Then I stopped.
The photograph was old enough that the colors had started fading along the edges. A group of children sat on what appeared to be a library floor, each holding a book.
Near one end of the row sat a skinny boy with uneven brown hair and a missing front tooth.
Me.
Eight years old, maybe nine.
I knew immediately because I remembered that horrible striped shirt. My mother had insisted it made me look “handsome.”
I had never given Claire a childhood photograph of me.
Beside me stood a girl about the same age wearing purple glasses.
I turned the picture over.
Written in faded blue ink were the words:
“Nora + Ethan, Summer Reading Club.”
Below that, written much more recently in black ink, were five words.
“Found Ethan today. Tell him.”
Underneath was a date.
I checked it twice.
It was the date Claire and I
