What was it doing here?
It wasn’t a particularly large piece. It didn’t have to be. She could close her eyes and recall every detail of the black-and-white photograph. Two young men, barely out of childhood, dressed in simple jeans and shirts, their arms around each other’s shoulders, in front of a storefront. The white boy was solemn, the Asian boy’s lips slightly curved, a devilish gleam in his eyes.
It had been taken a couple of weeks before Sam and his family had been sentenced to an internment camp for Japanese-Americans.
Another picture of her grandfather hung in amuseum in D.C., but that one had been taken by a photojournalist in the Central Utah camp where the Okas had been imprisoned. Sam’s smile had been missing then, his eyes somber, his body leaner, having had to endure things no child should have.
This photo had graced the first C&O from the minute it opened to the day it burned down.
“How does he have this? This was destroyed in the fire.”
Nicholas came to stand next to her. “I’m not sure. He tracked down the photographer, I think, and managed to get a copy.”
“What took its place?”
“Nothing. My father wanted to put up our family portrait, but Grandpa blocked him on that. There’s a blank spot in the front of the store.”
She nodded, her body numb. That was good. Bad enough to be erased, but maybe worse to be replaced.
The whir of a power chair came from behind them. Livvy turned, that numbness protecting her from her anxiety. She dropped her hand from the frame.
John was older, of course, but he sat straight and tall in his wheelchair. Thick, bushy eyebrows lowered over eyes remarkably similar to Nicholas’s. His mouth worked. “Livvy.”
She took a hesitant step forward, part of her still caught in fear, though he’d been the one to ask her to come here. The fear he would tell her to get out, or that her family had ruined his.
But still, she couldn’t stop that hopeful, needy step.
His jaw trembled, and then he did the best thing she could have imagined he’d do. He opened his arms.
Her pulse sped up at the gesture, at the pure, unadulterated eagerness to love her.
Without thinking, she crossed the room and crouched down, allowing him to pull her into his arms. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be, his arms weak, but that didn’t matter. He smelled faintly of cigars and dirt, of home and family and roots.
John smoothed her hair away, his calloused hand rough. He leaned back and beamed into her face, unashamed or unaware of the tears running down his cheeks. “Livvy?” he asked again, and another fresh wave of happiness ran through her at her name uttered in that gravelly voice. “Look at you. All grown up.” He shook his head. “You’re the spitting image of your grandma and mother.”
She sniffed, long and loud, and wiped the back of her hand over her nose. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You’re back. I can’t believe you’re back.”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m back, but temporarily.”
“How long will you be here?” John asked eagerly.
“I don’t know.”
Displeasure crossed his face, followed by resignation, but he rallied. “Are you hungry? Nicholas, go tell that jailer you’ve hired that we could use some food and drinks. He’s probably in the kitchen getting dinner ready.”
“Stop calling Chad your jailer. He’s your housekeeper.”
“I know an old-people caretaker when I see one.”
“He’s here to help you with anything you need. A housekeeper,” Nicholas said firmly.
John snorted as Nicholas left. “The boy thinks I’m an idiot.” He squeezed her hands. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you. I’ve dreamed of this, you know.”
“Me too.” She hesitated. “I was scared to come here. I thought...”
“I’d shun you.” He nodded, unsurprised. “After what my son did, that’s a reasonable assumption for you to make.”
