Shadows

He sat down so shamelessly. Pulled up the chair just like hers, a little close she thought. He looked to the open window with its slender lengths of sheer curtain rolling languidly with the window thrown wide, drawing gentle light backwards and forwards across her narrow legs, as if painting her with the coming warmth of the day.

He spoke then, quietly, and she looked to him and he knew she heard her husband. His father had been gone so long, much longer than she had been here. He watched her face, the way she savoured the words. He had never wasted any. Her gaze followed his down to the dark cover of the album he held steadily between them, perched on the arm of his chair.

“I found this in your garage, up high, almost forgotten.”

He was running his fingers across the heavy cloth cover and she followed his long fingers, back and forth. Silly, it was his garage, neat as a pin, tools hung in their place, car polished and sitting quiet, ready for the Sunday outing.

She reached out and slowly her fingers mirrored his, back and forth in time. It felt familiar, the heavy fabric warming ever so slightly beneath her touch.

He opened the album carefully at last and took a large black and white photograph carefully from the fragile corners holding it in place.

He turned the photo towards her and looked up slowly.

She laughed.

Put a hand to her mouth to quiet the sound, took it away slowly and her smile remained.

She loved that dress. Saved for it, so frightened it would be gone when she had the money at last.

She could see the colours, greens and reds bursting from the print and she was so beautiful, so young.

Her long hair fell just so to her shoulder and one hand was placed lightly on the handle of the front door. She had rushed up the stone stairs and then realised, of course, the door was locked. When she turned with her hand still there on the handle he was coming through the front gate. Stepping out of the light shadow, never taking his eyes from hers he held his hands up before him, framing her there. And then laughing at himself he rummaged quickly in the pocket of his jacket and took out the small camera. She ran her hands down her narrow sides, stood that little bit straighter and he took the photograph she ran her fingers gently along the border of now.

He had skipped up the steps, jingling the keys as he came to her, whisked her up and they were inside in a moment, the first time.

She looked into those beautiful eyes. “What were you looking for out there, in your garage?”

He smiled at her, she leaned forward thinking she glimpsed something different, there at the edges. The curtains rose, light flooded across them and the photograph shone again. “Just you, and him. And me. All of it. Nothing at all really. Everything.”