She squared her shoulders, licked her lips, hefted the tray onto her shoulder–lighter than she’d planned, but weightier than Astrid’s request. She strode to the den where she found … an empty couch.
Her eye quickly located Astrid on the floor by the bookcase, leg extended, engulfed in a Niagara of photos.
“Shell! These are terrific.” Astrid met her host’s genial glare. “Okay, I confess. I got up. But look what I found! They yours?”
Shelley gave a proud nod.
“Marvelous. They deserve an album. Oh, look. Now this one. It’s you. Staring into the camera. Like you want to absorb the whole world. I love it. ”
“Wonder where that was. I usually shoot spur of the moment–take ‘em, forget ‘em.”
“Yeah, but … ” Astrid selected seven or eight and riffled them—“You can make ‘em into a story. See? Th
