Chapter 27
The morning goes by in a blur. Not five minutes after Tom leaves, I hear another knock. It’s one of Mom’s staff with a dress for me to wear. I don’t recognize it, so it must mean our comms people are being extra attentive to my presentation today.
It’s a classic Ralph Lauren green-and-navy-blue dress.
It’s stylish and cute, but after wearing tank tops and shorts for the past month, I’m feeling some whiplash.
Another staff member stops by to help with my hair.
I sigh. Time to switch to “autopilot” as I get told what to wear, where to go, and what to say.
Shortly after I’m dressed, I’m led to the Treaty Room to discuss Dad’s eating-healthy initiative.
I admire the delicious breakfast food displayed, but it’s a stark contrast to the stacks of pancakes and ham biscuits I’ve been noshing on the past few weeks.
I smile and say the minimum as my dad leads the discussion.
One reporter dares to ask me a question, and it’s simply, “How are you feeling today, Abby?”
“I’m well, thank you for asking.” Smile, nod. Done.
“How’s your summer going?” another asks.
I pause. Not great, to be honest. A boy who I trusted betrayed me and yet somehow, I can’t stop thinking of him. “Also well,” I say.
“Any comment about your relationship with Oliver Darby?” the reporter follows up.
My body tenses as all the cameras in the room focus on me. I guess I’ll be making the five o’clock news again. I force another smile. “Oliver and I are doing well.”
“How about we focus on an issue important to families and children?” my father interrupts. Dad meets my gaze and I flash him an appreciative smile. I do my best to fade into the background.
The tea with visiting dignitaries in the White House Treaty Room is a prim and proper affair, which I pass with flying colors because it requires me to sit pretty, nod, smile, and offer gracious thanks while my mother leads the discussion.
And all the reporters here have the sense to focus on Mom and her guests.
I sit and hold my teacup as I’ve been taught. Only once does my hand feel shaky. Fortunately, one of the staff is nearby and offers me a refill so I can lower my cup. The tea runs five minutes behind schedule.
“Thank you, Abby, for doing this. We won’t be in DC much longer,” my mom says in my ear before leaving for her next appointment.
She’s referring to our trip to Italy right after the White House Independence Day Gala, but it’s not hard for my mind to think more dramatically.
We only have three more years before her second term is done.
And for two of those years, I’ll be away at college.
And then in a high-powered career. And then the other half of a power couple.
My life is already planned. It’s practically written in the stars.
A firm hand taps my shoulder. “Hey, do you want me to find that journalist who asked about your summer and throw him out?” I laugh and gaze at Shaw, whose arched brow looks like a weapon.
“No, let’s just force him to eat pineapple pizza,” I joke before sighing. “I’m pretty sure my next appointment is starting soon. Better go before Mom’s team has a heart attack.”
It’s not until we enter the White House Blue Room that I remember the group we’re meeting next. It’s the US Presidential Art Scholars.
I’m happy to see they’re closer to my age. College students from across the country who’ve won scholarships for different forms of arts. I’m thankful none of them give any I-saw-you-in-the-news vibes as we shake hands.
I meet painters, sculptors, poets, and photography scholars, which of course makes me think of Gabriel. As my father speaks, I smile as I listen in the background.
I try not to be awkward as they talk about their work, but all I can think about is Gabriel.
How much he would enjoy being here with his people.
And how I wish I could call him up and FaceTime him.
But you’re not supposed to want to talk with the guy who betrayed you.
You shouldn’t care about his future. He’s not supposed to be running through your mind like this.
“For what it’s worth, the artistry of the photographs is first class,” one of the group’s chaperones says to me.
The voice is familiar. My father continues to address the students, so a quick side conversation is fine. “I’m sorry, Professor…” My eyes widen with recognition. It’s the art philanthropist from Italy who Gabe and I met at the state dinner.
“Luca Ferro,” he says with a grin.
“Of course, so good to see you again,” I say.
He laughs. “I just snuck in now. The Presidential Scholars will be doing an international exchange with the Firenze Accademia.”
I recognize that name immediately. The Firenze Accademia is the art school Gabe wants to go to. I compose myself. “Which photographs do you mean?” I ask.
He looks apologetic. “The ones about your summer.” His smile is soft.
“I think you’re entitled to be a kid just like any other.
And I’m sorry those photos are not ones you wanted shared, but I thought you’d like to know that a few of them are very, very good.
” He grins. “I remember meeting this young man at dinner with you. From the way he spoke, I could tell he knew a great deal about photography. Now I see the evidence.”
My ears perk up. “Please tell me more, Signor Ferro.”
“The night sky, astrophotography in particular, it takes a lot of skill. And to also have you appear in the photograph as well.” He shakes his head with a respectful gaze. “He’s quite talented. I’d love to see more of his work.”
I blush. I recall that evening so vividly, but I had no idea how much effort Gabe was putting into those shots to capture them—it’s flattering to think about it.
And for Signor Ferro to commend him and wish to see more of his work?
It would be great to pass this news to Gabe, wouldn’t it?
Ferro is exactly the kind of person who could help Gabe get into the Accademia.
