Simon threw a glance at the photos on the wall and rubbed his hands together. “That’s okay. Truth can be hard to accept the first time it’s revealed.”
“And stop talking like you’re an inspirational bumper sticker.”
The answer unfolded in front of him in frustrating simplicity. He’d buy some film and then test the camera on Kelly and Milly. If this camera was as special as Simon claimed, either he would find out what was happening with them or nothing would show up, giving him proof Simon was to blame. Fodder for the lawsuit to follow. Win-win.
He reached for his wallet. “I think I will buy some film from you this time.”
Twenty-Four
The gravel in his driveway crunched under Daniel’s feet as he strode to his front door. Cameras that took their own photos? He scoffed under his breath. Forty-four dollars to get his photos was cheap if it provided answers to either Kelly and Milly’s problems or the opening statement in a lawsuit against Simon.
“Kelly? Milly?”
An unexpected echo from Daniel’s footsteps rang throughout the house, pricking the growing bubble of indignation that had built on the drive home. He raced up the stairs before lightly tapping on his daughter’s bedroom door. “Mill?”
Nothing.
A harder rap. “Milly?”
Still nothing. He pushed on the door and stood on the threshold of invading his daughter’s privacy. As he eased his way into Milly’s sanctuary, the guilt kicked into gear but was dissuaded by the image of his princess teetering on the handrail of their deck. The image that appeared in Daniel’s vision every time he blinked. The last thought that crawled into his head as he dropped off to sleep and ambushed him at first light.
He had to know.
Her bedroom was immaculate. Social commentators who preached every teenager lived in a foot-deep squalid pile of discarded food and clothing had never met his daughter. Her creaseless quilt, cushions casually thrown but strategically placed. Pencils at ninety degrees in perfect alignment. Her laptop on her desk, a single photograph bouncing around the screen while it dozed. An eight-year-old Milly, her arms hooked around her parents’ shoulders, the glue in a happy family embrace.
Daniel woke the laptop with a tap and was confronted with a password window. He raised a finger but then stopped. The answers to Milly’s problems might lie behind that lock, but hacking into his daughter’s computer was a level of invasion he couldn’t stomach.
Her phone nestled in its charger, its only other home outside of her hand. It sat in the shadow of a happy family memory—a framed portrait. Daniel picked up Milly’s phone, and the sense of intrusion again pushed down on him.
Another flash of Milly on the railing. He had to know.
Daniel woke her phone. No password. He stepped into his daughter’s world and scrolled through her messages. Nothing save for midafternoon pleas for rides home or messages to one parent demanding the location of the other. Only two names appeared in her message list—his and Kelly’s. His brow furrowed. Where were the messages from her friends? They had to be chatting elsewhere.
Daniel hunted for social media. Their conversations about the dangers of social media seemed to have worked; she had nothing installed. No strange phone numbers. No Google searches to raise concerns. Milly’s phone was proving as much a closed book as she was.
He had one last place to check. Her photos. He thumbed through them, stunned at what he found.
Milly didn’t appear in any of them. Neither did anyone at school.
A constant loop of photos featuring her parents crushed his expectation of an endless roll of selfies. Every photo showed him and Kelly together. His thumb scrolled through her memories. Even when they were in the same room but not in the same conversation, Milly found a way to take a photo of them together, and then she linked them with overlaid hot-pink love hearts or smiling emojis.
Daniel’s thumb skidded to a halt. The altercation with Monique was also featured on Milly’s phone, but she had cropped out Monique. Kelly, frozen mid-sentence in a moment of attack, was now talking to Daniel.
Daniel sank onto the end of Milly’s bed. What type of kid took a hundred photos, none of them featuring herself? What type of kid never shared them? Did she lie in bed at night flicking through photos that showed her family happy? Was there something more to her than failing grades? The lack of evidence that she was a normal kid waved a red flag.
