A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
She wore an emerald green dress that brushed her knees, a garment she had purchased three days earlier after three separate trips to the department store downtown.
She stopped just inside the entrance, her hand going to her silver wedding band, twisting it twice before she let her arm drop to her side.
“The lighting is much brighter than I remembered,” she said, her voice dropping into that familiar, precise pause.
“We can take a moment in the lobby if you need to adjust your parameters,” I said, checking my wristwatch out of habit.
“I do not need to pause, Jordan,” she said, turning her head to look at the high arched ceiling. “I spent five years in this building before we moved to the colonial house.”
A student helper in a dark blazer stepped forward, reaching out a hand for the coat I was carrying.
I surrendered the wool coat to the attendant, receiving a small plastic claim check numbered eighty-four in return.
“Your name badges are at the main table,” the student said, pointing toward the crowded corridor where three long tables were set up under brass chandeliers.
