Daniel returned to Chicago for the opening.
I had not seen him in almost a year.
He looked good.
More settled.
We hugged.
“How’s Seattle?”
“Rainy.”
“Still taking pictures?”
“Yes.”
“Actual pictures?”
He laughed.
“Mostly.”
He had spent the year photographing people rebuilding after major upheavals.
One of his images had won an award.
At the reception, Michael approached him.
I immediately became nervous.
The two men had barely spoken since the warehouse.
Michael extended a hand.
“Daniel.”
Daniel looked at it.
Then shook.
“Michael.”
Awkward silence.
Finally Michael said, “I owe you something.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
“Please don’t say money.”
“No.”
Michael glanced toward me.
“Thank you for reminding Margaret she was still alive.”
I stared at him.
Daniel did too.
Michael continued.
“I hate how it happened.”
“Fair.”
“But I spent years treating her as someone who needed protection more than freedom.”
Daniel said nothing.
Michael looked at me.
