Chapter 2 - The Photograph Sharon Tried to Burn
Sharon slammed both hands onto the table and shouted, “Don’t show Claire!”
My father held an old photograph between two fingers.
One corner had been burned black.
On the back, someone had written a date.
It was three days before I was born.
My birthday suddenly belonged to someone else.
I stood outside the locked kitchen door with my mother still on the phone.
“Mom,” I whispered, “why is Sharon screaming my name?”
“Claire, go to your car.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No more.”
The words surprised me.
Maybe because I had spent so many years saying yes when I meant no.
Yes, Derek, dinner is fine.
Yes, Derek, I understand why you’re angry.
Yes, Derek, I shouldn’t have embarrassed you.
Yes, Derek, I fell.
Yes, Derek, I’ll cover it.
No more.
“I’m not leaving until somebody tells me what is happening.”
My mother was silent.
Then she said, “Put your father on.”
“The door is locked.”
“Then knock.”
I did.
Dad looked over.
“Mom wants you.”
He unlocked the door immediately.
Derek started forward.
Dad raised one hand.
“Stay there.”
And somehow Derek did.
I entered cautiously.
The room smelled like coffee and strawberries.
One chair was overturned.
The candles had burned low enough that wax was dripping into the frosting.
It looked absurdly normal.
Dad took my phone.
“Evelyn.”
I couldn’t hear my mother’s response.
Dad closed his eyes.
“No.”
Pause.
“I know.”
Another pause.
“She deserves the truth.”
Sharon shook her head.
“She doesn’t.”
Dad looked at her.
“You lost the right to decide that.”
He handed the phone back.
Mom was crying.
“Claire?”
“I’m here.”
“Come home.”
“After you tell me.”
She exhaled.
“Your father will explain.”
Derek laughed bitterly.
“This is insane. Claire gets slapped once and suddenly everybody’s digging up ancient family garbage?”
Dad turned.
“Say that again.”
Derek didn’t.
I walked to the table.
“Show me the photograph.”
Dad hesitated.
That hurt.
“You just said I deserve the truth.”
He gave it to me.
The photograph was faded.
A younger version of my father stood outside his old garage.
Beside him was another man.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Smiling.
The man wore Derek’s watch.
Richard Sutton.
I recognized him from the framed photograph Sharon kept in her living room.
But there was someone else in the picture.
My mother.
She looked terrified.
One hand was resting over her stomach.
Pregnant with me.
Behind them stood Sharon.
And Sharon was holding a red gasoline can.
“What is this?”
Dad pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
“Claire—”
“Tell me.”
Sharon whispered, “Richard was not a good man.”
Derek stared at her.
“You spent my entire childhood telling me Dad was a hero.”
She looked at him.
“I lied.”
That shut him up.
Dad leaned against the counter.
“Richard owned a small trucking company.”
“I know.”
“No. You know what Sharon told you.”
He looked at Derek.
“Richard’s company moved stolen cars.”
Derek scoffed.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I repaired some of them.”
Dad’s voice carried no pride.
“When I figured out where they were coming from, I refused to touch another one.”
“What does that have to do with Claire?”
“Your father didn’t accept no.”
Dad looked at me.
“He threatened our family.”
My mother’s voice came faintly through my phone.
I put it on speaker.
“Tell her all of it, Raymond.”
Dad nodded.
“Richard started coming to the garage. First he offered money. Then threats.”
He rubbed the scar across his wrist.
“One night he came drunk. Your mother was there.”
I looked at Mom’s name glowing on my phone screen.
“What happened?”
“He grabbed her.”
My stomach turned.
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“I stopped him.”
“How?”
Dad looked away.
“He left with a broken nose.”
Sharon laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Broken nose? Raymond, you nearly put him through a windshield.”
Dad looked at her.
“He put his hands on my pregnant wife.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed.
“So that’s it? You hated my dad?”
“No.”
Dad pointed at the photograph.
“That picture was taken later.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
Sharon sat slowly.
“Richard had started keeping records. Names. Vehicle numbers. Payments. He thought information made him untouchable.”
“And?”
“He hid copies.”
Dad looked at Derek’s watch.
“One inside that.”
Derek stared down.
