
“His lead professor approved it verbally, but she did the same thing for at least forty other graduating students in his major. Parker went to San Diego State University. You’re from San Diego, right? So you must know how the university is.”
“It’s considered pretty prestigious,” I say hesitantly.
Seth gives an impatient sigh. “Yeah, prestigious enough to draw over thirty thousand students. It’s over-crowded, and Parker and his project have completely slipped through the cracks. His supervising professor can’t remember what thesis she approved for him, and she’s doing me a giant favor by letting me turn in a project for him at all. So it’s not like I can go poking around the university asking for more information. It’s a dead end.”
“But he left at least a beginning for you to work off of, didn’t he?” I say. “I mean, you just said he got the project like a third of the way done.”
Seth gives a sharp nod. “Yeah. He left a file with a bunch of photos, plus a copy of his paper and some handouts he was using for research. But that’s it.”
“Did you try talking to other people in his class to see if they had more info? Or maybe his roommates?”
“Of course,” he snaps, but then he winces at his own harshness. “Sorry. It’s just, I thought I’d have this figured out by now. But no one at his school has any idea what the photo part of his thesis was. And Brie and Landon have gone over the photos like twenty times with me, and we still don’t know what the hell he was trying to do with them.”
He rakes a hand across his scalp, ruffling up his hair. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound snippy. Don’t take it personally. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I didn’t stop her,” I want to say. “I could have stopped my mom from driving, but I didn’t, and I could have turned over the video evidence, but I didn’t, and your brother could still be alive now, or your family could at least be at peace with his death, but he isn’t and they aren’t. And I’ve done everything wrong. Everything.”
But I hold in the words, and instead, I just say, “If I’m going to take any pictures, I need to get my camera fixed. So why don’t we just focus on that for today? We can figure out the thesis later.”
Seth slumps into a chair across from me, but he offers a hesitant smile, the expression strained yet sincere. “Landon owes me a ride into town. We could go to that camera shop today, if you wanted.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go get it fixed up.”
***
Landon agrees to drive us, but not before making it abundantly clear that he’ll never forgive us for it. Apparently, asking for rides into town on a Saturday morning is a mortal sin in Landon’s book. Or maybe it only counts as a sin on mornings like this, when he’s hungover and wincing at every little noise. Harting’s party scene is way smaller than my previous school’s, but it definitely exists, and I’m only surprised I haven’t seen more evidence of it before.
I almost feel bad for Landon. Almost. My pity for hungover people has pretty much disappeared since the accident, and Landon’s sloppy driving snuffs out the last of it. I want to yank the wheel out of his hands and take over, so we’ll stop taking the icy corners so sharply. But I haven’t dared to touch a steering wheel in months, and I’m not even sure my screwy legs could work the pedals, so I just grit my teeth and focus on not hyperventilating.
Seth seems to have about as much pity as I do, because after Landon moans dramatically about his headache for the eighth time, Seth reaches over and swats at the dashboard until he manages to switch on the radio. The pained groan Landon lets out is five times louder than the pop song playing through the speakers, but he still makes sure to thoroughly cuss out Seth as he smacks the radio off.
We spend the rest of the short ride into town in silence, but as we park in front of the photography shop, Seth fishes through the glovebox until he finds a bottle of Aspirin. He shakes out a couple of the pills and hands them over to Landon, and even though I’m pretty sure he rattles the bottle louder than he has to, Landon grumbles his thanks and snatches up the peace treaty.
Landon cuts the engine, and Koda lets out a small whine as the car’s heater shuts off. She’s snuggled up beside me in the backseat, her head resting on my lap and her back pressed against the heater vents, hogging all the warm air. I run my hands through her thick coat, scratching under her vest, where she seems to like it best.
Landon leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. “See?” he grumbles. “Even the dog thinks it’s stupid to be out this early on a Saturday.”
“You owed me a ride,” Seth reminds him for maybe the twentieth time.
“And you picked the worst possible time to cash in the favor,” Landon mutters as he pops the Aspirin in his mouth. “Asshole.”
“Sorry, Landon,” I say.
“No need to apologize,” Seth says to me, shoving open his door and letting a gust of chilled air into the SUV. “You’re not the one who decided to do tequila shots last night.”
Landon swallows the Aspirin with a gulp and then sticks his tongue out at Seth.
“Very mature,” I say as I pop open my own door.
Seth sighs as he steps down to the pavement. “He’s sticking his tongue out at me again, isn’t he?”
“Yup,” I say. I grab my backpack and my cane off the seat and climb out of the car, wincing as my feet hit the ground and a spike of pain courses through my knee.
