Behind His Lens(90)

“I loved him so much,” she continues. “He was the only real family I had, and I wanted to keep a part of him. So, I changed my name from Clarissa Lock to Charley Whitlock, and for the most part, people from my old life have left me alone.”

She pauses, tilting her head to the side and reaching out to run her pointer finger along the sunken script. Her finger carries away a layer of dirt that had settled over Charles— cleansing his name and her soul all at once.

“The media tore him to shreds, and I listened to every single word, hoping their image of him would tarnish mine, but nothing they said could take away the memories he gave me. He was the most loving father I could have ever asked for. I don’t know why he took his own life instead of going to prison, but I have to believe it was because he was sick…”

“I walked in as he was about to kick the chair away. He hung himself in our garage. I was going in to grab my sneakers.”

Her eyes glance up to me as she clutches her hands on top of each knee, gripping them as if her life depends on it.

“I had run in the rain the morning before and my sneakers were muddy, so I left them in the garage to dry out. I can still picture it in my mind as clear as this gravestone in front of me. But he didn’t stop when I walked in; he was already too far gone. He’d made up his mind a long time ago and nothing I said could have changed it.”

“When we locked eyes as he toed the edge of that chair, he had a tortured expression across his features. He knew how much it would hurt me to witness him take his own life. By that point, I was the only thing he had left to live for. Which is why I’ve never been able to comprehend how he still kicked the chair away.”

“But now I realize that for him, it was the only outcome he could reconcile— the only option that truly set me free from his mistakes. He didn’t want me to watch him get dragged through the mud, rotting away in prison for the rest of his life. He didn’t want me to spend my weekends and holidays in the visitation room of a federal penitentiary.”

She pauses, allowing a few shallow inhales to pass. For a moment I think she might not continue, but then her brows furrow in frustration.

“For the past four years I’ve clutched onto my mother’s guilt like a lifeline. She was already planning her next marriage to his best friend, Brad Temple, before the charges against my dad were even investigated. She broke his heart. She didn’t give a shit about him or his arrest. He busted his ass and broke the law to provide her with the kind of lifestyle she demanded, and in return, she left him without a second glance.” I cringe at the hatred in her tone as she continues, “I’ve wished every day that I found her hanging there instead of him, but I know that wish will get me nowhere. It’s been eating away at me for the past four years.”


Her heels collapse and she sinks down to sit on the soles of her feet as her hands splay open. The red roses roll out of her palm and scatter against the bottom of her father’s gravestone. They’re the only color against a bleak grey backdrop.

“I have to forgive him and forgive her, or I’ll rot away just like they are. For four years I’ve let my wounds putrefy…” Her words spill forth as her eyes cast up toward the heart of the tree. The golden leaves rustle in the wind and I let their song comfort her rather than trying to stumble over some shitty condolence. She looks utterly spent, but the tears and the breakdown don’t come.

I stand a few feet away, studying her intently. Small particles of dust swirl around her, visible only in the beams of light that break through the tree’s canopy. The entire scene makes her truly look like a fallen angel, never meant for this world.

“Will you tell me more about him?” I ask, stepping forward and taking a seat next to her. My gut tells me that she’s kept him tucked away in her mind for the past four years. If it were me, I’d be brimming with untold memories.

Her eyes don’t meet mine, but she falls back onto her butt and wraps her hands around her knees staring wistfully toward his grave. “He was really silly when it was just us. To the rest of the world, he was a strict business man, but around me he had the best sense of humor. His laugh was the first thing I let myself remember. It was so deep and passionate. He didn’t hold anything back. If he was going to laugh, he wanted the entire world to laugh with him.”

I smile, thinking of her infectious laugh. “You have that affect as well when you let yourself laugh.”

Her eyes narrow and she rocks her body gently on top of the ground.