I stared.
“Stephen.”
His expression changed.
“Alana.”
Forty years disappeared in a second.
“You still have a remarkable talent for appearing after I’ve already made up my mind.”
He glanced toward the garage.
“I knew this might be awkward.”
“Awkward?”
I folded my arms.
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
Emma stepped between us.
“I invited him, Mom.”
“I know.”
I looked directly at Stephen.
“I’m sure you still know how to make yourself sound reasonable.”
He lowered the paper bag.
“I came because I wanted to return something that belonged to you.”
“You already sold it.”
“I didn’t know you would want it.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“You never understood what I wanted.”
Then I started pulling photographs from the wall.
Stephen watched.
“Alana.”
“Don’t.”
“Please look at the pictures in order.”
“I don’t need you telling me what to do.”
“I know.”
His voice was calm.
Then he looked toward Emma.
“Would you mind if I showed her something?”
Emma looked at me.
I hated that she was waiting for permission.
And hated even more that part of me wanted to know.
“Fine.”
Stephen entered the garage.
He kept his distance.
Then he pointed toward one photograph near the corner.
I recognized it immediately.
Stephen was leaning toward my friend Selena.
Their faces were close.
From that angle, it looked exactly like they were kissing.
My stomach tightened.
“That one.”
Stephen nodded.
“I thought so.”
“What exactly did you think?”
“That you’d see it now and think exactly what you thought forty years ago.”
I stared at him.
“You expect me to remember one photograph after forty years?”
“I hoped you might remember what happened after you saw it.”
Unfortunately, I remembered everything.
The humiliation.
The anger.
Stephen reaching for my hand.
Me pulling away.
Me refusing to hear any explanation.
I had been twenty-five.
And absolutely convinced that being certain meant being right.
I saw that one photograph.
Then I walked out.
I left the camera behind.
Later, I told everyone I had lost it.
“You never let me explain,” Stephen said.
He pointed toward the next picture.
“Look.”
The following photograph showed Selena laughing.
Our friend Carl stood beside her with his arm around her shoulders.
Then another.
Stephen between them.
Everyone smiling.
Another showed Selena leaning against Carl while Stephen reached toward her plate for food.
Then another.
And another.
The entire sequence was ordinary.
Friends at a picnic.
Laughing.
Eating.
Messing around.
One frozen moment had made it look like something completely different.
I felt foolish.
“You took all these that same day?”
“Most of them.”
Stephen looked toward the old camera.
“The film was still inside.”
He continued.
“I tried to explain. I thought if I could get you to see the rest of the pictures, you’d understand.”
“But you didn’t.”
“You told me never to come after you.”
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
Because I remembered saying it.
And the embarrassing truth was that although I had meant the words in that moment, some part of me had also expected Stephen to know I didn’t really mean them.
“You could have called.”
“I tried once.”
He spoke without anger.
“You had moved.”
