Page 71 of Luck of the Devil
“It seems like the logical place to start is back when Sarah Jane was a baby,” Grandma said, pulling the top album off, then nearly dropping it onto the coffee table. She pointed to one that was two albums deep. “This one.”
Malcolm moved the other albums and set the book on my lap. “Would you point things out? I’m sure Harper would appreciate hearing the stories behind the photos.”
“Oh course,” she said, beaming with happiness, then reached over to open the cover.
What was Malcolm up to? Was he hoping the photos would give us some clues? That seemed doubtful, but then again, you never knew where you might find a breadcrumb and where it might lead.
I took a sip of the water, my eyes widening at the slight taste of vodka on my tongue.
Malcolm wasn’t looking at me to confirm what he’d done—given me a glass of water with what tasted like a half shot of vodka. Enough alcohol to keep the edge off and keep me from looking sketchy from taking shots from his flask.
He scooted a few feet away from me, then patted the seat cushion. “Why don’t you sit between us, Shirley? That way we’ll all be able to see.”
She gave the book a longing look. “I want to, but I need to figure out what we’re havin’ for dinner.”
“I thought you said you were gonna roast a chicken,” Grandpa said.
“And I plan to,” she shot back, “but I might need to go to the store and get one, not to mention anything else we need.”
“No,” Malcolm said insistently. “I refuse to let us put you out. I’ll take you all out to dinner. I’ll pay.”
My grandfather looked startled. “We can’t let you do that.”
“I insist,” Malcolm said. “If Shirley is making dinner, then she’s not spending time with her long-lost granddaughter, which I think we can all agree is more important. So respectfully, let me handle dinner. Y’all have been so kind to Harper, it’s the least I can do.”
My grandfather shot me a smug grin, making it clear he saw this as further proof Malcolm wanted more than friendship with me, but I knew better. Turned out that Malcolm had a secret soft side, and it was currently on full display. It had nothing to do with his feelings—or lack thereof—for me.
But for better or worse, it endeared him to me even more.
Chapter 19
As I’d suspected, the photos didn’t reveal any clues, but I enjoyed hearing about my mother’s childhood. Her sister was two years younger, just like me and Andi, so she was in plenty of them too. My grandmother had photographs of my mother up through college, which I found surprising. Most parents took more photos of their kids when they were cute and adorable, and less when their angels became surly teens. But my grandmother’s stuffed albums proved her to be the exception.
It was surreal to see images of my mother as she grew from a baby to her high school graduation. She was smiling and happy in most, especially in her younger years. My aunt Hannah, whom I’d barely known, was with her in many of them.
There were plenty of candid shots as well as posed, but I was amazed there were so many of my mother and aunt taken inside their elementary school.
I touched the edge of a photo of a school Halloween party. Most of the kids were wearing cheap store-bought costumes and a good portion of them had plastic masks covering their faces, the kind secured with cheap elastic strings. “Were you a room mother?”
“Oh heavens, no,” she said with a wave of her hand. “They didn’t have those at their school, but I volunteered now and again.” She winked. “I liked to do it on the days they had parties. And since the other parents weren’t there, I made sure to take lots of photos so they could get copies too.”
“That was very thoughtful of you,” Malcolm said.
She shrugged as though it was no big deal, but she seemed pleased by his compliment. “They seemed to appreciate it.”
I struggled to mesh the woman who’d raised me with the young girl and then teen who’d looked so happy. There were images of her with friends at school and at home at every grade level. She had photos taken with quite a few kids in her younger years, but by the time she reached junior high school, her friends had changed. They looked more polished, and I was fairly sure they were in the popular crowd. My grandmother confirmed it.
Studying a photo of my mother and her friends dressed for a cotillion and obviously loving it, I had a new understanding for why my mother had preferred Andi. I favored jeans and T-shirts, while Andi had loved dresses and skirts and bows in her hair. I’d been quiet and reserved, but my sister had been larger than life and popular. And the few friends I’d had had quickly disappeared after Andi’s death. My mother must have seen my sister as a replica of herself.
The photos dwindled by the time my mother went to college, but during her sophomore year, she’d brought Dad home to meet her parents. Younger versions of them, barely looking like adults, sat on the very sofa we were sitting on now, my dad wearing a nervous smile.
“He was so anxious about meeting us,” my grandmother said, pointing to the photo I’d been studying. “But we loved him immediately.”
“Did Mom love him?” Then I realized how that sounded. “I mean, obviously she loved him. I guess I’m asking if she was head over heels for him?”
“I’d say she loved him, but I don’t think she was head over heels. At least from what I saw,” she said as she stared pensively at the photo. “But then she seemed much more mellow, sedate, after they started dating. I asked her once if she was happy, and as expected, she didn’t take it well. She said she’d grown up, but the grown-up version of her didn’t laugh much. Your father didn’t cut up much either, so I always wondered if she’d tempered herself for him.”
That wasn’t something I’d considered, but I supposed it could be true. If she’d thought my father could give her the life she wanted, I could see her toning down her personality to be more appealing to him. How ironic that stiff, snobby person she’d become had ultimately turned him away.
