Chapter 27 - The End
Eleven months after the portrait incident, Matthew Lane came to my house to photograph Elsie again.
Not for the Foundation.
Not for the Avery anniversary.
For kindergarten.
The school needed a simple family photograph for a classroom project titled:
PEOPLE WHO LOVE ME.
Elsie chose the people.
Me.
My sister Julia.
Caroline’s sister Megan.
Our old dog, Winston.
Winston objected by falling asleep before Matthew finished setting the lights.
Elsie wore a yellow dress.
No formal cardigan.
No special family jewelry.
No assigned chair.
Matthew looked around the living room.
“Where do you want everyone?”
Elsie answered:
“I sit middle.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course you do.”
She pointed.
“Daddy here.”
I moved.
“Aunt Julia there.”
Julia obeyed.
“Megan there.”
Megan sat.
“Winston front.”
Winston did not obey.
He remained sideways across the rug.
Matthew said:
“That might be the best we get.”
Elsie frowned.
Then accepted the artistic compromise.
On the side table sat the old anniversary book.
The corrected edition.
Not displayed ceremonially.
I had been reading a chapter about a factory strike in 1922 and forgotten to put it away.
Elsie noticed.
“That family book?”
“Yes.”
“Am I in it?”
“Yes.”
“Picture?”
“One.”
“Good one?”
“You were eating watermelon.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
Then forgot about it.
That was what I wanted.
Her place in the family did not need constant inspection.
Matthew lifted the camera.
“Everybody ready?”
Elsie raised one hand.
“Wait.”
My body remembered another room.
Another portrait.
Another wait.
She reached into her hair.
Pulled off the little yellow bow Megan had clipped there ten minutes earlier.
Megan laughed.
“You don’t want it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It pokes.”
Reason enough.
Elsie threw it gently onto the couch.
Then sat back.
Hair messy.
Perfectly uninterested in history.
Matthew looked at me.
I nodded.
He raised the camera.
Then the doorbell rang.
Elsie groaned.
“No!”
Matthew lowered the camera.
Julia checked the door monitor.
Her expression changed.
“Dominic.”
“Who?”
“Gideon.”
I stood.
Elsie looked at me.
“Dinosaur cousin?”
Apparently that was his new category.
“Yes.”
“Why here?”
I checked my phone.
One unread message from five minutes earlier.
GIDEON:
Dropping off Foundation archive forms you asked for. I’ll leave them outside.
I had forgotten.
No ambush.
No secret reconciliation plan.
I went to the door.
Opened it.
Gideon stood on the porch holding an envelope.
He did not step forward.
“Bad time.”
“Photo.”
He almost smiled.
“Of course.”
Then Elsie appeared behind my leg.
“Hi.”
Gideon’s face softened.
“Hi, Elsie.”
She looked at the envelope.
“What’s that?”
“Boring adult papers.”
“Okay.”
Then:
“You brought dinosaur before?”
“No. Your dad did.”
“He blames you.”
“I heard.”
I looked at him.
“Leave.”
He laughed once.
Then caught himself.
“Right.”
He put the envelope on the porch table.
“Happy kindergarten.”
Elsie said:
“Thanks.”
No hug.
No invitation.
No forgiveness performance.
Gideon walked back to his car.
Elsie returned to the living room before he reached the driveway.
Simple.
A relationship might exist later.
Or not.
Nothing had to be decided today.
Matthew repositioned the camera.
“Ready again?”
Elsie climbed into the middle spot.
Then looked at Winston.
The dog had rolled onto his back.
“This picture is ruined.”
I smiled.
“By fake blood?”
She stared at me blankly.
For one awful second I worried I had used a phrase she still carried.
Then she pointed at Winston.
“By fake sleeping.”
Relief nearly made me laugh.
Winston opened one eye.
Caught.
Everyone laughed.
Matthew raised the camera.
“Okay. Don’t move.”
Elsie immediately moved.
She leaned sideways against me.
Julia shifted closer.
Megan rested one hand behind Elsie’s chair.
Winston sneezed.
Matthew clicked the shutter.
Then again.
Then:
“I got it.”
Elsie jumped down.
“Can I see?”
Matthew showed her the screen.
It was not formal.
No perfect symmetry.
No bloodline arrangement.
No one standing where a genealogist had told them to stand.
Just people.
Elsie pointed at herself.
“That’s me.”
“Yes.”
Then at Caroline’s sister.
“Megan.”
“Yes.”
“Julia.”
“Yes.”
“Daddy.”
“Yes.”
“Winston.”
“Unfortunately.”
She laughed.
Then asked:
“Who gets picture?”
“Your class.”
“Family book too?”
I thought.
“Do you want it in the family archive?”
She shrugged.
“Sure.”
No fear.
No need.
Just sure.
I looked at Matthew.
“You heard the archivist.”
Elsie protested.
“I’m not archivist.”
“Sorry.”
She picked up the yellow hair bow from the couch.
Turned it over.
Then placed it on Winston’s head.
He tolerated this indignity for approximately three seconds.
Matthew lifted the camera again.
Click.
Elsie laughed so hard she fell against my knee.
I caught her.
Not because someone had pulled her away.
Not because a chair had become a battlefield.
Because she was four—almost five—and laughing too hard to stand straight.
Matthew took one final picture.
No one posed.
No one decided who belonged before the shutter opened.
Elsie was in the middle because she had put herself there.
May you like
And this time, nobody reached for her chair.
The End