“My watch?”
“Richard told me the engraving wasn’t initials. Not really.”
Dad picked it up.
“He said it was a reminder.”
“Of what?”
Dad turned the watch over.
“Red Maple Storage.”
Sharon closed her eyes.
Derek went pale.
“What’s Red Maple Storage?”
Dad answered.
“The place Richard kept everything that could destroy the people he worked with.”
Derek laughed nervously.
“My father died twenty-three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“So whatever was there is gone.”
Sharon whispered, “No.”
Everyone looked at her.
She pressed her hands together.
“I kept paying for it.”
Derek stared.
“What?”
“Every month.”
“For twenty-three years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She began crying.
“Because Richard made me promise.”
Derek slammed his palm against the table.
“You told me he died in a highway accident!”
“He did.”
“You told me everything was gone!”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted you to be different from him!”
Derek looked toward me.
My bruised face answered the question Sharon hadn’t asked.
Different?
No.
Not enough.
Dad looked at Sharon.
“When did Derek start hitting Claire?”
“I didn’t know.”
I laughed.
It came out broken.
“You saw me.”
Sharon looked at me.
“I suspected.”
“You brought concealer.”
Her face collapsed.
That had happened four months earlier.
I had told Sharon I bumped my face against a cabinet.
The next morning she arrived with expensive concealer.
She never asked another question.
“You knew,” I said.
“I was afraid.”
“Of your son?”
“Of what would happen if Raymond found out.”
Dad looked sick.
“That’s why you were crawling away.”
Sharon nodded.
“You thought I would hurt him.”
“You almost killed Richard.”
“He attacked my wife.”
“And you promised afterward that if Derek ever became like him—”
She stopped.
Derek turned.
“If I ever became like him, what?”
Nobody answered.
Derek grabbed his watch.
He examined the scratched back.
Then he threw it onto the table.
“This is garbage.”
A tiny metallic sound followed.
Something had come loose.
We all looked down.
The back plate of the watch had shifted.
Dad reached for it.
Derek got there first.
He twisted the plate.
Inside was a folded strip of yellow paper.
Nobody moved.
Derek pulled it out.
There were numbers written on it.
14-7-22.
Then another line.
B-314.
Sharon covered her mouth.
Dad whispered, “The unit.”
“What?”
“Red Maple.”
Derek stared at the paper.
“That place still exists?”
Sharon nodded.
Dad reached for his keys.
“I’m going.”
“So am I,” I said.
“No.”
“Dad.”
“Claire, you need a doctor.”
“I need answers.”
He looked at my face.
I held his gaze.
For the first time that day, he seemed to understand I wasn’t asking permission.
“Fine.”
Derek grabbed his jacket.
“You’re not going anywhere without me.”
I stepped back.
Dad moved between us.
“No.”
“That was my father’s watch.”
“And she is my daughter.”
“It’s my family.”
I looked at Derek.
“Not anymore.”
He froze.
I surprised myself again.
Derek stared at me as if I had spoken in another language.
“What did you say?”
“I said not anymore.”
“Claire.”
“I’m done.”
His expression shifted.
Not sadness.
Not remorse.
Possession.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m awake.”
That frightened him.
I could see it.
Dad handed me my coat.
Sharon suddenly stood.
“I’m coming too.”
Derek laughed.
“Great. Family field trip.”
Nobody responded.
Twenty minutes later, Dad’s truck pulled into the parking lot of Red Maple Storage on the industrial edge of Dallas.
The place looked half abandoned.
Rows of metal doors.
Faded numbers.
A sleepy security office.
Unit B-314 sat near the back fence.
Sharon produced a key from her purse.
“You carried that all these years?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Richard told me never to lose it.”
Dad looked at her.
“And you never opened the unit?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“The week after he died.”
“What did you see?”
She looked at Derek.
“Enough.”
She inserted the key.
The lock opened.
Dad raised the metal door.
Darkness waited inside.
He switched on his phone flashlight.
Boxes.
A desk.
Old filing cabinets.
And a chair.
Someone was sitting in it.
Dad stopped.
The figure slowly raised his head.
May you like
Sharon screamed.
Because the man inside looked exactly like Richard Sutton.
