The Camera Never Lies

by David Rawlings

  No, it wasn’t.

  Kelly placed the camera on the counter and spun to face him, eyes filling with angry tears. “Speaking of the truth, where were you today? I rang the office, and they said you hadn’t come in. And then Jade said Monique wasn’t in either—”

  Her pleas were white noise, background to one question: How did she get the camera? Daniel stormed past her and into the study. The briefcase sat in the bottom of his closet, pushed toward the back. He checked the tumblers: still out of sync, the clasps unmoving. He staggered back into the kitchen.

  “Did you even hear what I said? And why don’t you believe me? I thought you left it out because the film was used up.”

  Daniel reeled, punch-drunk at the flurry of blows tipping up everything he thought he knew. “That’s impossible.”

  “Do you want me to take the film to Simon?”

  One blow too many. A giant crack split his resolve down the middle. He snatched the camera from the counter and sprinted, huffing and heaving, to the deck.

  Kelly raced after him. “What is going on—”

  Daniel stood at the railing as he cradled the camera in his trembling hands. One single letter burned into his retinas. In the tiny plastic window on top of the camera was a red F. The camera was full. All the photographs had been taken.

  There was only one thing to do.

  With a primal scream born of weeks—months—of frustration and hurt, he ripped open the back of the camera and tore the film from its canister. He flung it from the deck, the ribbon of film trailing behind the tiny canister like a comet’s tail as it fell to the rocks below.

  Kelly screamed. “Daniel! What are you doing?”

  He took a final look at the camera, the last memory of Gramps, and threw back his arm.

  “Daniel! No!”

  His guttural scream exploded from the cliff top as the camera arced into the air, rose above the horizon, and kissed the afternoon sun before falling. First into the azure background of a wide ocean, and then tumbling, tumbling to the rocks two hundred feet below.

  Daniel rushed to the handrail to see Gramps’s last gift to him explode into a cloud of plastic and dust. A split second later, a tiny crash reached his ears.

  Then silence, save for the pulsing sobs of his wife.

  Thirty-Four

  The stream of water shimmied and shook its way into Kelly’s glass. On the other side of the doors to their deck, Daniel bent over the railing, his back heaving.

  She couldn’t keep going like this, carrying their burden on her own. They had to see someone, and if Daniel chose his reputation over their happiness, she would leave. It would devastate Milly, but that was Daniel’s decision. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than tiptoeing through the minefield in which they currently lived.

  Kelly downed the water in one long, shaky gulp. Then her heart pounded as she slid back the glass doors and her heels clattered onto the deck. She plunged into a conversation that was long overdue. “What was all that about?”

  Daniel threw back his head, and Kelly steeled herself for anger. For explanation. She was unprepared for what she got.

  With one almighty groan, Daniel dissolved into sobs. Her tower of strength crumbled before her eyes and mumbled of ruin. His filmed eyes flitted around the deck, searching for the starting point of an answer.

  Kelly took two hesitant steps forward. “Talk to me like you used to. It doesn’t matter where you start.” She gave him a moment to compose himself as he sucked in huge breaths and ran a trembling hand through his thick, curly hair.

  His voice came at an almost whisper. “I can’t stop it.”

  Kelly’s thoughts hurtled to their usual self-destroying conclusion. Another woman. Or an addiction he’d swept under the carpet.

  Daniel took a blubbering breath. “First it was the gift of cuff links—”

  The confirmation of another woman didn’t bring a sense of closure. Instead it swept aside Kelly’s confidence in a jet of rejection.

  “And then holding hands with Anna here on the deck—” Sobs stole the last of his sentence, and he paced the deck.

  Something inside Kelly shattered. The work-wife. She should have known. She flicked through her memory for warning signs, but the attempt was swallowed by a rising anger. With him. With Anna. With herself for suspecting but doing nothing about it. But she had to let him talk. She had spent the last however many months wishing he would, and she couldn’t stop him now.

  “And Howard’s legacy—” Daniel spun on his heel and all but collapsed on the railing.

