The overhead lights in the editing room cast onto the large oak table covered in scattered photos of faces staring back at me. Some are parents posing with their kids and family pets, while others are of newly engaged couples, but my favorite is the collection of photos from a maternity shoot. 

The mother-to-be is barefoot in a red, gauzy dress, her toes in the sand on Baker Beach as the sun sets over the Golden Gate Bridge behind her. Rays of fading daylight shine through her brunette hair, fluttering in the wind. But the light also seeps through her red dress, creating the perfect outline of her very pregnant belly.

The woman is beautiful as pride for her unborn child radiates across her face while caressing her belly. 

For some reason, it makes me think of Amelia Moreno. I wonder if she looked this stunning while pregnant with Valentina? It must have been soul-crushing to discover that her firstborn child was missing.

That I was missing.

“I like these…” Jerry says, isolating the photographs he thinks are best. “Just look at the dog’s smile. The dog is actually smiling! That’s one hell of a shot.”

“It is pretty good,” I laugh because the black and brown Rottweiler’s mouth is wide open as if he’s grinning, even though he’s probably just panting. 

“Create a package for these, and have Winnie set up an appointment for the Kennedy family to review them.”

“Got it.”

“And I like these…” He adjusts the thick-framed glasses he always uses to study photos. “But they aren’t as sharp. For a shot like this, we want her gorgeous ring to shine, but instead, it’s fuzzy.”

“I see…” I squint because it looks fine to me.

“Do you?” Jerry cuts his gaze towards me. “Our clients pay us more because we don’t use digital. We give them the old school treatment where we shoot with actual film and develop them by hand. Our photos are richer and more elegant because of it. If you can’t see how that ring is clearly out of focus, then I don’t know what I’m paying you for!”

“Wow.” My eyes widen because after the weekend I've had, the last thing I need is for Jerry to go off on me. 

“I understand that you’ve been sick, but that doesn’t mean it’s ok to slack off while working with clients. They don’t deserve a photographer half-assing a special day for them.”

“Jerry.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. “I am not a slacker. I’ve just been dealing with some extraordinary things lately.”

“You Gen Zers really think everything is a crisis,” he snorts.

“I’m not being dramatic. I’ve been arguing with my dad about some serious stuff, ok?”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t surprise me,” he sighs and groups a few photos from the engagement shoot. So I study him while gnawing at the dry skin on my lip.

“The other day, you said my dad has always been a prick. Why?”

“He was just always a self-centered asshole,” Jerry snorts. “One of those guys who does whatever he wants and doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks because we’re all living in his world. Know what I mean?”

“Not really. To me, he’s always been sweet and caring. Selfless.” 

“Yeah, well, Winnie would describe me the same way, except I used to be a bottom-of-the-barrel drug addict with zero morals or a conscience.”

“The key word is used to be.”

“So, what’s up with your old man?” Jerry removes his glasses and leans his butt against the oak table with his palms resting on the edge. “What's he doing to get under your skin?”

“I don’t want to get into it.” I shrug. “It’s too complicated, but I do want to know more about what he was like in high school.”

“High school? Gosh, it seems like a thousand moons ago.” Jerry rubs the back of his neck but concedes to my request. “I was friends with your mom first. Elaine was a knockout, but not in the way most people think. She just had this cool calm about her. When she entered class, it was like she floated. Ethereal, you know? I wanted her to sing in my band, but she was too shy.”

“My mom could sing?”

“Oh, yeah, she had a great voice! Reminded me of Dolores O’Riordan from The Cranberries. But then, in eleventh grade, she started dating your dad, and he was the typical bad boy, like John Bender in the Breakfast Club, and something about her shifted. She was always on the quiet side, but she became even more introverted with him. It was like no one else existed except them and their relationship. Your dad was super jealous too. If another guy looked at her twice, he would get in their face. I can’t tell you how often I had to break up his fist fights.”

“Just for looking at her?”

“Yep. He was something else, but I also didn’t mind him. He was a funny little shit, always giving the teachers a hard time. One day, he nudged me during math class and said, ‘This is boring. Dare me to dance on the table.’ So I did, and he climbed on his desk and began doing the most epic Elvis impersonation ever. I have no idea why he did it, but it was hilarious, and Ms. Wendell was fuming. He got detention for a week after that.”

