Vanessa & Mark. June 14, 2008.
I got out of bed. I went to the closet. I reached up and took it down.
I sat on the floor of the closet with a flashlight and opened it.
I’d never looked inside before. It didn’t seem right. But now I did.
The first page was a photo of a young woman in a white dress. Long dark hair. A big, real smile. She was standing in front of a church, laughing, with her head tipped back. She looked about twenty-nine. She looked so happy.
It was Vanessa. A younger Vanessa. A Vanessa I’d never met.
I turned the pages. Vanessa and a tall man with sandy hair cutting a cake. Vanessa dancing with an older man, probably her father. Vanessa with her bridesmaids. Vanessa and the sandy-haired man, Mark, kissing at the altar.
On the last page, there was a photo that wasn’t from the wedding. Somebody had slipped it in later. It was a picture of a backyard barbecue. A sunny day. A group of people at a picnic table. Vanessa and Mark, older now, maybe late thirties. And next to them, a blond woman. Pretty. Laughing. With her hand on Mark’s arm.
