The following Sunday, we hosted dinner.
Mom came.
Nathan came.
Daniel’s parents came too.
Nathan spent most of the evening discussing football with Daniel as though he had not brought an entire church to tears only eight weeks earlier.
I placed the special album on the coffee table.
I didn’t announce it.
I didn’t carry it to Margaret.
I didn’t say, Look at the photographs you didn’t want.
I simply left it there.
Then I went into the kitchen.
When I returned, Margaret was sitting on the couch with the album open across her knees.
She had already gone through nearly half of it.
I stopped behind the sofa.
She was staring at the photograph of Nathan waiting behind the church doors.
His arm was extended.
His expression was focused.
His lips were slightly parted.
You could almost hear him counting.
Margaret didn’t look up.
