After New York

Chapter 18: Serenity

Hardin 

Walter made his way back into his living room. Watching me from the doorway as I stared down at the black and white photograph. The fresh smudge of fingerprints lining the glass. The intricate pattern on the metal frame worn. Evidence that it had picked up, time and time again.

I turned to look over at him, the photo still in hand. 

"This her?" I asked. Already knowing the answer, but needing the distraction. A fact I knew he was probably aware of. 

I returned my eyes to the picture. Holding it up to the flickering fire light. Wanting to talk about anything but the reason I was here in his house tonight. 

They were seated on what appeared to be the lakefront. His arm wrapped around her tightly and her head resting on his shoulder. The photo didn't look like it could have been taken long before she passed. She seems thin. Frail even. A scarf wrapped around her head. Probably to hide the damage that had been done by months of fruitless chemo treatments.

Her smile was bright though. Infectious and true.

I watched his eyes warm as made his way beside me, handing me a cup of coffee with a shaky hand, but never taking his eyes from the photo.

He seemed to drift off right there in front of me. Lost in what I could only assume was a memory. A small smile playing across his thin lips before he looked back up at me. Shaking his head as if he had just remembered that I had asked him a question. 

"Yep." He said "That's her. That's my Emery."  There was an unmissable tenderness in his voice. All the pain, and love and heartache he held within him stuffed tightly together into those two words.

'My Emery.'

I felt my chest ache at the way he still spoke about her in the present tense. Even after years. And forced my eyes back to the image, unable to look directly at him. Afraid I would find all that emotion written across his face.

"That's a beautiful name." I said distractedly. Surprising myself at the admission.

It was so unlike something I would normally say, let alone think.

But It was. 

Beautiful, I mean. 

 And that wasn't a thought I often had.

Except maybe when I had had first met Tessa. I had this urge to bother her endlessly with the use of her full name. Drawing it out just to hear how it sounded on my tongue. 

Theresa 

I had this constant need to get a response from her. To watch her eyes narrow, and her full lips turn down with contempt.

I smiled a little to myself at the memory. Feeling the warmth of the thought mix uncomfortably with that bitter longing that still lingered. As I carefully put the picture back in its place on the mantel.

I turned to see Walter walking over to the large bookshelf to his left. It's dark wooden finish blending in seamlessly with its surroundings.

Walter wasn't very tall. Maybe 5'7 on his best days, and slightly hunched in his old age. I watched as he reached over head to grab a large black leather bound book. His fingers grasping and missing the item a few times.