My belly flutters with anxiety. What if I contact Gabe, but he ignores me?
And why would I talk to him after he sold me out?
“Thank you, Signor Ferro. It’s so kind of you to say, but Gabe and me…Well, you saw those photos. We’re not exactly talking…” My voice trails off.
He grins. “Of course. But I also saw the two of you at dinner. You two are beautiful dance partners.” He produces a card from his blazer pocket. “Just in case.” I smile politely as I accept the card. I imagine it burning a hole in my pocket.
I’m mindlessly staring at the cake showcase on TV when I see the reflection of someone gliding into my room. “Ano ’yan? Is that supposed to be a troll?” Tita Karra asks, pointing at the lumpy green cake figure on the screen.
“It’s an alien,” I tell her. “The theme for this round is Out of This World.”
“If this was a Filipino contestant, they would’ve made a kapre.
They’re green and lumpy.” She plops on my bed.
Seeing Tita Karra makes my stomach lurch.
She’s transformed from her Mystic Hollow look, jeans and plaid, to a chic and polished pantsuit.
She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Come out to the living room. We’re setting up for Monopoly. ”
Monopoly? Does she want to rub Gabe’s favorite board game in my face? “I’m not in the mood,” I say.
She pulls me up. “You will be when I share some news.” I follow her to the living room. It’s an inviting scene. Mom, Dad, and Elle in pajamas, sitting around a coffee table. It’s so rare we spend time like this together I feel guilty for wanting to sit this out.
Mom smiles at me and Tita Karra. “Oh good. I was in the mood to embarrass my sister this evening.”
Tita Karra rolls her eyes but sits on a cushion eagerly. “Speaking of embarrassing,” she says. “I have some information you’ll want to hear about the photographs of Abby.”
The room goes pin-drop silent. My mom squints. “Do I need to get our lawyers on the phone?”
“No.” Tita Karra waves her hand dismissively. “It wasn’t Gabe who sold the photos.”
Elle screeches. “I knew it!”
My mouth goes dry. “But those were his photos. I was in them. I know he took them.”
Tita Karra nods. “Gabriel took the photos, but he didn’t sell them. It was Kyle.”
I rock back. “Kyle? How did he—”
“Kyle worked with Gabriel on a few news stories. He still had access to Gabriel’s cloud storage. He downloaded those photos without Gabriel’s knowledge.”
I cover my face. “Why would Kyle do this?” But the answer comes to me immediately. Kyle wanted another big story like the one he and Gabriel broke about the congressman.
I look at Tita Karra for confirmation. “So it wasn’t Gabriel.”
She nods and rummages through her purse and puts a manila folder on the table, and then gestures for me to open it.
I swallow as I empty the contents onto the Monopoly board.
Photos spill onto the coffee table. They’re photos of me.
My mother holds them up and murmurs with appreciation.
Even Dad comments that the kid has an eye.
I stare at the photos, me awash in sunlight, eating ice cream. Quiet, private, happy moments and pure elation. All the things I felt when I was with him.
The last photo in the stack nearly slips from my hands.
It’s me, sitting at the edge of a hill, eyes on the horizon.
My profile, my pose…it’s identical to the one of my great-grandmother Liwayway when she was my age.
Tears sting my eyes. Gabe remembered that photo from the night we first met.
And somehow, he re-created it—a quiet tribute to her, and to my family’s history.
My mom’s eyes water as I show her the image. I gasp finding writing on the back: Abby, I promised I wouldn’t share any of these without your approval, but I thought you’d like copies to add to your family collection. —G
P.S. I think you have a lot in common with your brave lola.
I smile through my tears as I stare at the stacks and stacks of images in shock. It must’ve taken him days to pull this together. Some of the photos were on his digital camera, but for others he used his dad’s analog camera and would’ve had to develop them in a darkroom.
My mother squeezes my shoulder. “He’s very talented,” she offers with a look of appreciation and apology.
“He is.” I hold up an image of me smiling in front of the inn’s pineapple sign.
“These photos, the Mystic Hollow Inn, and the jubilee. They all represent the things you and I love about this country: remembering our history, building community, and serving our neighbors whether they’re in a city or a small town,” I say.
“Gabe was able to capture that spirit—along with some carefree summer days. What’s more American than teenagers enjoying some independence?
” I pause and am thrilled as my family’s slow clap turns into a thunderous applause straight from a teen flick.
I smile, glad to see Gabriel’s photos don’t inspire just me.
My chest tightens as I think of him and Mystic Hollow. I fix my attention on Tita. “How’s the jubilee coming along?”
She bites her lip. “After the fireworks show going to the Darbys and the controversy of the photos, Ruby decided to cancel the jubilee. The guests who did book with them are canceling their rooms.”
I cover my face. “I ruined their business.”
“Honey, no, you did not,” Mom responds gently. “It sounds like they’ve been in trouble for a while.”
“I just wish there was something I could—” I stop mid-sentence as I remember my own advice: It’s not what you got, it’s who you know.
I turn to my mother. “Mom, I have a proposal for you.”