Page 79 of Free to Live
“What price is that?”
“The fact that for the rest of my life, someone will always look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.” Opening his front door, I slip out into the cold dark, feeling none of it because it can’t be colder than what’s permeating my soul.
Which is nothing.
42
Joseph
Horrified, I’m frozen in place as Holly races out to her car. “What have I done?” I whisper aloud. Cold air seeps through the thin shirt I’m wearing. I shiver as I stare at her her taillights disappearing down my driveway toward the street. She barely pauses. I’m sick, knowing it was my own stupidity, my own knee-jerk reaction, my past grief reflected on the faces of the family tonight that sent me over the edge of sanity at Holly’s shocking news.
I wish I could go back in time as the man I am today and fight for the girl she was. She deserved someone to protect her from the mistreatment of heartache back then—hell, tonight, I think with a surge of anger at myself. Holly deserves to be worshiped for bringing so much joy to those around her, celebrated for capturing people’s spirit and energy.
Holly’s never questioned me once about my asshole behavior of late; she accepted it, me, my life, and became such an integral part of my world. My pain grows brutal as the lights of her car fade in the distance until I can no longer see them. “Fuck,” I hiss. Closing the door softly so I don’t wake my daughter, I turn and freeze.
Holly was in such a rush to get away from me, she left her camera.
My heart cracks open a little more, and I didn’t think it could do that tonight. Gently, I pick it up and press the button so I can see the pictures she took with Grace tonight. Expecting to find photos of my living room or the corner of my fireplace, I’m not prepared to have the slivers of my heart compressed back together so tightly it’s as if they never shattered. I try not to cry as I flip through the photos slowly.
Grace and Holly are lying much as they were when I first walked in. Only they’re blowing kisses at the camera. My fingers trace over each of their faces on the little 2x2 window, my throat closing around my heart which has lodged in it.
Moving to the sofa, I sink down to where Holly was lying earlier. I slowly scroll backward through the pictures. As I reach the ones of the corner of my television, I can’t help but smile. There’s my Grace’s natural talent shining through, I think with some amusement. Thirty or so pictures later, I can see where Holly obviously has control of the camera once again, and my breath constricts.
Grace is sitting on the floor holding her mother’s picture with a beaming smile on her face. In my absence, Holly obviously had no problem encouraging my daughter’s curiosity about her mother. In fact, she’s given her—me—this gift of beauty in the knowledge that while Mary won’t be with us, being with Holly would never dim that for her.
Or for me.
Shuddering, the epic magnitude of my mistake tonight slams into me. Her voice, so hollow and empty, screams in my head. Maybe I’m overreacting because of what I saw tonight, but it feels like ignoring it is tantamount to a different kind of death—that of Holly and me.
But I can’t leave and go after her. I hear the little rasps of breath through the monitor reminding me so clearly why I can’t.
Shifting, I reach in my pocket to grab my phone to text her when something happens: the camera buttons start to flash. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me I broke it,” I plead aloud to the empty room.
Accidentally, I hit the shutter. The flash fixed on top engages like a crack of lightning in the darkened space. I jump backward, startled. “Jesus,” I mutter. Then as the picture briefly appears on the back, I grin. My photo-taking ability is only slightly more elevated than that of my three-year-old’s.
Sitting the camera on the table, I send a quick text to Holly.You forgot something.I wait for a response.
Long minutes later, I’m flipping back and forth trying to decide which photo is my favorite when I receive a response.Keep it. I don’t need anything to remember the look on your face.
Even as I hold the camera in my hand, knowing there’s no way she’d say that about something as crucial as this, a crazy idea begins to form. It’d be mad, I think to myself. It’d be opening myself up like I haven’t been… My eyes dart up to the picture resting on my mantle.
Since the night I haphazardly proposed to Mary. The night I learned Grace was on her way.
Dazed, I realize I’m staring my past in the face and holding my future in my hands. But if I don’t do something quickly, it’s going to slip away out of my life as permanently as if it died.
I refuse to let that happen.
Turning away from Mary’s glowing face, I stalk into my bedroom and close the door.
It’s time to take the shot at my future I planned on doing earlier. Weeks ago. Before Eden and Seth confronted me at The Coffee Shop.
Only now, it looks like for now it’s going to be a one-way conversation.
* * *
Hours later,I think I’ve captured everything I want to on Holly’s camera as the sun begins peeking its way above the clouds. I open a text and send a message to Holly.It was your your camera. If you want it, meet me at The Coffee Shop at ten.When the message shows Delivered, I place my phone on the nightstand before rolling over to get a few hours of sleep.
Baring one’s soul is a lot more exhausting than it looks.
