The Photo Said I Must Die novel · Chapter 24 of 24

Chapter 24: The Last Frame

In October the terrace was gray and cold, and I had never liked a place more.

The summer people had gone.

The paper lanterns were down, and the long tables were stacked in the shed, and the sea was flat and gray.

Table four stood at the corner of the boards, in its usual place, with two chairs and a brass number.

"You're late," Judd said.

"I was at the clinic."

"You've been at the clinic for nine days. You live here."

"I live here when I'm not being paid to hold a beagle."

He grinned, and the chip in his tooth caught the light.

He had been waiting at the table with a blanket over one arm and a thermos in his hand.

His aunt sat on the bench by the kitchen door with her coat buttoned to her chin and a camera in her lap.

It was the brass-ringed one, and it had a little dial that said one.

"I'd like to remind you both," the aunt said, "that I've never operated a time machine."

"It's a camera," said Judd.

"It's a hazard. Point me."

I took the chair that faced the sea.

Judd took the other.

The new rail was pale against the gray water, with no cut in it anywhere.

Oliver had come up the day before to help Judd stain it.

He had stayed one night and gone back to Worcester.

He said he'd see me at Thanksgiving.

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