Page 65 of Nailed

“You’re right. It’s a god-awful idea,” Clara countered.

“Okay, okay, let’s talk this out,” Brock intervened, and while the three of them started on a verbal sparring match, I quietly grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos, wanting to commemorate the moment.

I grinned as I looked through the fresh shots, but my smile instantly disappeared when I tried to find Rafe. He was standing by himself in a corner, his phone pressed to his ear and a brooding expression souring his features.

This was the only imperfection in all of this, the knowledge that there was something wrong with him and that he just simply refused to share it. If not with me, then at least with Callum or Brock. I knew how isolating and heavy that type of burden, regardless of the details, could be.

“Hey,” I called over to him once the call ended. He looked up, misery still etched all over his face.

“Come over here and help me break them up, will you?” I asked lightly.

Rafe’s eyes scanned over me, then to the arguing trio a few feet away. This was something the old Rafe would’ve loved to get involved in, especially if it meant putting himself in the spotlight. But instead, he just shook his head.

“I’m sure you’ve got that covered,” he said, then disappeared into one of the storage rooms.

I lowered my camera, suspicion twisting my stomach into pretzel knots. This just solidified it for me. Whatever was happening was even more serious than I thought and not even the other two knew about it. He needed help even if he insisted on slapping it away each time it was offered.

I was well acquainted with that particular coping mechanism.

24

Lauren

The day of the exhibition arrived in a flash.

But we’d somehow managed to pull it off—plastic sheeting and all, much to Clara’s dismay. But the rest of the engine bay more than made up for it. The natural deep slate grays and red brick of the firehouse served as the backdrop, contrasting well with the mossy green velvet “disaster” bar stool chairs that caught the low light. The gang had helped me mount large-format black-and-white prints on the raw plywood sheets Rafe had cut out, with some suspended from copper piping using industrial clips.

Callum and I had spent some time planning out where to strategically place honeycomb grid lights and Edison bulbs around the space to help conceal the machinery we weren’t able to lug out to storage. And strangely enough, the shadows cast actually added more shape to the room, making it feel atmospheric.

The bar stools were clustered around high-top tables laden with finger snacks and drinks, and Callum had the brilliant idea to hide a pair of Bluetooth speakers behind the massive Bay rollers and inside the vintage locker banks. The result was that the carefully-selected blues and soul music carried a surround-sound effect in the background.

It was absolutely perfect and I couldn’t have been more thankful to all of them for helping me. In fact, right before the doors could open, I had one final photo that I wanted to hang on the main gallery wall, near the darkroom entrance. I grabbed Callum and got him to help me.

When we were done, we stepped back and admired the beautiful photo. Brock and Rafe were somewhere in the vicinity, and Clara was busy flourishing little finishing touches to the room. When she saw Cal and I just staring at the wall, she came over quietly.

“Lauren, boys, it’s almost showtime. You should probably get dressed and—” she stopped dead in her tracks when she finally registered the portrait. It was her, caught mid-laugh in the soft, natural light of the day trip we took a month ago. She hadn’t even realized that I’d taken the photo at the time, but she was incredibly photogenic.

The little label at the bottom read, “safe harbor.” The piece that held the room together.

Clara’s eyes watered. “Lauren this is…this is me?”

I nodded, unsure of what to say. I wasn’t great with words, which is where my career came in to help convey the things I couldn’t. Like the beauty I found in her friendship, the gratitude I had for the help she’d offered me from the beginning without demanding repayment. Clara was just that kind of person, and the best way I could think of to truly thank her, was to show off that beauty to the rest of the city.

I hoped that signage could portray just a bit of that.

Clara looked at me, holding her arms out uncertainly. I hadn’t been the most physically affectionate, and that was largely because it was foreign territory to me. But I walked into her embrace and she held me tightly, sniffing.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “This is one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever done for me.”

“I should be the one thanking you for everything you’ve done for me,” I said, tightening my arms around her. “You gave me a helping hand when you owed me nothing. This was the very least I could do.”

She made a sound that was half sob and half laughter, then pulled back and quickly wiped at her eyes. “Okay, enough of the sentimental shit. We have half an hour before this exhibition opens. Are you ready?”

“More than,” I said with a grin.

“Then let’s get this started.”

*