With a bit of dramatic flair, Dad flipped open the first album.
Leaning forward, I propped an elbow on my knee and put my forehead in the palm of my hand.Dear Lord, help me.
For fifteen minutes, my parents flipped through albums, telling story after story about family trips, sporting events, and disastrous dates. While it was embarrassing to live out some of my life’s silliest follies, I enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere. Mina seemed to as well, leaning back into the sofa, posture open and relaxed as she looked at picture albums with my mom.
“Oh, this is an old one.” Mom lifted the worn green album from the bag and opened it.
Dad leaned over the side of his bed to peer at it. “Why did you bring that one? That’s one of mine from before we got married. There aren’t any pictures of the kids in it.”
“I just grabbed. I was running late.” Mom shrugged and flipped the page.
A frown creased Dad’s brow. He reached for the book. “Let me see that.”
There was more than idle curiosity in his voice. Something had drawn his attention. “What is it?” I asked.
He quickly glanced up. “An old picture from the summer after high school.” He fluttered a hand. “Some party at the beach. I was just looking at who was in it.” He pointed to the image. “You’ll recognize a few of these faces.”
I got up and moved around the other side of his bed to peer over his shoulder.
“There’s my buddy, Alex.”
My head bobbed as I recognized Dad’s best friend, Alex Thibodeaux.
“And that’s Tommy Jansen.”
Again, I nodded, recognizing another family friend.
But it was a woman in the forefront of the picture, wrapped around Tommy that I didn’t recognize. “Who’s that?”
“That?” Dad tapped her image. “That’s Miranda Corcoran. Her last name is Benning, now, but?—”
“You were friends with Miranda Benning?” Mina stood up to come look at the picture.
“Sort of,” Dad replied. “We were in the same class, and she dated my friend, Tommy, for a while. I didn’t like her much, but she was tolerable, I suppose. Why? Do you know her?”
“In a way. She’s a real estate agent now, like my friend, Claire.”
“Oh, I know, trust me. She’s a pain in my backside at times, demanding this or demanding that, always wanting my firm to cut corners to keep costs down for her sellers.” Dad rolled his eyes. “I try hard not to take on jobs from her, if I can help it.”
Mina chuckled. “I get that. She’s the realtor who represented the seller on the antique store. She tried to sneak some language into the contract that—” Abruptly, she stopped, leaning in to look more closely at the picture.
I frowned, unsure what gave her pause. “What? Is something wrong?”
“I—” she started, then stopped again. A moment later, she lifted her gaze to mine, a concerned wrinkle marring her forehead. “Look at that picture and tell me I’m not crazy.”
My frown deepened. “Look at the picture?” Turning my head, I leaned in to get a better view. “What am I—holy crap.” I took the album out of Dad’s hands. Bringing it closer to my face, I peered at Miranda’s image, unable to believe what was right there. In living color.
“What are you two going on about?” Lana asked.
Ignoring her, I looked at Mina. “It’s the same, isn’t it?”
“It sure looks like it. We need to call Ozzie.” Spinning on her heel, Mina walked over to the couch to get her phone from her purse.
“Who?” Dad asked. “Why do you two look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Realizing we owed my family some sort of explanation for our weird behavior, I turned the album around while Mina called. “See these earrings Miranda’s wearing?”
Dad squinted at the picture. “So? They’re just earrings.”
