Was she sure it was Jack?

He looked different here, no doubt about it. His hair was a lot longer. He had this beard, though he was still too young and baby-faced for it to come in full. He wore glasses. But there was something in the way he stood, the tilt of his head, the expression.

This was her husband.

She quickly sifted through the rest of the roll. There were more hayrides, more apples, more arms raised in mid-pick. She saw one that she’d taken of Jack, the one time he’d let her have the camera, control freak that he was. He was reaching so high, his shirt had moved up enough to show his belly. Emma had told him that it was eeuw, gross. That, of course, made Jack pull up the shirt more. Grace had laughed. “Work it, baby!” she’d said, snapping the next photo. Jack, much to Emma’s ultimate mortification, obliged and undulated.

“Mom?”

She turned. “What’s up, Max?”

“Can I have a granola bar?”

“Let’s grab one for the car,” she said, rising. “We need to take a ride.”

• • •

Fuzz Pellet was not at the Photomat.

Max checked out the various themed picture frames-“Happy Birthday,” “We Love You, Mom,” that kind of thing. The man behind the counter, resplendent in a polyester tie, pocket protector, and short-sleeve dress shirt flimsy enough to see the V-neck tee beneath it, wore a name tag that informed one and all that he, Bruce, was an assistant manager.

“May I help you?”

“I’m looking for the young man who was here a couple of hours ago,” Grace said.

“Josh is gone for the day. Something I can do for you?”

“I picked up a roll of film a little before three o’clock…”

“Yes?”

Grace had no idea how to put this. “There was a photo in there that shouldn’t have been.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“One of the pictures. I didn’t take it.”

He gestured toward Max. “I see you have young children.”