Callan climbs out of his car and stands beside it, staring at the ground for a moment. Eventually he looks up and gives us a brief wave. Two days ago, he would have been over here like a shot, trying to talk to me, to get me to hear him out. It seems as though his priorities have changed, though. He gives us a tight smile and heads inside his place. I consider bursting into tears.
“Let him breathe, child. Let him work through this a while. I’ve been watching you together for years now. I know it ain’t done. Believe me, the two of you have still got a long road ahead of you, and you’ll be walking it together, no doubt about it.”
Callan closes the front door behind him, swallowed by the darkness inside the house, and my heart splinters a little more. “I don’t know about that, Friday. I think our road has finally come to an end. I think this is where I go my way and he goes his. For good this time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CALLAN
Bluebird
NOW
Seeing Coralie over at Friday’s was hard. Every molecule inside my body was drawn to her, wanted me to go over there and take her in my arms, hug her to me and never let go. For years I’ve felt that way. It’s going to take more than five minutes to break that need for her, even if I don’t want to feel that way anymore. And I can’t figure out if that’s even what I want.
God. Why did she have to keep secrets from me like that? On one hand, I get it. It must have been awful for her to go through that. Victims of abuse are often so mentally distressed by what’s happened to them that they never really admit it to anyone at all. I’ve read about it before. Seen it often enough in the models I shoot from time to time. I just never thought I’d be so blind to it, especially in someone I was so close to at the time, though. Makes me feel like I failed her. And she failed me. What a fucking mess.
Should I go over there and say goodbye to her? Should I even tell her that I’m leaving? I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m so turned around by the events of the last few days that I can’t trust myself to make the right decision. I pace the house, trying to think, but an hour later nothing is clearer. My flight back to New York is in just over twelve hours. This job with Capali should be a good distraction, but there’s a solid chance my head simply won’t be in the game. If that happens, my work will be for shit.
Damn it. Maybe I should just get moving. Head to the airport early, see if there are any earlier flights. I stand in the living room, assaulted by visions of what happened in here with Coralie when she was over last, and I find myself torn again. I push the feelings down though. I just have to fucking leave. I need to get the hell out of here.
Running upstairs, I head to my room and grab my bag. I reach over my bed, about to hit the light switch so I can leave, when I kick something heavy under the bed. A part of my brain already knows what it is, but I find myself looking anyway, crouching down and flinging back the duvet to reveal the wicker basket Mom used to keep my Legos in when I was younger. I’d dumped them out when I was thirteen, though. Started using it for my photography equipment. My hand rests on top of the woven wood, my heart aching in my chest all of a sudden. If I open this and see what’s inside, I know perfectly well what will happen.
One, two, three, four, five, six…
I count to twenty before I make up my mind and pull the basket out. I wait another full minute with both my hands covering my mouth, breathing hard, before I unfasten the catch and lift back the lid.
Disposable cameras. At least thirty of them. Half of them are mine; half of them are Coralie’s. Inside those cameras are over eighteen months’ worth of memories, love, hurt, joy, suffering and pain. We agreed we would wait to develop them—they were supposed to be printed after ten years on the anniversary we started dating. They’ve sat in here two years longer than they were ever meant to. Back when I was seventeen, I was looking forward to developing these so much. I envisioned Coralie and I locking ourselves away in a dark room together and watching over each exposure, waiting with baited breath while a snapshot of our past blossomed into existence. It was supposed to be a beautiful moment. It was supposed to be special.