Page 85 of No Funny Business

“The guy had a good sense of humor,” he says.

“It’s not just comedy. Check these out.” I walk my fingertips to the other side of the box and begin pulling out his favorite music. “Journey. The Eagles. Tom Petty. Boston.”

“Wow. Let me see those.” The two of us fish through the row of records like we’re in an indie music store in the Village, pulling out gems in awe. “Do you think he has other photos hidden in any of these?” Nick asks.

The idea hadn’t occurred to me. The Eddie Murphy album was the only one he asked me to keep. Clearly my dad could keep secrets. “It’s possible but I doubt it.”

“Let’s scope it out.” Nick flicks his eyebrows, intrigued by the excursion. It’s cute that he’s curious about my past. A quality that’s making me want a future with him.

We split the record collection in two and slide out every vinyl from its cardboard sleeve—through The Who, Bob Marley, Def Leppard, and even Mungo Jerry, there isn’t a single hidden item.

“Bingo!” he says, holding a copy of Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction.

My heart stops when I catch a glimpse of the faded photo. A tiny me sits on the hood of my dad’s Jeep. The sunlight highlights my little ringlets a honey brown. My dad stands close, squinting in the glare. His hands hover nearby like a fail-safe in case I fall.

“Is this you?” Nick asks.

“Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve seen this before.” I turn it around and read Livy and Vince Sept. ’89.

“So that’s the famous Jeep, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the photo.

“Any idea why he hid it in here?” Nick holds up the ’80s metal album. At first glance it seems like an odd place to stick a photo of yourself and your toddler. But knowing him, it was the perfect place.

“ ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine,’ ” I say. “This was taken around the time my mom left. He packed up all our belongings and we came here to Midland where Artie had moved and had a job waiting for him at the shop. It was just the two of us—like him and me against the world or something. He used to sing that song to me every night before bed, like it was the only lullaby he knew.”

Nick smiles. “I thought you hated that song. You always veto it.”

“No, I could never hate it. I just haven’t been able to let myself enjoy it since he died.” I stare at the photo, thinking back to all of those little father-daughter moments, knowing that all along he was just trying to keep me safe. Maybe Artie’s right. If I want to talk to him, I should talk to him. “Hey, you wanna take a drive?”