“For three weeks.”
She looked back at the photograph.
“Every day?”
“Almost.”
Another page.
Ethan and me walking.
Another.
Ethan looking toward me.
Then the altar.
The speech.
Margaret stayed on that photograph for a long time.
No one interrupted her.
Finally she closed the album.
Her hands rested flat on the cover.
Then she said:
“Can I have a copy?”
I knew immediately which picture.
“The one where he’s reading?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
That was all.
No dramatic apology.
No speech about how wrong she had been.
Margaret was not that kind of person.
Part of me wanted more.
For maybe thirty seconds.
Then I realized I did not need it.
“Yes.”
“I’ll order one.”
Three weeks later, Adrian sent me a photograph from his parents’ house.
I opened it.
There, hanging in the main hallway, was Ethan at the altar in Cedarbrook Chapel.
The paper in his hands.
Dad’s cufflinks visible.
Cufflinks
A ridiculously expensive frame around it.
I stared at the image.
Then called Adrian.
“She hung it?”
“She hung it.”
“Where?”
“Hallway.”
“The main hallway?”
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