Page 102 of The Photograph

The family restaurant—the kind you find in every country town—has round dark wooden varnished tables and armchairs upholstered in green velvet cushions surrounded by large booths, but looks smaller. Cara and I, bookended by the three men, walk in the dining room like we own the place.

At our table, right in the center of the dining room, I settle between Cara and Chris with Gabe and Mitch across from me.

A young server, barely out of her teens with heavily kohled hazel eyes and one side of her head shaved, brings a jug of ice water to the table as well as menus, and takes our order. Hamburgers all around, beers for everyone, and a glass of wine for me.

The atmosphere at our table is as relaxed as it can be. When Cara tenses, I turn toward the source of her sudden unease and narrow my eyes.

Mrs. Beatty—Beadie-the-beast, as we used to call her during her time as school Principal—guardian of the rampant hypocrisy and puritanical values of Leslieville, walks—stomps—to our table. Dressed in a too tight skirt and a too large lavender blouse, she fans her pudgy, sweaty face with one of the laminated drink menus.

“Good evening, girls. I’m pleased you’ve come to pay your respects to your father.” She shifts her eyes to mine and her thin lips tighten. “Even after the awful situation you put him in.”

When silence befalls the room, I peek behind her and shake my head. We have an audience, and they’re not even trying to be subtle about their gawking.

Before Cara says anything, I smile at the hateful woman.

“Well, Mrs. Beatty, we all know how important my father’sfeelingsmattered to all of you.”

She sways back while her pudgy hand fans faster. Her too-close bird eyes blink fast as she puffs out her chest and her lips twist in an ugly snicker.

“Listen, girl—”

Gabe shifts to the she-devil who steps back.

“No, you listen, lady. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. You came and spat your venom. Now walk away before I make you.”

She glares at him while I hold my breath. Gabe leans in. “I said, get out of my sight.”

The horrible woman makes a sound between a grunt and a gasp before scuttling back to her table. After a few seconds of deafening silence, the din of the restaurant returns, utensils clatter against plates, servers re-enter the choreography of service, and I lean back into my chair.

I beam at Gabe and bite into my burger.

The next morning, dressed in one of my favorite black dresses and decadently high heels, I knock on Gabe’s bedroom door. He opens the door and my heart flutters. He’s just out of the shower, his skin glistens, his damp hair swept back while a tiny towel hangs low on his hips.

“Come in, baby.”

I shake my head. “Can you … stay with me today? I mean…”

“Whatever you need.”

I need your arms around me. I rub my arms and after a quick thank you, return to my room.

Chapter Twenty-One

Gabe

The small crowd is gathered in the cemetery under the morning sun.

Aelin and Cara sit in the single row of chairs before the casket while the priest praises Lockwoods as a great, pious man. The viper from last night is there surrounded by other mourners who gawk openly at the sisters.How Aelin manages not to set the motherfucker’s casket on fire is beyond me.

When they lower the pine box into the ground, I stride to the entrance gates of the cemetery and rest my back against the stone arch of the otherwise peaceful place.

Christopher Wend pulls on his cigarette and leans back on the parapet on the other side of the gate. “Tired of the bullshit?”

I nod at the lawyer who pushes off from the wall to snub out the butt of his cigarette against the wall before flicking it in the black iron public trash bin.

He his hands in his pockets and turns his gaze toward the cemetery. “I’ll never understand how a whole community turns a blind eye to the suffering of a child.”

“But not you.”

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