  Her husband’s gushing honesty both relieved and scared her. The locked-down control she leaned on was gone, but the door to his heart wasn’t really open; it merely swung wildly, clinging to exploded hinges. Why was he talking about Howard?

  “But the one I don’t understand is your suitcase and that statement from Beyond Bank.”

  Kelly froze. Daniel’s words hung on the ocean breeze that flitted across the deck as the secret she’d tried to hide for some time was breathed into life. Now it sat between them.

  Daniel shook his head as if trying to regain control. “You probably think I’m crazy.” He looked down to her, in his eyes a sense of something foreign. Imploring. Like Milly looked whenever she argued for the sake of it but needed to know if it was safe to do so.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy.” Kelly breathed deep, summoning courage. “And I can explain the bank statement.”

  Daniel was a tableau of stillness. The only movement, his eyes.

  Kelly gulped in another breath of courage. “Simon told me that if I want you to be honest with me, I need to be honest with you. I’ve been thinking about leaving you.”

  Daniel’s shoulders slumped.

  “The reason for the suitcase appearing in the photos is probably because I packed and unpacked it several times in my mind, but I only got as far as the front door.”

  Daniel continued to sag, and for the first time in a long time, he seemed to be speechless.

  “And although I always calmed down, inevitably there would be another fight, and in my mind I’d pull the suitcase from my closet and pack it.” Kelly prepared herself for anger. A counterargument. Anything. A light wind drifted across their deck.

  “Simon’s photos show truth. I imagine the suitcase represents that I’ve wanted to leave you. Over and over again.”

  Daniel stared, the breeze ruffling his hair. Kelly rushed forward to grab his arm. “Gramps’s camera is real, Daniel. Simon showed me the truth in those photos.”

  Daniel blanched as he covered his mouth. “He showed you?”

  “Not our photos. Apparently you have some kind of sacred contract with him. But I think we need to look at this as an opportunity and look at our photos together—”

  The Beatles interrupted them as notes from a plaintive guitar and a nasally George Harrison burst from his pocket. “Listen . . . do you want to know a secret?” Kelly willed Daniel to ignore his phone and lost. Again.

  Daniel snatched at his phone, his posture reinflating at the recognition of the name. Her husband transformed into the professional Daniel, his breathing now under control, his eyes narrowed. Their connection was severed as he stood at his full height. “Principal Rhodes, what can I do for you?”

  Daniel forced a wince from his face.

  “Uh, yes, something came up, and I couldn’t make the at-risk program . . . No, there’s no problem. My apologies. I should have had Monique let you know.”

  Kelly took tentative steps away from her husband. She hadn’t told him about the principal’s call. She hadn’t had the chance.

  Daniel reached out to her. “That’s news to me. I didn’t know about it.”

  Kelly burned under the heat of her husband’s spotlight gaze. No, you wouldn’t, Daniel. I couldn’t tell you about our daughter because you were throwing cameras off cliffs.

  “We’ll talk about it, and I look forward to seeing you then.” Daniel cut the call, their burgeoning recon
nection cut with it. “Apparently the principal would like us to come in for a formal appointment to discuss Milly’s behavior at school. When were you planning to tell me?”

  The anger and fear that wriggled under Kelly’s self-control exploded into life. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you because he just called, and since then we’ve been out here dealing with whatever you’re not telling me.” Daniel dropped his head. Now was the time. “We have to go see someone. I can’t keep going like this.”

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that before, and I said someone at Crossroads would be happy to work with us—”

  “I don’t want to go to your work, Daniel. We need to go somewhere where we’ll be equals in the conversation.”

  Daniel sighed deeply. “Okay.”

  One simple word. Four simple letters. But it had taken him so long to say it.

  “I’m willing to talk about finding someone else.”

  “Why is this such a problem for you? Isn’t counseling confidential?”

  “Our industry is just like any other. Word would get out. I just know it. The best answer for me would be to see Anna, or even Peter. To keep it in-house. No one will want to see a marriage counselor whose own marriage is falling apart.”

