A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
The hum of the Kenmore refrigerator was the only sound in the house when I came downstairs at six the next morning. I programmed the coffee maker, then stood before the kitchen table where the cardboard box had rested overnight. It felt heavier than any delivery of household goods should.
I used a small paring knife from the block to slice through the reinforced packing tape. Inside, beneath three layers of gray bubble wrap, sat a heavy, polished silver photo frame wrapped in tissue paper. Below it lay a cream colored envelope made of thick, high grain stock.
The silver frame felt cold when I pulled it from the tissue. I turned it over, expecting a standard promotional item or a generic alumni gift. It was a custom piece, five by seven inches, with a dark velvet backing.
I unfolded the letter inside the envelope first, smoothing the heavy cream paper against the laminate counter. The letterhead belonged to the university alumni association, printed in elegant black ink.
The handwriting was small and fluid, written with a fountain pen that left thick blue trails. It was addressed directly to Anna.
