In a daze, I went to the room in question. I heard her soft laughter as she followed. I unlocked the door.
“This was my mom’s darkroom,” I said, flicking on the light of the once-forbidden room.
It was a soft yellow light that cast us in film noir shadows. Itcleared the final haze of lust from my mind, and I was able to focus. An understanding passed over Claire’s features.
“Oh.” The way she said it made me wonder if she’d already guessed the purpose of this room.
She was a very convincing liar if she had been in there already.
“You left it unlocked the other day when you were in here,” she admitted.
“Ah.” I sighed, not easily hiding the hurt I felt. “You already saw everything?” If I knew Claire, she hadn’t waited five minutes before her curiosity got the better of her.
“No,” she said quickly. Then added, sheepishly, “I thought about it. Trust me. But it felt wrong.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “It felt personal, and it’s better seeing it this way. With you showing me. I want to learn about Lily, but I want it to be on your terms. When you’re ready.”
Her gaze held mine, and I swallowed. “I’m ready.” Her ex-boyfriend had been wrong to call her ruthless. This was not a ruthless journalist. This was a woman who cared deeply.
“My mother was an incredible photographer. Mostly portraits. She would have been the next Anne Leibovitz.” I took her to the first box as I spoke.
“So art runs in your blood.”
“She was the talented one. She could have been huge,” I said, and a hint of bitterness came through.
She gave me a questioning look, but I didn’t expand. I turned my back toward her while I opened the box and pulled out some of the prints. I waited for the familiar pain of shock and sadnessto hit. But it didn’t. I only felt pride as I pulled out each photo and held them reverently to Claire.
Her mouth parted as she took them with equal gentleness. Her gaze flickered over every one, not rushing. Really seeing. “These are amazing.”
“She was unbelievably talented.” I stepped back to give her space. I had seen all these photos a hundred times.
“I can’t believe I’ve never heard of her. She could have had exhibits. I’ve worked with many photographers over the years and learned a little about the skills required to be good. Did she maybe go by another name?”
“No. She never had success in that sense,” I said stiffly.
“Why not?” she asked, appalled, and I narrowed my eyes. She closed her eyes with a frustrated huff of air. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. You can tell me as much or as little as you want.”
“It’s okay. I don’t like to talk about it. She never wanted fame. She—” I skirted around the full truth by latching on to others. “She liked living here in Cozy Creek. She liked raising me. She said that was all she ever wanted.”
“That’s lovely.” Claire smiled, her gaze drifting as she thought. After a moment, she went back to the photographs. A little crease formed between her brows before a massive smile split her face open. “I recognize these little guys.”
I knew before I looked exactly what picture she had found. It was a picture of Pace and me. We were eight years old and had just come back from exploring in the woods. We were covered in dirt, jeans ripped, and hair a mess, but we wore the biggest grinsyou’d ever seen. Our front teeth were a little too big, with summer freckles on our noses as we slung arms around each other. I clearly remembered that moment, stepping out of the trees and onto the driveway. My mother’s face was obscured by the lens. I had rolled my eyes, but Pace was ready for his close-up. The lighting somehow looked ethereal and sentimental all at once.
More than that, it was an incredible photograph. My mother deserved to have it all, and that choice was taken from her.
I couldn’t talk about that with Claire yet. The rawness of being here, of our kiss, the day in town talking about Lily and seeing the pity, it was all catching up. I felt bone weary. I felt the darkness creeping in around the edges.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Claire said.
I nodded.
“Are you okay?” she asked, carefully setting down the photos back into the box. “Is this too much?”
“It’s a lot,” I said honestly.
“Let’s leave it for now,” she said simply. She quickly flipped through a few more before gently lowering them back into the box. “Maybe, one day, you can show me the rest of the photos? I think I recognized some people from town.”
I nodded and headed to the door. “You can come look at this stuff. I won’t lock it anymore.”
“Thank you,” she said.
