Chapter 2: The Woman in My Father's Photograph
I spent the rest of the night staring at the photograph.
The woman had dark hair, a narrow face, and a small crescent-shaped scar above her left eyebrow. Her hand rested protectively on the shoulder of the little girl beside her.
The girl couldn't have been more than five.
She had my eyes.
My smile.
Even the same tiny gap between her front teeth.
I turned the photograph over again.
If they ever turn against you, call her.
Dad's handwriting was unmistakable. The capital letters leaned slightly to the right, and he always crossed his sevens with a short horizontal line.
I had seen those letters on birthday cards, school notes, and the last Christmas present he had wrapped for me.
This wasn't a mistake.
He had deliberately left me this message.
But why?
And why had my mother hidden the box?
I checked the clock. It was nearly midnight.
Tomorrow was supposed to be the happiest day of my young life. Instead, I was sitting on my bedroom floor with paint on my hands, a ruined dress beside me, and a photograph that seemed to suggest my father had kept an entire part of his life secret.
A knock sounded at my door.
"Mia?"" Mom called.
"Are you awake?""
I quickly slipped the photograph into my pillowcase.
"Yes.""
"Can I come in?""
I glanced at the blue-stained towel on the floor.
"What for?""
There was a pause.
"I want to talk.""
I unlocked the door.
Mom stepped inside carrying a mug of warm milk. She looked tired, but not nearly as tired as I felt.
Her gaze moved to the dress.
"You haven't cleaned up?""
I stared at her.
"That's what you came to ask?""
She placed the mug on my desk.
"I came to make sure you're okay.""
"Then why are you looking at the floor?""
Her lips pressed together.
"Mia, I understand you're upset.""
"No, you don't.""
"Please don't start again.""
I almost laughed.
Even now, she was afraid of an argument more than she was concerned about what had caused it.
I folded my arms.
"Did you know Brianna was going to do that?""
Mom's eyes widened.
"Of course not!""
"Did Richard?""
"Absolutely not.""
"Then why is everyone defending her?""
"Because she said it was an accident.""
"She was smiling.""
"You're interpreting everything in the worst possible way.""
I looked at the dress.
"Would you be saying that if she'd poured paint over Brianna's dress?""
Mom didn't answer.
The silence was enough.
She moved toward the bed and picked up the locket chain that had fallen onto the blanket.
"Your father used to say you had a stubborn streak.""
I snatched the chain from her hand.
"Don't talk about Dad like you knew what he would think.""
Her expression changed.
For the first time that evening, I saw something besides irritation in her eyes.
Fear.
It appeared for only a second, but I noticed it.
"What does that mean?"" I asked.
"Nothing.""
"You just said—"
"Your ceremony is tomorrow," she interrupted.
"Let's focus on that. Richard can take you shopping first thing in the morning.""
"I don't want another dress.""
"Mia, be reasonable.""
"I want the one I paid for.""
"And I told you we'll replace it.""
"That's not the same thing.""
Mom rubbed her forehead.
"Why do you always make everything so difficult?""
I stared at her.
Then I asked the question that had been burning inside me since I found the photograph.
"Mom, did Dad have secrets?""
She went completely still.
The mug on my desk gave a faint rattle when her elbow brushed it.
"What kind of question is that?""
"Just answer me.""
"Your father was a good man.""
"I didn't ask if he was good.""
She turned toward the door.
"I'm tired, Mia.""
"Mom.""
She stopped.
For a moment, I thought she might turn around and tell me the truth.
Instead, she said, "Whatever you think you know about the past, leave it there. Some things only cause pain when you dig them up.""
Then she left.
I locked the door behind her.
My hands were shaking.
I hadn't shown her the photograph.
I hadn't even mentioned Evelyn's name.
Yet she had reacted as if she knew exactly what I was asking about.
I waited until I heard her bedroom door close.
Then I pulled the photograph from my pillowcase and examined it beneath my desk lamp.
On the lower corner, nearly hidden by a fold, was the name of a photography studio.
Harrison Portraits.
I searched the name on my phone. The business had closed years ago, but an old directory listing showed that it had once operated on the other side of town.
I couldn't explain why, but I felt that the photograph was more than a memory.
It was a door.
And Dad had left me the key.
