Page 33 of Heathens
“Why did your parents name you Salem?” she asks, pulling the covers lower and looking at me with tired eyes. I want to ask why she changed the subject, but I don’t.
“I don’t know. My mother was fascinated with the Salem Witch Trials. Her favorite book wasThe Crucible.”
“Your name means complete or perfect peace. Did you know that?”
I nod. “I did. You enjoy looking up the meanings of names.” I think to the photograph I bought. “Morfran. It’s a name, isn’t it?”
She gives me a lazy smile. “Correct. I think a person’s name says a lot about them. For example, Evelyn means life. And she was the epitome of life.Isthe epitome of life. Father Monsignor is interesting. I don't know his first name, but Monsignor is the title of various senior Roman Catholic positions. It's not a name. It's a title. Did you know that?”
I have to hide my smile behind my hand. “I like that you know these things. And yes, I did know that about Monsignor.” She’s still smiling when I ask my next question. “Are we ever going to talk about finding Evelyn?”
I can see the line I crossed before she replies. Her eyes glaze over; like they often do when I talk about her friend or that night they spent in the warehouse. Like she’s used to repressing the memories, used to turning herself into a soulless person to keep from thinking about it. She mentioned once that people still come up to her in the street, asking her about what happened. When you Google her name, hundreds of news articles pop up. I’m sure she’s used to shutting down.
“What about Evelyn?”
I study the way her eyes find mine through the lens. Narrowed ever so slightly, almost brown instead of their usual hazel. The brightness, the spark that I usually see, is gone.
“I have a hard time believing you’re giving up on her.”
She makes an incredulous noise. “I’m not giving up on her.”
“I want to help you—”
“You can’t,” she interrupts, sitting up. “I don’t want to get you involved.”
Her words cause my blood to chill, my bones to tremble slightly. “What does that mean?” She doesn’t answer. “Lilith, what are you planning?”
She pulls her lower lip into her mouth and looks away. “I have to go to bed, Salem. Have a good night, okay?”
Acquiescing, I nod. “Goodnight, Lilith.”
She ends the video and I let out a long sigh. Pulling up a search tab on my phone, I Google her name. I realize I’ve never actually looked up her name meaning.
Lilith. Pronunciation: LIL-ith. Meaning of Lilith: “Night monster.“
I think I’ve underestimated her.
A Woman and Her Chocolate
Lily
Present
“Make sure your shutter speed is low,” I instruct Salem, craning my neck to see what number he has it on. “15 seconds. That’s good.” He’s furrowing his brow and looking at the camera I lent him like it’s a bomb that’s about to go off.
“What do all of the numbers mean?” He lifts his blue eyes to mine, smiling, and arches a brow. He has a small scar running through his right brow, making the arch uneven. That scar will be the death of me.
“Aperture is depth of field. For example, f1.4 is my favorite. It blurs the background perfectly, making your primary focus sharp. For tonight, we want a higher aperture. So, f8, to make sure everything is in focus.“ I reach over to where he's gripping my vintage film Leica. Our hands brush against each other but neither of us pulls back. I swallow and relax my posture, turning the dial on the Leica to f8. “ISO is the level of sensitivity to available light.“ I turn the dial, and Salem moves his hand away quickly. “1600 should be good.“ I study the settings on his camera and then look up at him. He clears his throat.
“I never realized how exact photography is,” he says, his voice lower than before. Leaning a little closer on the bench we’re sitting on, he taps the pocket of his jeans. I didn’t even know the man owned jeans until he showed up at my apartment an hour ago, looking so... normal. “Are two rolls enough?”
I nod. “Should be, if you make every picture count.”
He winks. “I think I can handle that.”
I help him load the film in his camera and then my Hasselblad, quickly adjusting the settings after that. I stand and check the time on my phone. It's almost ten, and the sky is now completely dark.
“We have to get set up if we’re going to make the most of the lights,” I say, grabbing my purse and leading us to the bottom of the Eiffel tower.