“Sounds like he was quite the rebel.” 

“Well, nobody was shocked when he got arrested for stealing from your grandparents, that’s for sure.”

“Do you know what happened when he got out of jail?”

“From what I remember, your parents packed you up and disappeared. It wasn’t until years later when I heard from your dad again.”

“After my mom died.”

“Yeah. I was really sorry to hear about that. Fuck cancer.”

“Cancer?” I furrow my brows.

“Oh, shit…” Jerry purses his lips and folds his arms. “It was breast cancer. Or was it colon?”

“Try depression and a razor blade.”

“What?” He reels his head back.

“My mother killed herself.”

“No.” Jerry shakes his head. “I would have remembered that.”

“Well, it sounds like my dad lied to you. It turns out he’s a compulsive liar.”

“Val.” He straightens his posture and places his hands on my shoulders, concern knitting his forehead into deep grooves. “What’s really going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Val.” He cocks a brow. “You’ve been missing work a lot lately. It’s not like you to do that, and you seem very unfocused these last few days. Something is wrong.”

“It’s nothing. I just…” I shrug and dart his gaze, but Jerry isn’t having it.

“Val, you forget I have a master’s degree in sensing bullshit. Something is wrong, and I need you to tell me. Now.”

Jerry leans against the table again and folds his arms. Sometimes I forget that he isn’t just my boss. He’s a father with a daughter my age, so his spidey-parental senses go off when things are amiss. But, unlike my father, Jerry is a great dad to Winnie, so I know his stern gaze is just loving concern. 

Taking a deep breath, I search his eyes, and upon exhaling, I let the words spill. I tell Jerry everything.

Forty minutes later, I find him in the garden behind the studio, a cigarette in hand with the smoke curling upwards as he rubs his forehead while staring into space. He’s marinating in the info dump I just unloaded on him. My phone chimes, so I glance down and see a few missed calls from Moses and one from Lisa’s dad. Backing away from the patio door, I glance around for Julian. Something in my gut says I’m going to need him by my side as I return their calls.

∆∆∆

An hour later, I find myself sitting on the stoop of the studio, elbows on my knees, as I hold out lab results from the hair sample and cheek swab I handed Moses a week ago. I shouldn’t be surprised, but it reveals I am not the biological daughter of Angelo Rossi, and the facts staring me in the face slap me like a hot iron skillet. So I crumple the lab results in my fist and scoff.

“I don’t know why I’m so upset about this.” I drag my sleeve under my nose and sniffle. “Especially since Lisa’s dad says my DNA matches what the FBI has on file for Valentina.”

“Ah, shit.” Moses kneels before me on the steps and takes my hands, his eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry, Val.”

“It is what it is.” I shrug.

“Let me take you away from here. Let’s go somewhere for a few days and live in a bubble for a bit.” 

“I can’t.” 

“What do you mean?”

“The FBI is tracking my father’s phone. They want to bring him in for questioning. I need to be here when they do.”

“Tracking him? Is he on the run?”

“No. They tracked him back to Redding, so they’re on their way there.” I wiggle my phone at him. “And now I wait.”

“Now we wait.” 

Moses settles down next to me on the steps and drapes his arm over my shoulder. I snuggle into him, needing the safety of his warmth from this glacial afternoon of truths. 

“Can we go back to your place?” I gaze up at him through damp lashes. “I don’t want to go home to mine yet.”

“Yeah… sure.” He furrows his brows for the briefest second, and had I blinked, I would have missed it, but I ignore it as he kisses my temple. “Of course, you can. As long as you don’t mind the mess.” 

“I am the definition of a mess,” I snort. 

“Give yourself more credit.” Moses bumps my shoulder. 

Dusting off his knees, he stands and hauls me with him. When I spring to my feet, I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. So, he slides his arms around my waist and gently lifts me off the ground. We stand there, with me in his tight embrace, as the wind rustles the leaves in the trees on the sidewalk. His smell is starting to remind me more and more of that feeling of being home, but then he kisses my neck and sets me back down. But I don’t let go. Instead, I bury my head in his chest, breathe him in, and pray that when I open my eyes, everything will have been a dream. 

Except it isn’t.

"Ready to go, beautiful?" He caresses my cheek.

"Yes." I give him one last squeeze.

Then we climb into his car and head home. But it’s there where things fall apart even more.