Sam said what Charlie must have known. “Absent a confession, they have no proof against him.”
“I keep telling myself that Dad saw him that night, and that he knew it was Fahey, but he decided to let it go, so we should let it go.”
Sam chose not to patronize her sister with Rusty’s line about the value in forgiveness. “Isn’t this exactly what you said you wanted to do—learn to let things go?”
“Yeah, well, I thought you were learning not to be a pain in my ass.”
Sam smiled. “I want to send you a check for cleaning—”
“Stop.” Charlie was too stubborn to take Sam’s money. “Look, we were thinking of taking a vacation before we start our new jobs. Swing down to Florida for a few days to make sure Lenore is settling in, then maybe fly up to see you?”
Sam felt her smile strain at her cheeks. “You won’t accept my money but you’ll accept free room and board?”
“Exactly.”
“I’d like that.” Sam looked around her apartment. Suddenly, it felt too sterile. She needed to buy things like pillows and hang some artwork and maybe add some color before Charlie got here. She wanted her sister to know that she had made herself a home.
Charlie said, “Okay, I’ve got to go stew and complain about this to Ben until I wear myself out. Check your email. We found something crazy in the basement.”
Sam cringed. The basement had been the bachelor farmer’s domain. “Is this another weird thing that’s going to freak me out?”
“Check your email.”
“I just checked it.”
“Check it again, but when we’re off the phone.”
“I can look while we’re—”
Charlie had hung up.
Sam rolled her eyes. There was a downside to having her little sister back in her life.
She clicked the home button on her phone. She opened her email. She dragged down the screen with her thumb. The circle spun as the emails reloaded.
Nothing new appeared at the top. Sam reloaded the emails again.
Still nothing.
She took off her glasses. She rubbed her eyes. She ran through all the troubling bachelor farmer surprises they had already found in the basement: assorted lingerie, various shoes, but only left ones, and a clock of a naked woman that had a perverted Tweety Bird effect.
Fosco jumped onto the counter. He sniffed the empty bowl of yogurt, clearly disappointed. Sam scratched his ears. He started to purr.
Her phone chirped.
Charlie’s email had finally arrived.
Sam skimmed the listing: this message has no content.
“Charlie,” she mumbled. Sam opened the email, mentally preparing a wry response, only to find that the message was not empty.
A file was attached at the bottom.
Tap to download.
Sam’s thumb hovered over the icon.
The file name was above her nail.
Instead of tapping the screen, she put the phone down on the counter.
She leaned over, pressing her forehead to the cold marble. Her eyes closed. Her hands clasped together in her lap. She slowly breathed in, filling her lungs, before she breathed out again. She listened to the pelting rain. She waited for the butterflies in her stomach to float away.
Fosco nudged her cheek. He purred exuberantly.
Sam took another deep breath. She sat back up. She scratched Fosco’s ears until he’d had enough and jumped down.
She put on her glasses. She picked up her phone. She looked at the email, the name of the file.
Gamma.jpg
If Charlie had been Rusty’s creature, Sam had felt herself entirely Gamma’s own. As a child, Sam had spent so many hours watching her mother, studying her, wanting to be like her—to be interesting, to be smart, to be good, to be right; but after Gamma’s death, whenever Sam tried to summon her mother’s face, she found herself unable to fill in the corresponding expressions—a smile, a look of surprise, a look of puzzlement, of dubiousness, of curiosity, of encouragement, of delight.
Until now.
Sam tapped the file. She watched the image load onto her phone.
She covered her mouth with her hand. She did nothing to stop her tears.
Charlie had found the photograph.
Not the photo, but the mythical photograph from Rusty’s love story.
Sam stared at the image for minutes, for hours, for as long as it took to make her memories become whole.
As Rusty had described, Gamma was standing in a field. The red picnic blanket was on the ground. In the distance, there was an old weather tower; wood, not like the metal tower back home. Gamma’s body was turned toward the camera. Her hands rested on her slim hips. One of her legs, admittedly beautiful, was bent at the knee. She was clearly trying not to give Rusty the satisfaction of laughing at something foolish he had said. An eyebrow was raised. Her white teeth showed. Freckles dotted her pale cheeks. She had a slight dimple in her chin.
Sam could not deny her father’s assessment of the critical moment that had been captured on film. The vivid blue of Gamma’s eyes undoubtedly showed a woman falling in love, but there was something else; a set to her mouth, an awareness of the coming challenges, a willingness to learn, a hope for convention, for children, for family, for a full, useful life.
Sam knew that this was exactly how Gamma would’ve wanted to be remembered: head straight, shoulders back, teeth ground, forever stalking joy.