warm dry air. We put the boxes down on the empty dining room table. I left her there and went back down to grab another box. It felt strange to be down there by myself.
When I picked up the box, the flimsy cardboard started to come apart. Another photograph fell out at my feet. Another faded color picture, this time of a woman’s face. I bent down, picked it up, and looked into the eyes of a woman who had to be Natalie’s mother. She was fairer than Natalie, with red hair and green eyes. This was where Natalie’s Irish side came from, to go with the dark features inherited from her father.
The woman was turned slightly sideways. She looked into the camera with a shy smile, perhaps a little too knowing at the same time. She seemed aware, most of all, that she was taking a damned good picture.
When I got back upstairs, Natalie was sitting at the dining room table, a dozen photographs spread out before her.
“Here’s some more,” I said. I took out the picture and showed it to her. “I’m guessing this is your mother.”
She put her hand to her mouth. “My God.”
“I shouldn’t even be looking at this stuff,” I said. “I mean, you should go through it yourself.”
“Look at her,” she said, ignoring me. “She was so beautiful.” She took it from me and held it in front of her.
“This was back in the sixties, too?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her first name, anyway?”
“Grace,” she said. “Her name is Grace.”
“That’s a good name.”
“God damn it, what did she do to herself?”
“Natalie, has something bad happened to her since then?”
“Just herself, mostly. Not to mention marrying Albert after my father was gone. Plus a lot of alcohol.” She put the photograph facedown on the table. “I’m sorry, I can’t even look at this now.”
“There are a couple more boxes,” I said. “I’ll go get them.”
I made two more trips to the basement. Whatever had caused such a strong reaction to seeing her mother’s picture, she seemed to put it behind her quickly. By the time I brought up the last box, she was busy sorting through all of the contents.
“I guess I was saving the basement for last,” she said. “You can see why I was dreading it.”
“Natalie, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Alex. Here, look, I found another photo from that same day.”
She showed it to me. Her father was standing in the middle of the shot again, the gray hat on his head. He had one arm around Natalie’s mother now, the other arm on his father’s back. The old man was smiling now, like he had finally given in to the occasion.
“Where’s DeMarco?” I said. “Is he taking the picture?”
“I think so. That first one must have been taken by my mother.”
“That hat…”
She shook her head. “It’s hard to believe, but I know it’s the same hat. I know it. And if Simon Grant had that hat…” She stopped.
“What?”
“Maybe he killed him, Alex. Maybe Simon Grant killed my father.”
“You can’t know that.”
“It all fits,” she said. “We never found out who did it. Now maybe I finally know.”
“Tell me again,” I said. “What do you know about how your father was killed?”
“I told you, my grandfather never talked about it. Not ever. It was my mother who told me what little I knew. He was in a bar in Michigan and somebody killed him. I think that was her way of telling me to stay away from bars. Which was kind of ironic, coming from her.”
“Nobody was ever arrested?”
“Nobody.”
I picked up the photo again.
“Natalie, didn’t you ever ask her to tell you the whole story?”
She looked up at me. “What, ask my mother?”
“Didn’t you want to know?”
“He was protecting somebody, some woman in the bar. He was just an innocent bystander. That’s what my mother said, anyway.”
“That’s all? If you wanted to find out more, couldn’t you just call her right now?”
“Alex, it’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“You gotta understand,” she said. “I can’t just call my mother and ask her something like that. Not if I really want to know the answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“She lies, Alex. Every other thing she says is an outright, complete lie. It’s her gift. It’s the reason she was put on this earth.”
“She lies even to you?”
“Especially to me. She saves her best work for me. Her masterpieces. You want an example?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s see. There were so many of them… Okay, how about this one? When I was twelve years old, when she and Albert got married, she moved out of this house and took me with her. We were living down by Toronto, in this really big house. The guy was already pretty rich by then. I’m in this huge house with a gigantic bedroom of my own and it was the absolute worst time of my life. I don’t even like to think of it now. But the one thing I had going for me was I had a dog. That was the only friend I had in the world, the whole time I was there. This little beagle mutt named Keon.”
“You named your dog Keon?”
“After Dave Keon, from the Maple Leafs. I was a big hockey fan, even back then. Anyway, one day I come home and Keon’s not there. I asked my mother where he was and she said he ran away. She gave me this whole description of him getting off the leash and her running down the street chasing after Keon, going through everybody’s backyard.”
“Let me guess. The dog didn’t really run away.”
“No, he didn’t. But it wasn’t enough for her to just tell me that lie. She had to go crazy with it. We were out there putting up posters, Alex. We put an ad in the newspaper. We were driving in the car, all over the neighborhood, me with my head out the window calling Keon’s name. We did that for five days. Until finally, the guy across the street comes over with one of the posters in his hand, and he says to my mother, ‘Hey, didn’t I see you run over a dog in your driveway?’”
“Oh, no.”
“She kept lying, Alex. She said no, that wasn’t Keon, that was another dog. And this guy was saying, ‘Well, he looked just like this dog on the poster.’ So my mother yells at him and tells him to mind his own business. But, of course, then I knew what had happened. I wasn’t an idiot. After all that time, I finally got her to admit that she had killed the dog. She says to me, ‘I didn’t want to tell you because I knew it would make you sad.’ Like going through this charade for five days was somehow better than just telling me what had happened.”
“That’s pretty bad.”
“How about one more,” she said. “When I told her about what Albert was doing to me, she promised me she’d make him stop. She promised me he’d never touch me again.”
She didn’t look up at me. She picked up a photograph and ran her fingers along the edge.
“My mother promised me, Alex. Never again, she said. Never again, my sweet little daughter. If she had to, she’d take me with her and run away forever.”
I sat there and watched her, not sure what to say. She picked up a few more photographs and sorted through them.
“I grew up with lies,” she finally said. “To this day, I cannot stand for someone to lie to me.”