  Kelly was torn. He had responded to her ultimatum, albeit with conditions. And what he was saying made sense. “We need to do it for Milly. What we’re doing—or pretending to have—is hurting her.”

  Their connection sparked back into weak life, fanned by the joint love of their daughter.

  Kelly tried one last time. “So what was that with the camera?”

  Daniel stopped, drawing shades over his response. “I’m sorry. I just got . . . angry.”

  “Why do I get the feeling everything you say is crafted before I hear it?”

  “I wish I hadn’t done it.” But something in his eyes disagreed with that sentiment. He brushed past her. “I have to get out of here for a while.”

  What was going on inside his head that he refused to talk about? There could be only one answer. Whatever was in his photos was so damning that he had to get rid of the camera. There was a way to find out—Simon. She would just have to convince him. Beg him, if necessary.

  Thirty-Five

  The whipping tall grass left a vicious sting on Daniel’s calves. The white-and-yellow flowers that lined the walking path bent back and forth, their heads struggling against the gale, their faces bent away. Two hundred feet below, waves meandered to the shoreline in a random, messy wash. Pounding surf, eroding rock grain by grain, out of sync but powerful alone. And washing away the last gift Gramps gave him.

  Waves of remorse pounded Daniel. Gramps had entrusted him with the one thing in his life that had apparently saved him from himself, and he had destroyed it. Why would Gramps do this to him? He would have to know Daniel would get rid of it. Who wouldn’t when faced with the prospect of having their deepest secrets revealed for everyone to see? He threw back his head, the wind sweeping away his screamed apology. “I’m sorry, okay?”

  The dirty gray of the clouds smudged the blue from the sky. He had no doubt that, through the camera, those clouds would look white, bursting with light. Was this the lesson Gramps mentioned in his letter? That the world was a different place when you looked through a lens of honesty? When you saw things how they really were? The gift of Gramps’s camera wasn’t pulling back the rug under which Daniel had swept what he believed was best avoided. The gift was to see the world as it truly was, and he had hurled that gift into the sunset.

  Daniel grimaced as his shoulders sank. He had thrown away not only the last of Gramps but the chance to deal with something in his life that wasn’t just hidden but eating away at him under the surface.

  Why was it so hard to be honest about the book? He encouraged people to open up—hold no secrets—while handing them a book that hid his own. He remembered the prices on the cameras in Simon’s Film Lab. Not “Or Best Offer” but “Whatever Is Needed.” Was that what this was about?

  Daniel thought long and hard about the price he would have to pay for the mistake he’d made. Claiming Howard’s manuscript as his own when the bank warned they would close the practice if they couldn’t make their payments had seemed so simple. And the price of omission seemed worth paying if it saved the practice. But then he’d discounted it each time he’d drifted into a lie. When the publisher queried his credentials. When the TV morning show asked about his inspiration. When couples flooded into his practice because of the wisdom on pages he hadn’t written. Edited, yes. Written, no. And the price had sat in the background, compounding with the interest of each lie, waiting to be paid.

  A gust of wind buffeted him from the path. He turned for home as the sun broke through a seam in the clouds, spotlighting the price of honesty. His house would go. Unanswered questions spiraled into a numbing dread. What had Simon said to Kelly? She had seen his photos on the wall—she’d even said the camera was special. And what would the impact be on Milly if they separated?

  Daniel weighed his options, a tried-and-true reflex. On one side, confessing his secrets, leading to a failed practice, a ruined reputation, and a broken family. On the other, keeping his silence and bearing the regret at severing his last connection to Gramps. The scales dipped down on the side of a broken future. The price was too high.

  He looked again over the waters below, the pounding ocean retreating from rocks strewn with seagrass. His pride curled its finger and enticed him down a familiar, well-trodden path. He would draw a line in the sand and deal with this himself.