Downstairs the front door slammed, and Daniel dropped the phone. The one thing worse than snooping in Milly’s room was being caught snooping in Milly’s room. Daniel leaped to his feet, plugged in the phone, and then placed it next to her family photo, a time of genuine smiles. He had to find a way back there again.
As he closed Milly’s door silently behind him, he still had no answers. The price for breaching his daughter’s trust would be high, but the return was nothing. All he had left now was the camera.
Daniel laughed as he realized the insanity of that thought. Daniel Whiteley, with a master’s in counseling, bestselling author and counselor to thousands, now placed his trust in a magical camera?
* * *
Daniel again lifted the camera to his eye. “This time, how about Milly and Nan?”
His mother reached for her granddaughter, who scowled as Daniel peered through the viewfinder. “Smile, Milly!” She pasted on a fake smile that would have been at home on the couch in his office.
He squeezed the trigger with a satisfying clunk.
“Now a photo of all three of you?”
Kelly stepped into the frame, and Daniel squinted through the viewfinder, analyzing all three expressions for clues. His mother smiled broadly, Milly frowned, and Kelly looked past the camera and over his shoulder.
“Let’s at least try to look like a happy family!”
His mother’s smile grew, Milly’s frown etched deeper, and Kelly continued to look over his shoulder, a disinterested boredom building the longer he took. Daniel snuck a look with his free eye. Kelly now smiled at the camera.
Another satisfying clunk. There were no surprises here. This was looking more like a lawsuit every minute.
His mother shuffled toward him. “I have no recent photos of you three!”
Daniel’s grip on the camera tightened as he reached into his pocket. “Take one with my phone, and then I can email it to you.”
Three quizzical faces peered at him, and Kelly spoke for them all. “What’s wrong with the camera you’re holding?”
Warmth from the embarrassment of the knee-jerk reaction that had revealed a little too much crept up his neck. He had no idea why he’d done that. He tried to laugh off their suspicion. “Um, sure.”
Daniel handed the camera to his mother and then stood next to Milly.
His mother became flustered as she held her father’s camera. Tears welled behind her thick glasses. “This is the first time I’ve held this . . .” She wiped away the tears and pushed her glasses to her forehead. “Big smiles, everyone!”
Daniel grinned at the camera before flicking a glance at his daughter. She was smiling. At last.
His mother lowered the camera. “Lovely. When will I get to see these?”
“I’ll be at the film lab later today, so probably tomorrow.” Or never, depending on what Simon did with the film.
“I’ll drop you home, Charlotte.” Kelly reached for her handbag.
Daniel kissed his mother’s cheek in a good-bye and then stood in the foyer as the two women headed for Kelly’s car.
He turned to the kitchen, intent in his step. He had to know, and now he had a chance to find out.
“Hey, Mill, why don’t we have some ice cream?”
He moved to the kitchen as Milly made her wary way onto a tall wicker chair.
Daniel strode to the freezer under the guarded gaze of his daughter. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”
“Not a lot of talking goes on here at all, Dad.” She met his gaze.
He passed her a bowl filled way
past Kelly’s usual limit of an appropriate amount of ice cream. “How about we trade questions. I’ll ask one, you ask one.”
“Okay.”
“What are you worried about most at the moment?”
Milly scooped ice cream into her mouth. “I’m worried you and Mom will break up.”
“What makes you think we might?”
Milly shushed him with a held-up spoon. “My turn. Why don’t you and Mom talk anymore?”
Daniel thought for a moment. “That’s normal for couples who’ve been married for some time. They end up so busy that they spend all of their time together just trying to make things work.”
Milly studied him over her bowl.
“Or they stop listening to each other’s needs and expect that their partner thinks about life the same way they do.”
Daniel took in another mouthful of ice cream. Now that one question was out of the way, this was the time to find out. “Okay, my turn. Why did you stand on the railing during the work dinner the other night?”
On her face, a flash of thunder clashed with her innocence.
