“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He looked down.
Helen stood quietly near the doorway.
“I saw him take that box out this afternoon,” she revealed. “He’d been rehearsing what to tell you. I warned him that surprising you with those photographs was cruel.”
Helen stood quietly near the doorway.
Arthur looked at her.
“I was going to explain.”
“You’d already had three dates to explain,” Helen replied.
I turned back to Arthur.
“Did you ask for those pictures to make sure I was the girl in this photograph?”
“I was going to explain.”
“At first, I wanted to be certain.”
“And afterward?”
He swallowed.
“I liked seeing you happy. I thought perhaps I could help undo some of what happened.”
“And afterward?”
- Neighbor Invited 30 People to a Pool Party in a Woman’s Backyard – She Returned to Find Her 8-Year-Old Granddaughter Locked Outside
- Mother Was Called to Her 14-Year-Old Daughter’s School After a History Class Incident – But Her Daughter Refused to Stand Up
- Man Left His Wife Once He Could Walk Again After 10 Years of Her Care, Calling Her ‘No Longer Attractive’ – Then Their Daughter Stepped In
I looked from the 17-year-old girl who had been told her face needed correcting to the man who had told me, 61 years later, that I should never change it.
“You could have told me the truth.”
“I know.”
I should never change it.
“You let me think you loved the way I looked without any history attached.”
“I do think you’re beautiful, Holly.”
I stood.
“Then you should have trusted me enough to tell me why you recognized my face.”
“I do think you’re beautiful, Holly.”
Arthur rose too.
“Please. I only wanted a chance to make things right.”
“You had a chance. You could have been honest on our first date.”
He reached toward the photograph.
I moved it away.
“You had a chance.”
“Don’t.”
His hand dropped.
Helen approached.
“Would you like me to call you a car, ma’am?”
“Yes, please.”
His hand dropped.
Arthur remained beside his desk with one hand resting on the cardboard box.
“Holly, I’m sorry.”
I didn’t answer.
Not because I wanted to punish him.
Because I couldn’t yet tell whether his apology was for what he’d done 61 years ago or what he’d done to me now.
I didn’t answer.
I placed the photograph on the desk.
Then I walked out with Helen.
***
Arthur’s letter arrived four days later.
He apologized for the salon, the photographs, and hiding our history.
I placed the photograph on the desk.
He didn’t ask for forgiveness.
Inside the envelope was the photograph I’d left on his desk, along with the consultation card bearing my mother’s name.
I stared at it for a long time.
He didn’t ask for forgiveness.
Then I noticed something I’d forgotten.
The girl beneath that lamp wasn’t ugly.
She was frightened.
And nobody had comforted her.
The girl beneath that lamp wasn’t ugly.
My granddaughter found me crying.
“Grandma?”
I handed her the photograph.
“That’s me at seventeen.”
My granddaughter found me crying.
She studied it. “You had beautiful eyes.”
I wiped my cheek with my sleeve.
“That’s what Walter always said.”
She squeezed my shoulder.
“You had beautiful eyes.”
For once, I didn’t turn the picture over.
***
A week later, I called Arthur.
“Did you ever wonder what happened to me after that appointment?”
“Not until years later,” he admitted.
I didn’t turn the picture over.
“I spent decades trying to fix something that wasn’t wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Holly.”
“I believe you. But I don’t know whether I can trust you again.”
“I understand.”
“I believe you.”
We agreed to leave things there for now.
That evening, I placed the salon photograph beside one my granddaughter had taken recently.
In the newer picture, I was laughing.
My mustache was plainly visible.
We agreed to leave things there for now.
I looked from one face to the other.
Sixty-one years apart.
I didn’t reach for my makeup.
Instead, I straightened both frames on the shelf.
Then I went into the kitchen to make tea.
I didn’t reach for my makeup.
