Then the sudden panic when I asked for the microphone.
He’d been more frightened of what I might say than of what his wife had done.
I drove home without turning on the radio.
Daniel came to see me three days after the wedding.
He arrived alone.
I watched him through the front window while he stood on the porch, apparently gathering the courage to ring the bell.
When I opened the door, he looked exhausted.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, Daniel.”
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside.
He followed me into the kitchen, where I’d been sorting photographs for an album.
There were pictures of Daniel as a toddler, wearing his father’s enormous work boots.
Pictures from elementary school.
A college graduation photograph.
And a faded snapshot of Richard teaching him to ride a bicycle.
Daniel noticed the photographs immediately.
“Are you putting together an album?”
“I started it before the wedding. I thought you might like it.”
He looked down.
We sat at the kitchen table.
I made tea because I didn’t know what else to do with my hands.
Daniel waited until I’d placed both cups on the table.
Then he said, “Vanessa and I have been arguing.”
I nodded.
“I suspected as much.”
“She thinks you deliberately embarrassed her by revealing you paid for the reception.”
I stared at him.
“Do you believe that?”
He shook his head.