“Someone saw you, Milly.”
She flushed. “But I didn’t.” The frail bond fostered by the first few spoonfuls of ice cream cracked.
“Come on, Mill. If you want honesty, you need to be honest yourself.”
Milly glared at him. “I am being honest. I didn’t do that even if I was thinking about it.”
Daniel studied her. The crinkling around her eyes. The twitch of a lip. She was being honest. So Simon had doctored that photograph too.
“That’s okay, Mill. I believe you. I’m sorry.”
But how did Simon know she was thinking about standing on the railing?
The gravel crunched in the driveway. Why was Kelly back so quickly? Daniel couldn’t push things too far. Anyway, if this camera was all Simon said it was, he’d have his answers tomorrow. “You know, it’s okay to talk about it with us. Let’s have no secrets, okay?”
“Dad, I’ve got one last question.”
Kelly’s keys jingled in the front door.
“I don’t know how to say it.”
“That’s okay. Let me have it.” He smiled as he scraped the last of his ice cream from his bowl.
Milly stared at her spoon as it made its slow way around the rim of her bowl. “What do you think of Anna?”
Kelly burst through the front door and beelined for the kitchen counter. “Forgot my phone.” She took one disapproving look at the bowls of ice cream and bustled back out the door.
Daniel waited for the departing crunch of tires on gravel. “She’s been a good friend over the years, she helped me build the business, and she’s a great counselor. In fact, she told me you two connected at the dinner, and she’s offered to talk further with you.” This was good. Milly was leading the conversation in his preferred direction.
But her face clouded over, her brows knotted.
“I’m glad you mentioned Anna, but why did you ask me what I think of her?”
Her spoon froze, and a look of terror flashed into her eyes. “Because when I took the photo of everyone else on the deck, it looked like you were holding hands with her.”
Twenty-Five
Kelly stood frozen to the spot outside the laundromat, the words from her phone ringing in her ears.
“Say that again?”
Dr. Scott’s voice hardened, and the gravity of his repeated point landed hard. “Two of my patients are in the hospital because of a reaction to Mendacium, and I need to know what’s going on.”
Kelly’s world whirled. Children were sick, and she was to blame. She could have warned Anthony, but she hadn’t for one simple reason: to save her own situation. She stared at the hand-painted cardboard sign in the window: “Coming clean! Laundromat now open!!!”
If only it were that easy.
“Anthony, I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” She needed to think.
A battle raged within her. On one side were sick children. On the other side lay honesty without a home in which to live. Between them the company line Rubicon Pharma expected her to toe. Either way, children would suffer—Dr. Scott’s patients or her own daughter. Simon was right about the tightrope. The sense of vertigo was paralyzing.
The little bell jingled as Kelly pushed on the door to Simon’s Film Lab.
Simon turned from straightening photo frames. “Wonderful to see you again, Kelly. How can I help you today?”
Kelly had been rehearsing her line since she dropped off Charlotte. “I know you told me you couldn’t give me a copy of Daniel’s photos, but he told me there were problems with them. I need to know what those problems are.”
Simon leaned back on the frames and frowned. “Is Daniel having problems with his photos?”
“He says that’s why he can’t show them to me.”
Simon dropped his head. “Well, if that’s what he says, then he’s having problems with his photos.” He moved past her to the counter.
Kelly’s words tumbled out, her well-crafted argument fracturing with Simon’s casual dismissal. “I was hoping you could give me a copy of his photos so I can find out what’s going on with him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. We have a sacred contract, but I am pleased you’ve been honest with me.”
“Why can’t I get his photos? I’m his wife, and I need to know what’s going on.” She threw a frustrated look at the frames on the wall. One of them had changed. The balding man in the unbuttoned business shirt and the middle-aged woman in track pants and a San Francisco sweatshirt were no longer fighting. Now they were smiling, an arm around each other, the orange of the sweatshirt now a pale beige.
