In both ID photos, Mint had the same look—chin up, chest out, the full at-attention stare, his ice-blue eyes fixated on something distant.
“Did I tell you he didn’t know how to smile?” Tessa asked, flipping to a photo with a AAA card, his Costco membership, and a random assortment of—
Tessa made a noise—an actual gasp—at the one she should’ve seen coming: half a dozen school photos of their kids. They were all out of date, scuffed by bits of wallet crud and laid out one next to the other, like crooked teeth. In the first one, their son, Huck, was wearing a wide smile, prepuberty, showing off braces. His blond hair was a sweaty mess, his face red and damp, since that was the year the photo was taken right after gym class. Next to it was a photo from their daughter’s Little League—a fake baseball card, with Violet in batting stance, holding a pink metal bat like a murderer.
“You have kids?” Tessa asked without looking up.
Zig’s usual answer was no. When you bury a child, the last thing you want is to answer the standard follow-ups: How old? Are you close? What do they do now? Better to say no and keep things easy. But for reasons he wouldn’t understand until he was lying in bed later that night, Zig said . . .
“Yeah. A daughter.”
Casper shot another look at Zig. Do not engage.
“How old?” Tessa asked.
“Twelve.”
She turned around. “Same as Violet,” Tessa said, her voice straining, her eyes pleading.
Zig knew that tone—and that look. He’d seen the same look on his ex-wife . . . and on himself. It always came after the funeral, when mourners sit in solitude and grasp at those thoughts that are too hard to think about but can no longer be avoided. When you recognize your new reality and it dawns on you how much you don’t want to live in it.
“They’re going to be okay,” Zig told her, motioning to the photos of her kids.
“She will be,” Tessa said, tapping her daughter’s baseball card. “Violet’s afraid of nothing—like her dad. But Huck . . . he’s who I’m worried about. My idealist,” she said, flipping to the next photo. “I fear we’ve cracked his faith in the u—”
She cut herself off, spotting something in the next photograph.
In Zig’s pocket, his phone started vibrating. Caller ID said Roddy. Zig hit Dismiss.
“Are these—？ Is this right?” Tessa asked, Zig craning his neck and now seeing what she was looking at: a photo of Mint’s dog tags, cell phone, and wedding ring.
Zig’s phone vibrated again. A text appeared. Also from Roddy. Pick up. Emergency. I’m serious.
“Who took these?” Tessa asked.
“The photos? Those were— That was me, ma’am,” Casper called out from the corner. “Is everyth—？”
Zig’s phone buzzed again. This time, he picked up, stepping away from Tessa. “Make it quick,” he whispered.
“I found him,” Roddy blurted.
“Found who?”
“Mrs. Mint, are you okay?” Casper asked.
“I-I’m just—” Tessa pulled the photo close to her, pointing to the iPhone in the picture. “His phone . . .”
“Did you not get it back?” Casper asked. “They should’ve given his phone to you. At the funeral.”
“They did. In the bag. They gave me his ring, his wallet . . . and his phone. His iPhone,” she said. “But here . . . Look. There are two phones here.” She pointed to the bottom corner of the photo: Mint’s iPhone, but also an outdated flip phone.