I put the album on the coffee table.
I didn’t announce it.
Didn’t hand it to Margaret.
Didn’t make a point.
I went into the kitchen.
When I came back, she was sitting with it open on her knees.
She’d gone through about half.
She was looking at the double-page spread of Nathan at the church door.
Arm out.
Waiting for me.
You could see his lips slightly parted.
Counting.
Margaret didn’t look up.
“He practiced this.”
I stood behind the couch.
“Every day for three weeks.”
She turned another page.
Then another.
She reached the photograph at the altar.
Nathan with the paper.
Me crying.
Daniel behind me.
She stayed there for a long time.
Then she closed the album and put both hands flat on the cover.
“Can I get a copy of this one?”