Simon studied her. “You look troubled.”
Kelly snapped a look back at him. “Of course I’m troubled. My biggest concern right now is that I can’t get copies of Daniel’s photos.”
Simon smiled. “Is it?”
“I’m also dealing with an issue at work—”
“Side effects and sick children?”
“How do you know?”
Simon nodded to her name tag and then leaned against the counter, his voice mellowing in a singsong cadence. “I’ve been following the news, you know. Tell me about it.”
Her emotions bubbled up and the shaky wall she had built to hold them back crumbled. The excuses she was supposed to peddle. Made-up syndromes that didn’t need medical help. And now children sick from medication she was pushing. “My integrity keeps running into my company’s profitability.”
Simon gestured to the wall of frames. “I hear that a lot. And I’ve found over the years that the opposite of profit isn’t loss. The opposite of profit is people.”
Kelly regained her breath, enthralled by his advice. Warmed by his voice.
“You’re not alone, Kelly. It’s one of the downsides of our modern world, like when you hear the gambling authority give a rapid-fire warning about responsible gambling after a thirty-second tease about a life-changing lottery ticket. Or the beer manufacturer’s casual advice to drink responsibly after preaching how popular you will be when you don’t. Or in your case, promising the world to people and then telling them it’s their fault for listening to you.”
“I can’t be a part of this anymore. What do I do?”
“Now that you’re convicted of the truth in your life, you need to be honest about it.”
“But I’ll lose the house.”
Simon lifted a finger and wandered to the wall, stopping in front of the thick, ornate gold frame. “You’ll lose a lot more if you don’t.”
“Everyone lies, Simon.”
Simon stared at the photo in silence.
Kelly moved toward it. There was the slightest movement—like the flitter of hummingbird wings—and her breath drifted away. Now she saw two sick children in the hospital, wired into monitors crowding their tiny beds. And the name above the beds was crystal clear in thick, black pen: Dr. Anthony Scott.
Time slowed as the photo drif
ted in and out of her focus. “Who are you?”
A tear formed in the corner of Simon’s eye. “I am a seeker of truth. I help others seek it too.”
Kelly’s glance flickered back to the frame. This was inescapable truth.
“Truth isn’t easy, Kelly. Everyone holds secrets. But most often life is better without them.”
The waft of chemicals reached Kelly’s nose. The smell of something developing.
Simon raised a finger to the second child in a hospital bed, her wide, sad eyes begging for relief. “Why don’t we start here? What if that were Milly?”
Simon had taken a metaphorical ax to the barrier her conscience had built. As it splintered into a thousand pieces, Kelly knew what she had to do next. Her hand crept to her pocket and pulled out her phone. In slow motion, she punched in a number that had haunted her for days.
The tears trickled down Simon’s cheeks.
“Dr. Scott’s rooms, please.” Then, “Alisha, it’s Kelly Whiteley from Rubicon. I need to speak to Anthony. It’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s unavailable at the moment.”
A slow smile lit up Simon’s face.
“This is urgent, Alisha. He’s waiting for my call.”
A pause. “One moment.”
“Thanks for getting back, Kelly.” Anthony’s warm tone was back.
Kelly cut a swath through the pleasantries. “Anthony, you asked me about the potential side effects of Mendacium. I have no data to back this up, but I know we can’t rule them out. I can’t guarantee anything, and I understand your nervousness at not having that guarantee. I suggest if you’re concerned, you contact our R&D department for any information to help you make the best decision for your patients.”
A pause. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? What you’re able to say?”
“Yes, I am. It’s something I need to say.” The phone trembled in her hand.
“You have great integrity.”
“Thank you.” Kelly’s voice eked out of her in a whisper. With shaking fingers, she cut the call. The growing sense of dread that eased into her was met with a warmth. A peace. A feeling of right that calmed her quivering nerves.
The Camera Never Lies Page 12
