She kissed my forehead.
“And no surprise in the world is worth your peace of mind.”
I nodded, holding her tightly.
Later, Grandpa asked if I would stand with him beside the stream for a photograph.
I agreed, but only on the condition that we remain on the dry bank.
He laughed and promised.
My mother took the picture.
In it, Grandpa has one arm around my shoulders. I am smiling, and he is looking at me with the same gentle expression he had worn throughout my childhood.
Behind us, the stream flows between the trees.
And farther back, my mother and Mary sit together on their restored bench, their hands clasped as they laugh about something only the two of them understand.
That photograph now hangs in our living room.
Whenever I look at it, I remember the morning my mother followed us into the forest, convinced she was about to discover something terrible.
