My head throbbed as I slowly drifted to consciousness. I ached—my head, my jaw, my arms. Even my eyeballs. Especially my eyeballs. I kept them closed and I slowly shifted on whatever I was laying on. It was hard, cold, and metallic. I was dressed, at least, though my shoes felt tight.

My mouth tasted awful. Cottony, with hints of vomit. I also smelled awful. Sweat, and booze. A lot of booze.

Slowly the memories came back to me. Going to the bar. Toasting Caroline’s memory. Ordering more drinks. Then it became a blur. I vaguely remembered a blonde and cold air and a big guy in a uniform…

I groaned. I had a strong suspicion about where I was.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The room light hurt and I had to blink a couple of times. I faced a concrete wall. Slowly, I rose up and turned around.

Yep. I was in a jail cell.

I was, thankfully, alone. I shifted until I was sitting on the bench instead of lying down. That didn’t help my head. I got a little dizzy. I tried to remember what’s happened the night before.

I remembered the bar. I remembered the toast. No, toasts. I’d toasted Caroline several times. My chest tightened.

God, I missed her.

I dry-sobbed for a minute or two before I regained control of myself. I was in jail. At sixty. I wasn’t some young punk anymore to be getting drunk and picking fights…

I sorted through the memories. Yeah… that’s exactly what I’d done. With the guy in the uniform.

I groaned again. That rather clearly explained where I was.

“Peterson!”

I raised my head even though it still hurt like hell. Through bleary eyes, I stared at the officer at the door.

“Your daughter’s here,” he said. “She’s bailing you out.”

I sucked in my breath. I did not want Katie to see me like this. But then, I didn’t want to stay in the cell any longer, either. I needed to pee, and I preferred privacy for that.

So I woozily stood and shuffled to the door.

Katie looked so forlorn, so disappointed when I saw her. She sighed with exasperation and asked how I was. Other than the hangover from hell, I was okay. I ached and my bladder was bursting but that was it. They let me go to the bathroom while Katie finished the paperwork and then we somehow made it to the car. I did my best not to look at her.

“So…,” she said once we’d pulled out of the parking lot, “trying to honor Mom again?”

“I didn’t want to be home alone.”

“You could’ve called.”

“You’ve got the boys.”

She sighed. “They can handle a night alone.”

“Yeah, right. They’re teenagers. What will your house look like in the morning?”

She fell silent and gathered her thoughts for a block or two.

“So…,” she said, “why a cop?”

“Don’t remember that part,” I admitted. “I don’t remember a lot.”

“One of the charges was soliciting.”

“What! Soliciting?” I definitely didn’t remember that.

“Mmm hmm. You offered a woman five hundred dollars if she’d go home with you.”

I sighed and tried to sink further in my seat. “I don’t remember that either.”

“But a bar, Dad?”

“I didn’t plan to get that drunk. I just… I just miss her.”

Katie nodded, but she also tensed.

“I know,” I said. “I know…”

“Grief takes what it takes. At least that’s what my counselor says.”

I softly snorted and waited for Katie to suggest, yet again, that I get into counseling myself. But she surprised me this time by keeping quiet.

We stayed silent for the rest of the trip to my house. There, Katie made it clear she was coming in with me. My head ached too much for me to object.

We walked into the kitchen and Katie let out a resigned sigh. It wasn’t that messy, I didn’t think. Though maybe I should’ve put yesterday’s lunch leftovers away and cleared the table. And wiped down the counter. And maybe have actually loaded the dishwasher.

“Go take some ibuprofen,” she said, “and take a shower. I’ll, um, tidy up around here.”

Guiltily, I did just that.

By the time I came back downstairs I was doing better. Not a lot better, but at least I was clean and shaved. The first step to not feeling like a loser felon was not looking like a loser felon. It helped that the ibuprofen had kicked in as well.

Katie had cleaned the kitchen and was frying bacon on the stove. She saw me and smiled.

“Coffee’s hot,” she said, “and there’s juice on the table.”

Along with toast and jam, I noted, but not eggs. Thank God. I was still too hung over for eggs.

I poured my coffee and sank into my chair at the kitchen table. I sipped the hot liquid quietly while I watched my daughter cook.

At thirty-five, Katie was almost the spitting image of her mother. She’d filled out in the hips much like Caroline had, and her hair had darkened to the same hue. She styled it differently—straight rather than wavy locks—but from behind they could almost be mistaken for one another.

If Caroline was still alive.

My throat caught and my lip trembled. If Caroline…

I suppressed a sob. I did not need Katie mothering me again. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and got myself back under control before my daughter turned around.

She smiled as she heaped bacon onto my plate. As I began to eat, she poured herself some coffee and sat down across from me. I added butter and jam to my toast after I’d eaten my first piece of bacon. Katie just watched me.

“What?” I said.

“So how’s the studio coming?” she asked.

I looked at her warily. “I’m working on it.”

“Which means you haven’t done anything.”

“I will!” I shrank back and shoved more toast in my mouth. If I was chewing, I couldn’t answer questions.

It didn’t work. She waited until I swallowed.

“You said that last time. And the time before that.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to.”

“And this time will be different?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighed. “You’re as bad as my students.”

“Worse,” I shot back. “You can always call their parents.”

“Yeah. Well, it looks like I’ll just have to call your parole officer instead.”

I grimaced and shut up.

I puttered around my studio after Katie left. She’d goaded me until I agreed to it, but honestly, I knew I wasn’t going to do much. There were too many ghosts.

