Sunday came, and something had been lifted. Maybe she was imagining it, but she could swear her foot hurt less when she put her weight on it as she stepped out of bed.
Tillie cracked open her window. It was almost May, and the air smelled fresh. Tillie’s fingers itched to capture Sunday’s morning light, which streamed through the branches of the trees with a melancholy beauty.
Tillie thought of her cameras, and closed her eyes, away from the window’s sunbeams. Her poor cameras. They were so beautiful, and now they were trash.
Her bedroom door was open a crack and Tillie sensed someone there.
“Yeah?” she said.
Her dad knocked a little on the door even as he opened it and said, “Morning. Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s okay,” she said, turning from the window to her dad. “I’m literally doing nothing.”
He held something in his hand.
“It’s been an … an odd month, huh?” he said.
“Yeah. I guess it has,” she admitted.
Outside, the birds’ chirping shifted from solos to chorus.
“Your teacher from the other day? Who called?” her dad said in his mumbling, awkward way.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“She’s the one, huh?” he asked. “Miss M … something?”
He wasn’t looking directly at Tillie as he spoke, but he looked toward her, toward the bed.
Tillie nodded.
“She described the photograph. The one for the art show?” He paused. “Is this it?” He pulled out the picture. Her dad, seemingly alone with his lunch. Tillie, reflected behind him. “I found it in the … in all the pictures that you took.”
Tillie stared at it in his big hand. It was stacked on top of a couple of others. The glossy papers shook slightly in his grip.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said. “It’s really not very good, actually.”
“Oh?” he said. He looked at it, squinting a little, as if trying to see it from her eyes. “I think it’s good. I really think you should let her put your work in. Don’t hide them from everyone, like Vivian Maier or something,” he said, in what sounded like an attempt to be funny. He paused like he was waiting for her to respond, but she didn’t, and then he went on. “She said that you turn in a lot of pictures of me. Those pictures of me that I found? Is that what they were for?” he asked.
“Partly,” Tillie whispered. Her voice came out like she hadn’t spoken in days—foggy and slow.
He paused and nodded. “Is the art show at school? Or…”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, okay,” he said. “Well, mind if I say something?”
“Yeah, sure,” Tillie answered with apprehension.
“I really like the photo you took of me for the art show…”
“Yeah?” Tillie said. She felt a “but” coming.
“But do you think Ms. Martinez might still let you do the show if you chose another one?”
Tillie felt herself sink into the bed. She leaned back against the wall. Maybe her dad wanted her to show her pictures, but not one from her “stalker” phase.
Her dad came farther into the room, standing right in front of her bed. “I’m sorry, but I took this from your room the other day. With the others. Maybe she’d let you use it instead,” her dad said. “I really love it.” He turned the photo toward her, and Tillie’s own face stared back. It was the self-portrait she had taken the day Ms. Martinez drove her to the doctor’s. Her mom had gotten it developed for her at Walmart a month or so ago, but Tillie had been so distracted by Jake’s dad that she hadn’t really taken it in.
In the image, Tillie stood in front of her closet’s mirror with a camera at her chest, her face peering into its own reflection, questioning. The camera’s strap slid slightly off one shoulder. Her foot stuck out to the side. Her stance, as always, fell lopsided. Her whole self, top to bottom, was visible. She still didn’t know what story the picture told.
“Of all your photos, I think I like it the best,” he said. “It’s perfect.”
Her dad said this like it was nothing.
“Dad,” Tillie said, and she could not explain why she said this in this moment, “I broke my cameras.”
Her dad’s forehead crinkled, like a ratty old piece of balled-up paper. He glanced behind himself, past Tillie, through the walls toward where her mom was getting ready for the day, and then all around himself, like he was searching for the voice that might have said those words.
He started to speak, stopped, started again, stopped again, and then said, “What?”
Tillie shrugged.
“Well, wha—” he said. “Wait, you broke it?”
