I cleared my throat as I stared at the picture a moment longer, then looked up at the woman, who was looking at me.
"Um, thanks," I said, my throat tight suddenly. "That's all I meant to say. Just thanks."
The older woman smiled kindly and patted me on the shoulder before walking away after her husband. I returned my attention to the perfect little picture of the perfect little family. I ran my thumb over it and sighed. I wondered if when Michael returned back to Ireland, when this all fell apart, if I would like to look back at this picture one day, remember the little weekend when we all pretended we were someone else. I wondered if I would find some comfort or joy in looking back at it. Or whether I would delete it, smash the camera, and burn the bits to nothing but melted plastic.
I was startled slightly by a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey," Michael laughed, "I said your name like three times. What are you so focused on?"
I smiled and pushed my hair back out of my face and draped the strap of the camera casually over my shoulder.
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "Just thinking about the next time we're getting ice cream. Where's Zara?"
I checked for her over Michael's shoulder, but the next family had taken their turn at the small landmark.
"She went inside the little museum with her notebook," he said, jutting his chin toward a small building. "I asked if we were having too much fun and she said 'research is fun, too' before running off."
I chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess I didn't manage to wring all of you out of her," I joked playfully with a wink.
"Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to see any of me in her," Michael said, the sudden melancholy in his voice surprising me.
I guided Michael by the elbow toward a bench, and we sat down as people milled cheerfully around us.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Michael took off his sunglasses and squinted beneath the bright summer sun. He wiped his palms against his knees and with a sigh, finally turned to me with a sad smile.
"I mean, you must know why," he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "I wasn't there, Abbi. We've been avoiding that nasty little truth this whole weekend, but it's still there, isn't it? I wasn't there for you and I wasn't there for Zara, for my daughter."
Michael dropped his head between his arms and I saw his back give a slight shudder as he exhaled.
"I don't deserve to see any of me in her because there was none of me in her life," he continued. "It's like expecting to see your reflection when you're standing in front of a concrete wall."
I scooted closer to him on the bench and laid a gentle hand on his knee.
"Sometimes it was hard," I said, looking over across the square to the welcome centre where Zara still was. "Seeing so much of you in her, I mean. It made it harder…I don't know…it made it harder to forget you."
Michael's chin was still resting against his chest, his eyes still hidden by the crook of his arm.
"That's all I really wanted for a long time," I said softly. "Just to forget you. To drive away your memory. To scrub you from my mind. But then I'd see Zara and…and it'd all come crashing back. Again and again."
The sun was too bright and I felt my eyes water.
"But I'm happy that there's you in her, Michael," I whispered. "She's strong. Stronger than I am, than I ever was. She'll be okay when…when…"
My throat tightened. I didn't utter another word for fear of it coming out like a strangled sob. I wasn't even sure what I would say. When you leave? When you decide we're nothing compared to your career? When you disappear from our lives and I call and say it's Abbi and Zara and all I hear on the line is 'who'?
After a moment I saw that Michael had turned his face and was looking at me.
"Abbi, look, I want to make things right," he said, his eyes holding mine. "I've talked to the Dublin office about staying on in Denver a while longer, even after the merger."
I shook my head. "But your job—"
"Can be done from anywhere."
"Okay, but your apartment and your clothes and your office and—"
"Are replaceable."
I dragged my hands through my hair, fighting tooth and nail against the swell of hope that threatened to sweep through me like a flood through a deep canyon. I didn't want to trust that bright light, that warmth, that gentle comfort like a shoulder to lean against. I'd only known lights to blink out, warmth to fade and the cold to sink in, shoulders to pull away, leaving you alone, terribly alone. I shook my head again, searching for any weapon to protect myself with against the onslaught of hope.
"But, but, your family!" I said almost triumphantly as I snapped my fingers at him. "You can't leave your family."
I'd done it, I thought. I'd found a way to pinch myself awake from the dream, the dream that the pixelated picture on
