A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
“Dr. Hayes,” the dean said, extending his hand toward my wife with an immediate, unprompted familiarity. “We were just discussing your undergraduate paper on cellular replication models in the faculty lounge.”
Anna reached out to shake his hand, her posture straightening as she met his gaze without looking down.
“The initial data was somewhat limited, Dr. Thorne,” Anna said. “We lacked the high-resolution imaging tools that the department has now.”
“The theory was solid, which is what matters,” the dean said, ignoring the other guests who were waiting for their credentials. “We have a desk ready for you in the west wing of the laboratory complex starting next Monday.”
I stood two feet behind her, watching the way her shoulders held their line, realizing nobody in this room was looking at me to explain her presence.
To these people, she was not the quiet woman who managed our monthly gas bills or cleaned the grease off the Kenmore refrigerator.
She was a colleague they had missed for fifteen years, a mind they were eager to put back to work in their clean, white rooms.
