I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(76)

Kay frowns. “Did you send him any?” Her voice is soft, her brow creased with worry.

I sit back and run my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I did.” I admit, sighing. “I transferred a small amount into his account. Not much though.” I shrug. “It should be all right.”

“Oh, okay.” Kay shifts on my leg.

She begins to study Will’s comic pages, examining every panel intently. She’s quiet, too quiet, but I know it’s because she doesn’t want to say too much and put a damper on the excitement I’m feeling over rebuilding all the shit I ruined with my brother. I realize my girl doesn’t want Will manipulated me, or taking advantage of my wanting so badly to repair the relationship with him. I don’t want that, either, but he and I have to start somewhere.

Kay, still studying Will’s art, suddenly says, “Did you notice the hero—this Champion guy—looks kind of like you?”

She points to one of the panels, and I lean in to take a closer look. “Huh, I guess he does resemble me a little.”

“He definitely does, Chase.” She laughs. “His hair is just shorter, but other than that…” My girl takes my chin in her hand and smiles knowingly before she lets go.

Shit, maybe she’s right. And maybe that means there’s still a part of Will that looks up to me.

Kay turns back to the computer and clicks the jpeg file. The photo of Will and my mom expands, filling the screen. “Your mom and Will?” she asks.

“Yep.”

“They sure look a lot alike,” she muses.

“They do.”

My girl turns to me, then back to the picture on the computer screen. “You look a little like your mom, Chase, but not a whole lot. I guess you take more after your Dad?”

Ha, understatement of the year.

I don’t say a word. I just locate a folder of old photos my gram scanned and saved onto this computer. When I find the right one, I double-click it. Scanning the thumbnails, I search for a picture of my dad from when he was about my age. When I find what I want, I open it. The picture enlarges, replacing the one of Will and Mom.

Kay’s jaw drops. Her eyes slowly move from the picture on the screen to me, then back to the photo. The picture is of my dad out on the front porch of this very house. Jack Gartner is holding up what would end up being one of the first of many award plaques he received over the years. This one was for quality home-building. If you didn’t know any better, you would think the photo was of me. That’s how much he and I look alike in this image.

Kay stares at the photo, and then her eyes dart back to me again. She reaches out and trails a finger down the smooth skin of my recently shaved cheek. “My God, you look exactly like your father, Chase.”

“I know, baby, I know.” My hand covers hers and I bring her palm to my lips.

She thanks me for showing her the photo. She also gives me a sad smile; my girl knows how hard it is for me to be reminded of my father.

I close the picture. Kay’s still eyeing me and biting her lower lip. I know that’s her contemplative look. “What are you up to?” I ask.

“Hold on,” she says suddenly, twirling out and away from my hold. “I have something I want to share with you too.”

She’s out of the room in a snap, but gone for only a few minutes. When she returns, there’s a small photo album in her hand. It’s the kind you slip the photos into, the type with clear sleeves on either side. But when she stands next to me and flips through the album, I notice it’s mostly empty.

“My mom has all our best pictures,” she hurriedly explains when she sees me staring sadly at all the empty sleeves.

I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to explain anything to me, ever, but she just shakes her head, so I stay quiet.

Kay reaches a page with pictures and puts her thumb there to hold her place. She whispers, “Even though I don’t have many, I still have a few…a few of the very best.”

I can’t see the photos since the album is mostly closed, but I put my hand on her hip and give her a reassuring squeeze. Sweet girl smiles at me and slowly hands me the album.

There are four photos—two per page—of a cute little girl who is smiling big in every shot. She beams like my girl does when she’s really happy, this little girl definitely has Kay’s smile, and her hair is the same chestnut-brown shade as Kay’s hair. But the little girl in the photos has green eyes, not the caramel browns I’ve come to know so well.

“That was Sarah,” Kay says, voice cracking. “She was five in those pictures.”

As hard as it was for me to pull up my dad’s picture, this is obviously f*cking ten times harder for Kay. I put my leg out and she sits down on my lap, she rests her head on my shoulder. I hold the book where we both can see. I trace the edge of one of the sleeves holding a picture of Kay’s little sister. “She’s adorable,” I say quietly.

“She was,” my sad-voiced girl says back.

All of the photos are of Sarah in an apple orchard. From the fiery colors of the leaves on the trees, it looks to have been around harvest time. In the first two shots, Sarah is picking ripened apples from a low-hanging branch. In the next one, she’s sitting on the ground, placing her just-picked apples in a bushel basket that’s almost as big as her. In the final shot, Kay’s little sister is grinning wide at the camera, looking up with love at the person taking the picture. Kay doesn’t have to tell me she was the one behind the lens.