“Seriously?” Landon says, scowling at me. “You’re going to tattle on me?”
“I don’t need her to tattle,” Seth says, closing his door with a loud crack. “You’re just that predictable.”
Landon’s face crumples into an offended expression, and it’s enough to make me forget my pain for just a second and let out a small laugh. Seth cracks a smile, too, and then he lets out a short whistle. Koda hops down from the backseat and pads over to him, sitting obediently at her owner’s feet.
“Thanks for the ride, Landon,” I say, trying to make up for my laughter.
<
br /> Landon shrugs and waves a hand at my door. “Just close the door and let me nap. And try to be quick in there.”
“We’re going to be at least fifteen minutes,” Seth warns.
Landon groans some mumbled complaint and starts the car again, turning the heater back on. I close my door as quietly as possible and head toward the sidewalk, doing my best to keep my footing on the icy pavement.
The photography shop in front of us is a tiny brick building, and it reminds me of a Christmas present with the way the climbing ivy wraps around it like a bow. There’s a sign above the door in the shape of an old Polaroid photo, and its plain lettering reads, “Perfect Shots Photo Shop.” If I were back home in San Diego, I’d think it was cute. But in this old-fashioned little town, the sign just makes me wonder how out-of-date this store is. Do they seriously still sell Polaroid cameras? And do they even know how to properly handle a digital one?
I clutch tighter to my backpack as I head inside the store, keeping my broken camera close. Tiny brass bells jingle from the top of the doorway, and Seth and Koda follow me inside, letting the door shut behind them with a bang that makes me jump. I peer around, taking in the cramped rows of shelves, all of them stuffed to the brim with camera supplies. A relieved breath rushes out of me. All of the equipment looks completely modern, and there’s even a display case featuring some top-of-the-line mirrorless cameras.
“The DSLR stuff is over to the right,” Seth says, nodding to that corner of the store.
“You’ve been in here before?” I ask, trying not to sound too surprised.
“With Parker,” he says, his voice suddenly quiet and solemn. “All the time.”
“Oh.”
“Be right there!” a gruff voice calls from the very back of the shop. “Feel free to browse around.”
I glance hesitantly at Seth, not wanting to just go snooping around without his permission. I know Parker had no true ownership of this place, but it still seems like I’m trespassing on hallowed ground. Seth seems to sense my uncertainty, because he gives a shrug and then a small nod.
I walk slowly down the main aisle in the center of the store, taking in all the displays. I can instantly see why Parker liked this place. Dozens of neatly-framed photos line the aisle, all of them captioned with little tags stating the name of the photographer and equipment used to take them. Some are classic landscape shots of the local forest, some are abstract images of snowflakes, but all of them feature gorgeous images from around Hendrickson.
“Wow,” I murmur, using my eyes to follow a half-frozen stream as it carves through a frosted meadow. The framed picture is hardly any bigger than my palm, but it’s still enough to make my mind buzz with the urge to track down the meadow and take my own pictures of its beauty.
“Good wow or bad wow?” Seth asks. He’s still standing near the entrance of the shop, although he’s shuffled to the side so he’s under one of the heater vents.
“Good,” I reply, trying not to sound too surprised. I was expecting this trip to be nothing but painful, but I can’t help the excitement growing inside me as I consider picking up a working camera again.
Another one of the photos catches my eye. It’s a picture hung right next to a display of lenses, and it features two baby deer playing together in a field of wildflowers. The focus is tight on the deer, and the surrounding flowers have a hazy, dreamy feel that makes me want to lose myself in the image. I step closer to it, but my gut drops as I read its tag:
Frolicking Fawns
Nikon D600 Series, Tamrom Telephoto Lens
Parker Ashbury
A loud slam comes from behind me, making me jump. I turn around and find a middle-aged man coming out from the back room of the shop. He’s huge, even taller than Seth and as bulky as an overweight bear. I think he’s trying to smile in greeting, but it looks a lot more like a snarl.
“Hey, kids!” he booms in an impossibly loud voice. “What can I do for you today?” Then he peers at Seth, and his smile plummets as he recognizes him. “Oh,” he says, his voice suddenly half the volume.
Seth nods at him. “Good to see you again, Jaime.”
Jaime bobs his head a couple of times as he shuffles his huge feet uncertainly. “I heard about Parker, and, uh, so sorry about that. He was a good kid. Damn fine photographer, too.”
“Thank you,” Seth says, but his tone is robotic and strained.
Jaime clears his throat, and it sounds like someone trying to hack up a thundercloud. “So...what can I do for you today?”
“Not for me,” Seth says. “My friend’s the one who needs your help.”
