They watched the DVD. They ate the burgers. They didn’t talk. It was a peaceful evening, regardless of the dark thoughts that sat with Ian the entire time. With his hands laced behind his head, his feet on the coffee table and his mind a million miles away, Ian drifted through conversations and insinuations until he began to get nauseous. And just when he began to get tired enough that his musings started to lose their hold, and his eyes began to roam the room to distract himself, he realized there were no baby pictures.
He sat up slowly, turning his head right, then left, twisting to look behind him. What kind of a parent didn’t have baby pictures?
Surely they were just not out, he told himself, rising from the couch. They were in the bedroom or tucked away in a drawer. A box. An album.