At six the next morning, I dressed in jeans and a sweater, wrapped the photograph in a tissue, and slipped it into my pocket.
I wasn't going shopping for a replacement dress.
I was going to find Evelyn Carter.
Before leaving, I checked the kitchen. Mom was asleep, Richard's truck was gone, and Brianna's bedroom door was closed.
I wrote a note saying I needed some air and walked to the bus stop.
The address from the old directory led me to a narrow street lined with aging storefronts. The photography studio was gone, replaced by a pharmacy and a vacant office with paper taped across its windows.
I asked the pharmacist whether he remembered the business.
He shook his head.
"That place closed before I started working here.""
"Do you know where the owner went?""
"Try the library. They keep old business directories.""
The public library opened at eight. I spent forty minutes searching through archived telephone books before finding a listing for Harrison Portraits.
The owner's name was Samuel Harrison.
Beside it was an address.
I wrote it down and hurried outside.
The address led to a modest house with a red mailbox and a porch crowded with potted plants. An elderly man answered after my second knock.
"Can I help you?""
"Are you Samuel Harrison?""
"I am. Who's asking?""
I pulled out the photograph.
"My father had this picture taken at your studio. His name was Daniel Rose.""
The old man's expression shifted.
He took the photograph from me and studied it for several seconds.
"Daniel," he murmured.
"I wondered when someone from his family might come looking.""
My heart skipped.
"You remember him?""
"Of course I remember him."" Samuel stepped aside.
"Come in, young lady.""
His living room smelled of old books and furniture polish. Photographs covered one wall, and a large wooden clock ticked beside the fireplace.
Samuel placed my photograph on the coffee table.
"Where did you get this?""
"My dad left it for me.""
"When?""
"Four years ago. He died shortly afterward.""
Samuel removed his glasses.
"I'm sorry to hear that.""
"Do you know the woman in the picture?""
He looked at me carefully.
"Her name is Evelyn Carter.""
"I found a phone number on the back, but I don't know if it still works.""
Samuel leaned back in his chair.
"Daniel asked me to keep copies of certain photographs. He was worried that the originals might disappear.""
"Disappear?""
He nodded slowly.
"He came here more than once with that woman. They were trying to protect something important.""
I leaned forward.
"What were they protecting?""
Samuel's gaze moved toward the window.
"That isn't something I can tell you without knowing what your father wanted you to discover.""
"He left me this picture. I think he wanted me to find her.""
"Then perhaps you should.""
He reached for a small notebook beside his telephone and wrote down an address.
"Evelyn moved several years ago. This is the last address I have for her.""
I took the paper.
"Thank you.""
Before I stood, Samuel caught my wrist gently.
"One more thing, Mia.""
I froze.
"How do you know my name?""
He released my hand and pointed to the photograph.
"The resemblance. Daniel used to bring you here when you were little. You probably don't remember.""
I searched my memory, but nothing came.
"Was Evelyn my father's friend?""
Samuel hesitated.
"She was someone your father trusted.""
"Was she family?""
He looked at me for a long moment.
"That is a question you should ask her.""
I left with the address folded inside my pocket.
On the bus ride across town, I called the number from the photograph.
A woman answered after four rings.
"Hello?""
I nearly hung up.
"Is this Evelyn Carter?""
"Who is this?""
"My name is Mia Rose. My father was Daniel Rose.""
Silence.
Then I heard a sharp intake of breath.
"Mia?""
"Yes.""
"Oh, my God."" Her voice broke.
"How old are you now?""
"Sixteen.""
She began crying.
Not the quiet kind of crying people did when they were embarrassed.
It was the kind that escaped before a person could stop it.
"I've been waiting for this call for years," she whispered.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Why?""
"Because your father made me promise not to contact you until you were old enough to understand.""
"Understand what?""
She took a shaky breath.
"Mia, where are you right now?""
"On a bus.""
"Can you come to my house?""
I read the address Samuel had given me.
"I'm on my way.""
"Good. And sweetheart?""
"Yes?""
"Don't tell your mother you've spoken to me.""
The bus lurched around a corner.
My stomach tightened.
"Why not?""
Evelyn was quiet for several seconds.
May you like
Then she said something that made the entire world seem to stop.
"Because your mother knows exactly who I am. And if she finds out you've come looking for me, she'll do everything she can to stop you from learning what your father left you.""