“I’m Lea,” I say, stepping forward and offering him my hand. Jaime grabs it, and I can’t help cringing as his thick, calloused hand shakes mine. I have no idea how he can work with delicate camera parts when he basically has paws for hands.
“Pleased to meet you, Lea,” he says. “I’m Jaime, the owner of this place.” He turns back to Seth and asks, “And how’s your fine beauty of a girl doing today?”
I’m about to snarl something defensive, but then I realize Jaime’s gesturing to Koda, not me. Oh. Of course. Jaime pulls away from me and heads over to the dog, kneeling in front of Koda and ruffling her ears.
“Koda’s perfect,” Seth says, both his expression and his tone softening. “As always.”
“Of course she is,” Jaime says. He gives her one more pat on the head and then turns back to me, his eyebrows raised. “Now. What exactly can I do for you, my dear?”
I unzip my backpack and carefully pull out my camera, holding it out so he can see the damage. Jaime bends over to peer at it, and the scent of bleach and quick-drying glue washes over me. He tilts his head from one side and then the other as he examines the camera, making small tsk-ing noises.
“Well,” he says, “it’s a beautiful piece of equipment, but you’ve let it get awfully beat up.”
I bite my lip to keep from telling him that the damage wasn’t my fault, that I’d never be so careless with Camille’s gift. Instead, I force myself to recite my prepared lie.
“Yeah. I dropped it down an embankment.”
“Did any water get on it?” Jaime asks.
“No, none.”
“Well, that’s good news. Is it turning on?”
“I charged the battery last night, and it’s turning on just fine. But the screen and lens are both shattered.”
“Hmm. Can I take a closer look at it?”
He holds out his giant paw-hands, and my heart thuds against my chest as I force myself to place the camera in his grasp. Seth trusts this guy, so I guess I should, too.
Jaime hmms and haws as he pokes at my camera, nudging various parts with a thick finger. After a minute or so, he gives a small nod.
“Looks like it’s fixable, although I won’t know for sure until I get this screen off the back and see what sort of damage the wiring has. You okay leaving it here for a couple days? I’ve got a few orders ahead of yours, but I could probably get this back to you in two days, maybe three.”
“How much?” Seth asks, already reaching for his wallet.
I grab at his sleeve, stopping his hand before it can find his pocket. “No. I’m paying for it.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “You’re doing me a favor with this project. Why should you pay?”
Jaime waves a hand at us, cutting short our debate. “You kids can argue about who pays later. I charge a ninety dollar repair fee, and I’m guessing you’ll need another two-hundred dollars worth of parts. As long as one of you can swing that, you can leave the camera with me. Come back on Tuesday to pick it up.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of leaving the camera here for a full three days, but I nod in agreement.
“Alright,” I say.
“Great,” Seth says. “We’ll be back Tuesday.”
Jaime nods and heads for the back of the shop, his brow already furrowed with concentration as he continues to examine my camera. I wait until the door to the bac
k closes behind him and then reluctantly follow Seth out of the shop. The bells chime behind us, but as I start to head back toward Landon’s car, Seth says, “Wait.”
I pause. “What?”
“We should go get lunch.”
I bite my lip. “I...”
I came here for this. I should take every opportunity I can to get to know Seth better. I should be listening to him, and learning how he’s kept his family together, and formulating a plan to fix mine before Camille wakes up.
“I don’t think we should,” I murmur.
His face falls, and I swallow hard, mentally scrambling for an excuse.
“It’s too early,” I add. “For lunch, I mean.”
Seth tilts his head, a habit that seems to pop up whenever he’s confused. “You don’t want to be around me,” he says, his voice lower than usual. “Do you?”
The hurt in his tone is obvious, and I immediately feel terrible. But how do I explain to him that I’m trying to do the right thing? That spending time around him is using him, and that I’m willing to get to know him if it’ll help my family, but that becoming his friend is taking things too far?
He needs to know I’m toxic, but I can’t explain it to him without revealing that he’s already been poisoned.
“It’s not you,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from saying anything more.
“It is,” he insists. “You’re scared of me, and I have no clue why. But... You don’t have to be, okay? Seriously. I know you said I remind you of someone bad, but I’m a pretty decent guy. I promise.”
“I know,” I say, even though I don’t believe him. He’s not decent. He’s downright good, and it’s not fair that I keep lying to him.
But nothing about this situation has ever been fair.
“Then come get lunch with me.”
I clear my throat and try one more lame excuse. “But what about Landon? He seems pretty miserable, and we’ve already kept him waiting for like fifteen minutes...”
Seth crosses his arms. “You know what always makes Landon feel better when he has a hangover?”
This is What Goodbye Looks Like Page 11