Janet had found boxes of photographs she’d packed away after his death.
Beth was helping her organize them into albums.
On the mantel, two pictures stood side by side.
The first was the hospital photograph I’d seen years earlier, Richard carrying newborn Beth out into the world.
Beside it was a picture from the wedding.
Patrick was holding Beth’s arm, and the 11 firefighters stood along the aisle while she walked toward Bryce.
I stood looking at those photographs for a long time.
Beth came over and slipped her arm through mine.
“Mom finally told me the story behind that hospital picture,” she said.
“What story?”
“Dad was so nervous carrying me that he made the nurse check three times whether he was holding me correctly.”
We both laughed.
“Apparently, he kept saying he didn’t want to let me fall.”
Beth looked at the wedding photograph.
“Funny, isn’t it? All those years later, Patrick had to catch me.”
