Page 108 of The Photograph

After dropping my bags on the back seat, I yank on my seatbelt.

“Let’s go. I’ll explain on the way.”

When we pass the gates of Holloway, I sigh. “Holloway is Gabe’s childhood house, his mother’s childhood home.”

As we stop at a red light, Cara turns to me. “And he didn’t tell you before you started working on it?”

I shake my head, and stare at my hands. “I knew it had to be a personal project for him. I guess he didn’t trust me enough to tell me how personal it was.”

Cara makes a small noise and squeezes my hand while a ball of emotion constricts my throat.

“I made a painting for him for his birthday. It’s a depiction of a mother watching her children playing in the gardens of Holloway… God, I feel so stupid.”

The car veers toward our neighborhood. “I thought you didn’t know about his relation to Holloway.”

I sigh. “I didn’t. I just painted it and thought he’d like it.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Why does it hurt so much?Tears press behind my eyes.

When we get home, I get changed while trying not to cry and join Cara in the kitchen while she makes us lunch.

I sit on the bench by the window while Cara pulls out the ingredients for a quiche Lorraine from the fridge. She sets the mixing bowl on the counter and starts whisking.

“Who is she?”

Someone he can sleep with. “I think she’s Gabe’s ex. She says they’re old friends, but the way she says it means they have history.”

Cara pulls the grater from the drawer and grabs a block of Gruyere. “But why was she there this morning?”

I get some water from the fridge and rest the back of my head on the cold metal.

“I don’t know. I met her the day you called about our father. She and Gabe apparently planned to catch up then. I suppose they’ve been catching up since. He invited her on Friday, and she knew where he was this morning.”

Cara puts the dish in the oven and pivots to face me.

“You broke up with him, angel. So technically—”

I push off the fridge. “I only broke things off because—”

Her eyes dance with amusement. “He wouldn’t fuck you. Yes, you said.”

I growl at my sister who bites on her smile. “Not funny.” I sigh and again tears pool behind my eyes. “You have no idea what it’s like to be treated like you’re broken.”

When my sister’s brows knit, heat flushes my face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash at you, I just—”

She cups my cheek. “You’re right, I don’t, and I’m sorry. I don’t always realize how difficult things can be for you.”

Needing her love, I wrap my arms around her and burrow my face in her neck.

We both jump when the doorbell rings, and Cara grins. “I’ve invited Gertie for lunch.”

Since I’ve introduced them, Cara and Gertie have become friends and we have her over as often as we can. I open the door and kiss the older woman’s cheek.

“Hello, Gertie. Come in. Cara’s making a quiche Lorraine.”

Gertie hooks her hand in the crook of my elbow, and we make our way to the kitchen.

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