“Them. I broke them. Plural,” she said. “The one grandpa gave me, too,” she added.
Tillie’s dad’s face fell. Shocked, she saw that her dad appeared much more pained than he ever had standing at the kitchen window, watching the birds. He looked more upset than in any fight with her mom. He closed his eyes, and to Tillie his face didn’t seem so unknowable anymore, but simply sad, and she really didn’t think she could take it any longer, all that sadness, so she just spit out what she had realized when she was with Jake the other day. This thought that had bubbled up within her, in the midst of everyone being so mad at her.
“I’m not mad at you, Dad. Okay?” she said, looking right into his shut eyes, right into his fallen face. “I forgive you.”
His eyes opened. The photos visibly shook in his hand.
“I just…” Tillie tried to continue. “So. I thought you should know.”
Her dad looked down at his feet and said, with care, as if feeling things out, “Til, listen. I know I shouldn’t have reacted by yelling about your pictures. I know. So, thanks for … I … What’d we say when you were a little kid? I ‘accept your apology,’ okay? I mean it. And I shouldn’t have yelled.”
His eyes darted downward, escaping her. He put a hand on his forehead.
“No, Dad. No, just … Look at me for a second, okay?” she said. Tillie felt her hair falling into her eyes. She pushed it away, placing it behind both shoulders. She looked straight at the man before her. She was seated on the bed as he stood, reminding her of how he used to stand, a bit apart, as her mom pushed her around in the wheelchair. “Look at me, Dad.”
Her dad looked down, up, side to side, until he finally managed to point his head toward hers. He didn’t look directly at her, but it was good enough. He stared at her forehead, maybe her cheeks, or her mouth, as that mouth spoke words she should have said long ago, if only she’d known they were the right ones.
“Dad,” she continued slowly, feeling out the word as if she’d never really said it before. “I forgive you.” She moved herself toward the edge of the bed and stood up next to him, facing him.
Tillie’s dad surprised her by laughing abruptly. A short, high-pitched laugh.
“What’s going on, Til?” he said.
Tillie fought the urge to pretend this wasn’t happening, like Jake pretended things didn’t happen. She couldn’t do that. She didn’t let her gaze go. Her gaze, unobstructed by the glass of a lens, frightened her, but it was still her most trusted skill and her best bet.
“I forgive you for the accident,” she said. “Okay? I’m not mad. And I’m okay, Dad. I’m really okay. And,” she took a breath, and repeated, “I forgive you.” She exhaled. “I always have.”
Tillie’s leg started to hurt. She hadn’t stretched yet, and she found herself leaning against the bed as she spoke to him.
She bit her lip.
Her dad stood there, his hands still at his sides. Silent.
“Ya know,” she said offhandedly, like how Jake did when he was trying to lighten the mood, “everybody makes mistakes.” She softened her voice completely. “Right, Dad?” Tillie ventured, moving her head forward with a tilt, a little more toward him.
He remained quiet, staring down.
If she waited long enough, maybe he’d say something.
But he didn’t.
Tillie’s dad pressed his lips together tightly, as if maybe he was mad. Then he looked up at the ceiling, like someone does in a prayer, though she’d never seen her dad pray before. He rubbed his forehead and ran a hand through his hair.
Finally, with no words, he looked into her eyes.
“Thanks.”
He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it for four years, and his eyes smiled.
“And now I have to sit back on the bed,” Tillie said. “I should stretch.”
In a flash, her dad took her elbow like her mom used to when Tillie was recovering from the accident, and he helped her sit down. She needed absolutely zero help, but she let him do it. They both sat on her bed and leaned against the wall together, legs out.
Down the hall, in the kitchen, they heard her mom.
“Pancakes,” Tillie said, right as her dad said it, too.
Tillie thought she heard him sniffle. But maybe it was nothing.
Tillie’s dad pulled her close.
Slowly, carefully, Tillie laid her head on her dad’s shoulder. Through his shoulder and the crease of his neck she could hear his heart beating. She felt his muscles stiffen, and then relax.
