Page 47 of Penny For Your Thoughts
“Of course. Stupid Ruby. Did you find anything?”
A string of nonsensical sounds left my boyfriend’s mouth as he rounded the TV again. None of them answered my question, but that was Diem. He wanted a specific cable for a reason. If he was copying videos, then logically, he must have discovered something notable.
Finished setting up, Diem collapsed on a rickety chair in front of the TV. It creaked under his weight, but he didn’t seem concerned.
“Come here.” Diem hit me with a half-lidded gaze, a deeply rooted exhaustion radiating off him like heat waves.
I wasn’t sure how much morehereI could be, since I was already inside the cramped surveillancecloset, but when I shuffled a few feet closer, Diem snagged my wrist and tugged me onto his lap.
The chair groaned in protest at the added weight. “Is this a good idea? I feel like we’re going to crash.”
“It’s fine.” Diem nuzzled his nose against my neck as he secured his arms around my waist. “I missed you.” His lips tickled the sensitive spot below my ear before kissing lightly.
Cuddling again. Willingly. I tipped my head to the side, letting him have access and sighing contentedly at the attention. “Rough day?”
“Mm.” Another kiss.
“How was your lunch date… and meeting?”
Diem didn’t answer for a long time, and I wouldn’t have been shocked if he changed the subject. We didn’t make a habit of discussing his addictions. A chat about AA was not in the cards. Besides, the faint smoky scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes and skin told a tale of stress.
“It was… hard. I’m not supposed to talk about the meeting.”
“I get it. What happens at AA stays at AA.”
“Mm.” He squeezed me tighter and rested his forehead on my shoulder.
I’m proud of youfor going, I wanted to say, but the topic was touchy, and Diem was a jittery rabbit when thrown into the spotlight. He might flee at the first sign of danger if I wasn’t careful. I wanted to support him, but sometimes that meant shutting my mouth and enduring unexpected snuggles and affection.Oh, thetravesty. Poor me.
After a time, Diem hooked his chin over my shoulder and tapped the albums still clutched in my arms. “What are these?”
“Photo albums. They belong to Nana.”
Without a word, Diem relieved me of one and opened it, peering over my shoulder at the faded black and white pictures safely protected behind a thin sheet of plastic.
Diem wasn’t the narrative type, willing to dictate what he knew of Hazel Krause’s life, so I was left to create my own story from the captured moments as they were presented in the album. A group of teenage girls in long belted dresses with collared necklines, coiffed hair, and faces artfully painted with makeup greeted us on the first page. I wasn’t sure which girl was Hazel until Diem brushed a finger over her image.
The same girls posed on a beach, wearing bathing suits that might have been considered risqué at the time. I picked out Nana right away that time, knowing what she looked like thanks to Diem.
Posed on a rope swing, a coy expression for the photographer.
Wedged between an older man and woman, who I assumed were Diem’s great grandparents. Hazel wore the sulky face of a teenager who wanted to be anywhere else.
Diem turned the page, and his fingers moved to a photograph that made my breath catch. “Oh my god. It’s you.”
His chest bounced with silent laughter. “It’s Boone.”
“I know, but holy shit, the resemblance is terrifying.”
An older boy, wearing a familiar fedora and trench coat, stood beside Hazel in front of a boxy vehicle that would have been popular in the fifties with its rocket-like tail fins and wraparound windshield. A true classic car if I ever saw one. A cigarette dangled from Boone’s lips. He had one arm slung around Hazel’s shoulders, the thumb ofthe other hooked in the top of his pants. He looked devilishly happy, and it was no wonder. Hazel hung off his arm with love in her eyes.
“This was probably around the time they met,” Diem said. “Fifty-one, I think? Nana would have been about seventeen in this picture. Boone was twenty-seven.”
Itsked. “Robbing the cradle. No wonder he looks so pleased with himself.”
“It was normal back then.”
Diem turned to the next page. A half dozen more pictures of Hazel and Boone. On the following page, a wedding. I recognized Boone’s parents right away by the strong Krause genes. The rest of the album was predominantly the couple and their friends. Celebrations. Vacations. Parties.
