In the background, Lark was a flash of movement, cartwheeling across the field of green.
“This one.” Taking care to keep pity from his voice, Griffin handed over the photo. On closer inspection, he saw that many of the photos caught Lark in the background—moving, laughing, spinning in circles. None featured her in the foreground.
His mother said, “You’ll get an album too, Griffin. Jackie is making one for each of us.”
“Sounds like a big project.”
“It’ll give us something to do until the weather thaws. This endless winter—what I’d give to see daffodils springing up in my flower beds.”
“Me too,” Jackie said. “I’m tired of all the snow.”
Winnie gave her a quick hug. “We’ll muddle through, dearest heart.” Drawing back, she withdrew a packet from the carton at her feet. She sent Griffin a mischievous glance. “Care to waltz down memory lane?”
“Is that an actual or a metaphorical question?”
“Actual. This box contains your visual history, all thirty-three years.”
“What about Sally?”
“Oh, I have all her photographs in another box—everything from her first baby pictures to a recent anniversary photo with Trenton. Pulling together your sister’s visual heritage was easy, but I am missing a chunk from your twenties. Before we get started on your album, let me skim through your smartphone. We should include a few snaps of Boston.”
“Whenever you’d like.”
After college, Griffin had started his career as an account executive at a graphics firm in Boston. He’d intended to put down roots on that coast. The money was good, and he dated a girl at the firm. When the relationship didn’t pan out, his parents began dropping hints about the business possibilities back home. Geauga County was thriving.
Two years ago, his father made an unexpected offer. The deed to the two-story brick building across the street from Marks Auto would transfer to Griffin if he cut ties in Boston and returned to Ohio. The building now housed Design Mark. The move had been a good one, and Griffin enjoyed being his own boss. With a staff of seven, he was building a client list across the Great Lakes region.
Opening the packet, Winnie spread the photos out. “Oh, Griffin—look. This was taken when you set Bubbles free. Weren’t you the cutest thing?”
The shot captured him at age six. There was his distinctive egg-shaped head and broad nose, a growing potato in the center of his cheerful face. A fluffy tuft of brown hair covered his forehead; his receding hairline wouldn’t kick in until his twenties. His mother had taken the photo as he held Bubbles the goldfish by his wriggling tail above the swirling toilet bowl.
“Enough with this torture,” he joked. “Put it away.”
“Don’t be fussy. You were adorable.”
Winnie’s memory was selective and Teflon-coated. “Why didn’t you stop me from setting Bubbles free?” An instant after she’d trained the camera on him and the toilet bowl flushed, he’d become a blubbering mass of tears. “It wasn’t like I’d thought the plan out. Wasn’t Bubbles’s safety more important than recording the moment for posterity?”
“Don’t be peevish. I didn’t think the moment out either.”
“Obviously.”
“Cheer up. After you freed Bubbles into the sewer system, he may have grown to massive size. Perhaps he’s become a king of the sea. Neptune, with fins.”
“Are you striving for a ha-ha moment? Don’t take your routine on the road just yet.”
His niece gave a sleepy glance. “Who’s Bubbles?” She yawned theatrically.
“Your uncle’s first pet. A goldfish he foolishly returned to the wild. We tried a bird next, with the same result.”
Griffin recalled the stealthy deed he’d performed at daybreak. “Setting a bird free seemed logical.” He’d always been an early riser. If his sister had awoken before he crept outside, she would’ve intervened.
His mother feigned insult. “I’ll have you know that ridiculous conure didn’t come cheap.”
“I didn’t want a conure. I asked for a dog. Repeatedly. It’s every boy’s dream.” An unfulfilled yearning. His mother would never sanction a pet large enough to track mud into her showcase of a home.
“You’re all grown up now. You want a dog? Buy one.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.”
“You do that.” Smiling like a game show host, Winnie reached back into the carton. “Shall we try again?”