“Tillie,” her dad said. She could hear the vibrations of her name through his skin.
“Yeah?” she said. She could hardly breathe. She felt the muscles in her palm start to twitch, and she hoped he didn’t feel it, because then maybe he’d think she was uncomfortable, but really she felt like she was taking a warm shower after a chilly winter day.
“How about we go to the store?”
“Um,” Tillie said, a question in her voice. “Okay…”
“To pick you up a new camera.”
Tillie lifted her hand from his knee and put it to her chest.
“What?” she said, her head perking up and turning to him.
“How about we get you a new camera? Pick one out?”
It was like he had spoken gibberish.
“I don’t know anything about this stuff,” he said, his head bobbing slightly. “Is it not called a ‘store’ where you buy cameras? Is it a special kind of name? Like a ‘camera shop’? Is there some lingo?” He was almost babbling now. “Anyway, I don’t know what’s good, so I can’t really say, but I’m sure you know, right? You know all the good cameras.” He rubbed his hair, shaking it so that it looked even messier. Tillie thought of Jake with his dandruff. “And let’s not skimp on this.” He seemed to be talking to himself. “I think we need one that makes up for all two or three—or whatever it was—of the broken cameras. So you can take pictures that are, you know, as good as possible. As good as you are.”
Tillie stared at him.
“I mean, your photos are simply amazing, Tillie.” He took a breath. His voice slowed down. “I’ve noticed.” He breathed out, and she felt the heat of his breath on her shoulder. “I’ve always noticed,” he added with deliberation, articulating every syllable as he made another commendable attempt at prolonged eye contact. “I just…” And whatever else he had to say to her was still too hard. He exhaled. He lifted his hands and dropped them against his knees, as if giving up.
At her speechlessness, his forehead creased like he was a kid who was worried people didn’t like him, and he added, “We don’t need to get one right away or anything.”
Tillie’s cheeks bumped up against the bottom rims of her glasses because she was smiling so widely.
“No, yes, now!” she said. “Let’s go get Mom to take us! Now!” Tillie started to push herself up from his shoulders, and he stood to help her.
“Oh, no, no, it’s okay,” her dad said. “I’ll drive you.”
Tillie pretended she hardly heard this. But, for a second, she swore she could tap-dance all the way to New York City if she wanted to.
“Oh, okay,” was what she said aloud, as casually as possible.
“I’ll tell your mom.”
Her dad went down the hall to the kitchen and adult voices spoke.
Alone, Tillie picked up her phone. Her mom had never taken it back from her, though Tillie knew it wasn’t because she had forgotten. Her mom had forgiven her, too.
She texted Jake.
Dad’s taking me to get a new camera…!!!
A few seconds later, as she tied her shoelaces, her screen read:
good morning to you too … u r the best lost and found ever. glad to have you back
Tillie smiled and tucked her phone in her pocket, on vibrate, in case Jake or Abby texted her to meet up later. She couldn’t imagine she was still grounded.
When she got to the front door, the car keys were in her dad’s hand. He had thrown on a light jacket.
Her mom stood leaning in the doorway in her robe. “You’re missing out on pancakes.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Bye, you two. Have fun!” her mom said, way too cheerily.
Tillie and her dad stood at the door for a moment before her dad turned the doorknob, and they left.
* * *
As they walked toward the car, Tillie didn’t know exactly what she’d found, but she knew she’d found something. And with that wonderfully vague certainty, feeling the sweet, warming air graze across her face through the open car window, her dad putting in the key and turning on the radio, Tillie said goodbye to her old eyes. She let them close. She knew that this search was over, that when she opened her eyes again she would have a brand-new lens with which to see the world. With her eyes closed, Tillie thought of all she’d already found, and all that was left to find.
“You ready?” her dad said.
“Absolutely,” Tillie replied, her eyes opening to see him smile at her.
And he put the car in drive.