My daughter brought her fiancé home to meet me before the wedding – as soon as she left the room, he said, “I’ve fulfilled my part of the agreement; now it’s your turn.”

Without calculated angles. Without lighting that would be flattering.

Nothing hidden.

I looked at my daughter. Family.

Years ago, she would have taken the cell phone.

“Let me see.”

“Delete that.”

“Did it turn out awful?”

That night, she simply continued eating.

“That photo is proof of a crime,” she said.

“You put out the fire,” Graham taunted.

“It was raining.”

“You poured half a bottle of lighter fluid onto wet firewood.”

“Because you said you needed an incentive, Gray.”

“I said air.”

I laughed.

But the photograph stayed in my mind.

After dinner, Marissa got up. Food and Drink