  The control flooded back with the relief. His pace quickened along the path as strategies danced in his head. First his marriage and family. He had agreed to talk with Kelly about speaking to another counselor, and while Kelly wouldn’t see Anna because of a truth she refused to accept, another option would allow him to keep this in-house—Peter. Anna could talk to Milly just as she had already reached out to do.

  Confidence surged through him as he placed his hands back on the wheel of his life. He strode along the path, oblivious to the grass whipping his shins.

  That left only one problem unaddressed. His publisher. He would argue his case with Amanda to see if they could give him any extra leeway—any at all—to ease the process of paying back an advance he’d already spent. His breathing resumed a more normal rhythm with shorter, sharper intakes. It had taken him nearly a year to write nothing. How on earth could he deliver something in a matter of weeks? There was only one response to that. He would force the inspiration to come. Maybe Google could inspire him. He’d been gifted enough to take Howard’s idea and improve it to the point of publication, so he would just do it again with some other idea he’d find. He’d make it his own.

  Daniel broke into a jog. He could do this. His jog graduated into a sprint, buoyed with if not an escape plan then at least an escape route. He nudged aside the grief over Gramps’s camera to be dealt with at a more appropriate time.

  He crunched up his driveway and then flung open the front door and brushed past Kelly in the living room.

  “Daniel? Can we talk about—”

  “Not now, Kel.”

  Daniel hustled toward his study, firing on all cylinders, fueled by anxiety and adrenaline. He pushed open the door, and his world shattered. Blinding, flashing pain flared behind his eyes.

  No!

  The camera sat on Gramps’s recliner. Daniel slumped against the doorframe and sank to the floor, the last of his resolve melting as the adrenaline ebbed away. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t, his rational side argued. Stress caused hallucinations—he knew that from the textbooks, and he’d even diagnosed it a number of times in his office.

  Daniel crawled on his hands and knees to the chair, expecting the vision of the camera to fade. Instead, its unblinking lens caught the light and sparkled. His fingers clung to the edge of his desk as his eyes popped up next to the camera, a snail checking to see if the bird had gone. It hadn’t. Through the window on the back of th
e camera, Daniel saw film.

  Sobs burst from his chest as he slumped back to the floor. He didn’t even need to check the tiny letter on top of the camera. He knew all the film had been used.

  Thirty-Six

  The single lens of the camera bored a hole in Daniel’s soul. Accusing, all-knowing. He settled back into Gramps’s recliner. Would Gramps have had more than this old chair if he’d dealt with his secrets earlier? If he’d spent his money on something other than—

  Daniel bolted upright. Gramps had been a gambler, but there was another reason he’d had nothing. He’d continued to pay for photos, and the price had kept going up.

  This was his future. But it didn’t have to be.

  He thumbed in the combination for Gramps’s briefcase and pulled out the photo album. The secrets of others flicked through his fingers. The stiff pages groaned as he saw the photos in a different light. These weren’t the wrong moments to take a photo; they were the right ones. He flicked further. The photo of him and Kelly at Milly’s party was in full color. Milly at her party, the tears glistening. In full color.

  He picked up the camera and brushed his finger across the inscription. The camera never lies. If he couldn’t get rid of it—and the camera would never lie—he had no choice.

  Daniel placed the photo album back in the briefcase and reached for the words his grandfather left for him. As he read Gramps’s letter, the last words took on a different meaning.

  I know you’ve got great insights into other people, but I worry for your family, Daniel. When I’ve raised this before, you’ve always shifted the conversation.

  In that moment, Daniel appreciated the reason Gramps had given the camera to him and not to his mother. This was the only way to get through to him. He wished Gramps were alive so he could at least tell him why he had shifted the conversation. It wasn’t because he thought he knew better; it was because of the shame of having his hero know his flaws. He didn’t want to be less than perfect in his grandfather’s eyes. But Gramps had seen so much more than Daniel ever imagined, and that was worse. He had presented a successful facade to Gramps so he would think him a success, but with his insight, he could see just how much of a fake Daniel was.