Chapters (54)
- Cover
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Epilogue
- A Note from the Author
- Discussion Questions
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Acclaim for David Rawlings
- Also by David Rawlings
The moment to address Peter presented itself. “I’m glad you’ve raised it. I had Gramps’s camera on my desk all day yesterday, but as you pointed out, the film was already used up.”
“Gramps’s last photos. Have you got them back yet?” The slate of Peter’s expression remained blank.
“Yes, and they were all of people at work. The entire roll of film.” Daniel left the point hanging in the air.
Peter’s stony gaze remained. “So who do you think it was?”
Daniel steepled his fingers under his nose, allowing space in the conversation for Peter to fill. But unlike his clients, Peter was comfortable facing a weapon he himself wielded with ease.
“My first thought was you.”
Peter’s reaction wasn’t scrambling for an answer or fumbling for an apology. He reddened in offense.
“You know me better than that.” He shifted on the sofa. “So was that what your comments were all about? You were ticked off that someone used your camera? Why didn’t you just ask?”
Daniel couldn’t share his answer. It was more than someone using his camera. He needed to know who would take a photo of his book and erase his name from the cover.
“And one of the photos was of my book.” He again left that point hanging in the air.
Peter’s brow furrowed, and he studied his boss. “Well, we’re all fans of No Secrets around here, so it could have been any of us, I guess.”
Monique’s beaming smile leaned into the doorway. “Peter, your nine thirty is here.”
Peter headed for the doorway but then turned. “Just be honest with me next time, okay? And if I can say this as a friend—for all of us—we have to practice what we preach.” Peter nodded at the pile of books on Daniel’s desk. “And what we write about in bestselling books.”
Daniel stared at the pile, and the nonappearance of his second book again reared its head. That was another part of his life where the pressure was an ever-tightening ratchet.
A rapping came at his door, and a burgundy streak in defiance of gray appeared halfway up his doorway.
And this was another.
Twelve
Kelly stood in Gramps’s favorite room, the afternoon sunlight warming her shoulders as it streamed through thinning, sheer white curtains. His tiny apartment felt smaller. They had removed only two boxes, but the place felt lesser for it. Only an old burgundy suede recliner pointed at a tiny television in the corner remained, the seat and armrests shiny from use. Hanging over one armrest was the sling containing his remote control and dog-eared crossword book.
One last room, and Gramps would be consigned to memory. An entire life lived, a rocky path forged, a complete journey navigated, and they were about to put the last of him into a box for disposal.