Page 28 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“Did you frequent it often?” I ask, curious. In the week and a half since I’ve been here, I haven’t seen many customers. When looking at the huge turnout for the going away party, I gotta ask myself how many of these people were actual customers and how many are just here to support Jenn and Lottie. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason people showed up was because of the amazing food Lottie’s sister brought for the party. “Knox Riddick, by the way.” I stick my hand out and shake hers.

Her eyes widen knowingly, her sharp inhale a clear clue she knows exactly who I am. “You’re Walter’s boy! The one who’s working with Jenny and Lottie on the remodel. The photographer.” I feel the smile spread across my face as I struggle to suppress my laughter, confirming exactly what’s been on my mind: I wasn’t paranoid and Lottie wasn’t kidding when she said everyone knows everybody’s business in this town.

“Yes. That’s me.”

“Wow! Well, I’m Annabelle Martins. But you can call me Belle. I’m Jenny’s grandmother and long-time Ceres Cove resident.”

“So not a loyal customer, then?”

She snorts. “No. Don’t tell my Jenny or even Lottie, but I would rather wait til the movie comes out for books. Plus, I’d say I’m more into spies and action, and Walter did not stock those types of books, anyway.” I gaze down at Belle, this perfect woman in a pink floral dress and pink ballet flats, with crystal flower clips in her hair. Her makeup is light, but very intentionally put on, and everything about how she looks would’ve made me guess she was more into Victorian romance than murder and conspiracy theories.

“I understand. I’m not much of a reader, either. I’d rather get to know a story through photographs.” I shrug unapologetically.

She tilts her head at me with a smile. “I’d gathered as much, given the camera strapped to your chest.”

I look down at my Nikon with a laugh. “Yeah.”

“So, you subscribe to the notion that a picture’s worth a thousand words?”

“Absolutely,” I say, without missing a beat. “Photographs have the ability to sometimes tell stories a human would otherwise find difficult to express or verbalize.”

She purses her lips and hooks her arm around one of mine, leading me to the closest shelf. “What does this one say, then?” She points to a framed photograph of Walter standing proudly in front of the bookstore. The signage in the front looks brand new and there’s a banner in the window with the words “Grand Opening” in big, bold blue letters. His hands are in his pockets, wind blowing in what little hair he had left—considerably less than the last time I saw him.

“On the surface level, he looks like a happy man, one who’s proud of his accomplishment, of having achieved this feat of opening the bookstore” I start, not understanding exactly why I’m being a willing participant. “But the way his shoulders are slightly rolled inwards, the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his tight eyes, and the shy way in which his fists push down into his pockets would tell me he isn’t as happy as he’s trying to come off.

“He’s scared,” I tell her. “Terrified, even. But in a way in which he would never dare confess, even to himself. Let alone someone else. That’s how he was. Always proud, always stubborn.”

The corners of her lips quirk up. “Is that all?”

“It’s the simple answer. I could get into it, but it’s a party and I don’t wanna bring down the mood.” I smile, but she only barely returns it. “I just thought I’d go with the first thing I notice.” I shrug and we laugh softly.

“You forgot something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You forgot to mention how excited he looks, too, despite the underlying feelings of terror.” She chuckles. “Ready for this new stage in life he was embarking on, starting from scratch in a new town, with new people. You also forgot to mention how much you resemble each other. In looks and in character.”

I frown, wanting to cut her off but reminding myself I should be respectful.

“Same look in your eyes, same jaw and nose. Same fear of life.” She smiles and pats my arm.

“You don’t know me,” I try to say in my gentlest voice, a smile on my face but feeling my defenses go up.

“I’m old enough to recognize the signs.” Just holds my eyes for a moment. “Your father was an amazing man. Quiet, taciturn. Seemingly indifferent to those around him. But he was the complete opposite beneath the surface. I am truly sorry for his loss. He will be—is already— missed deeply.” And with that, she walks away, leaving me alone by the photographs of my father to digest her random analysis, her condolences, and the bacon-wrapped dates.

I look around the room, at the mostly unfamiliar faces. Each one here to send off a place, when in reality maybe they’re here to send off my father?

Groaning, I run my fingers through my hair. Everyone fucking loves him here. I don’t get it. Who was this man so quietly adored by the citizens of this small town? And why the fuck did he never show himself to me? Why did he cut me out? Why did I cut him out?

I retreat into a corner with a plate of stacked with food, sulking. It’s only when Lottie finds me in a corner of the party by myself leaning against the wall, two beers past tipsy, that I’m able to come out of my funk.

“Hey,” she says, her voice loud enough to hear above the crowd, but soft enough to be a comfort. “You okay?”

I raise my shoulders in a sloppy shrug, causing the beer in the can to slosh a little. “S’all good.”

“Oookay.” She raises a brow. “But can I see that beer, though? Just for a second?” I hand her my can, smiling and gazing at her through sleepy eyes. She’s heaven in another one of her oversized sweaters and plaid skirt look, her hair a bit more tousled since the last time I saw her.

Lottie looks tired, a little run down from all the socializing, probably, but still so perfect.