Well, one ghost. Caroline.

My muse. My partner. The mother of my child and the joy of my life. We’d made love in the studio far more often than the bedroom. That’s why I’d put in the chaise, now covered in dust.

I couldn’t look at the chaise without conjuring up images of the past. The times she posed in just black stockings. The times we used the colored filters to accentuate her bare skin. The way she wanted me, hungrily, after every photo session.

How could I clear it all out and put it away?

I gave up on the studio and moved to the dark room. In the modern digital era, the chemicals could go. I spent half an hour pulling them off shelves, dusting them, and putting them in boxes. If I got rid of them, maybe Katie would give me credit for doing something.

I put the box in the garage and returned to the comfort of the kitchen. Well, the chairs weren’t comfortable, but the room was emotionally comfortable. Katie had long ago cleared out Caroline’s special mugs, cups, and other memorabilia. The sterile room had the warm hum of the fridge and not a trace of a ghost. It’d been scrubbed and cleaned and rearranged far too much for that.

I made myself a whiskey sour and sank into the chair nearest the fridge. I’d been avoiding thinking about it, but… I’d been arrested. Katie had left the paperwork so I’d thumbed through it. I needed to go to court in two days for the arraignment.

I sighed. This was not going to be pleasant.

The worst part was, I couldn’t remember any of it. Which was some way to memorialize Caroline. Blackout drunk was not the way.

I started at the whiskey in my hand. That wasn’t going to help either. Impulsively, I stood and dumped it down the sink.

I needed to get some sleep. Some real sleep. Maybe things would be better after that.

I woke up to the sounds of someone moving around the kitchen. Daylight still filtered in from under the curtains, so it couldn’t be too late. My head felt better, but I definitely needed to drink more water. I stirred and headed to the stairs.

I heard pots and pans banging and quickly figured out who it was. I found Katie chopping some vegetables at the counter. I’d moved quietly enough that she hadn’t heard me, and wasn’t facing my way. So I just leaned against the doorjamb and watched her.

She really did look like her mother. She hadn’t, as a child or teen. Then, Katie had been pretty, but thin. She’d filled out in her twenties, and having kids of her own had pushed her into a plumpness that I found truly appealing. She’d also kept herself in shape after her divorce, which made her look even more like Caroline.

My throat caught. And apparently I’d made a sound, because Katie turned.

“Good nap?” she asked.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Fixing dinner.”

“But the boys⁠—”

“Are thrilled with pizza. And I’ll be home before bedtime.”

“Oh.” I wandered to the kitchen table and sat down. “You want help?”

“No. Well, you could set the table. And get out the milk.”

“Milk?”

“I brought groceries.”

I sighed with exasperation. I didn’t really need groceries. It wasn’t like my fridge was bare… Still, I stood and started getting out plates and cutlery.

“I talked to my principal,” she said as she continued to chop—for a stir fry apparently. “And he’s agreed to get a sub for Thursday, so I can go to your arraignment.”

I groaned. “I need to get a lawyer.”

“Already did. We’re meeting with him tomorrow afternoon, after school.”

“You didn’t have⁠—”

“And you would’ve?”

I clamped his mouth shut. Better to remain silent than admit she was right. Caroline had always taken care of the practical matters, so I could devote my time to my art. Since she’d died….

…well, I did have groceries. I hadn’t needed that.

“Let me get the chicken cooking,” Katie said. “And then we’ll talk over dinner.”

I grimaced. I was not looking forward to the scolding.

Katie kept it to small talk until we were eating. Then she waited until my mouth was full, just like she’d done as a little kid.

“So,” she said, “summer break starts in two weeks and I talked to Jason. He’s agreed to take the kids for the first month instead of the second.”

I blinked. I was surprised he’d been so accommodating. I chewed a bit quicker.

“So I thought I’d move in here and help get things into shape.”

I swallowed. “They’re in shape.”

She snorted. “When was the last time you dusted? The last time you cleaned?”

“I cleaned the kitchen.”

“I had to scrub down the stove before I could cook.”

I sighed and leaned back. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”

“Nope.” She smiled at me. “Don’t worry. You’ll love it.” She grew more somber. “And even if you don’t, you need it.”

I sighed once again.

The meeting with the lawyer was… difficult. They had a half-dozen witnesses and some surveillance video footage. Between them, I started to understand what’d happened.

I’d gotten drunk. I’d started the toasts. I’d gotten drunker. Then I’d spotted a blonde woman sitting with her friends. I’d approached her and told her she looked like my dead wife. She’d winced and tried to pull away from me. I’d grabbed her arm and stopped her. I’d then offered her $500 to pretend she was my wife and sleep with me.

That’s when the bouncer showed up. I hadn’t fought him, but he’d kept me trapped in a booth until the cops showed up. One of them had grabbed my arm, and that’s when I’d thrown a punch. Which he’d ducked, thankfully. I’d been cuffed and taken to the holding cell.

I hung my head in shame. I couldn’t bear to look at Katie or the lawyer.

“I think,” my new lawyer said, “that we should try to plea bargain. You were clearly drunk, and if we tell the DA it was the anniversary of your wife’s passing, he’ll understand. We should be able to get it reduced to drunk and disorderly conduct with community service and a fine.”

I nodded, my cheeks still hot from embarrassment.

“Oh,” he continued, “and you’ll need to sincerely apologize to the woman, a Ms. Grayson. She’s filed a personal complaint on top of the formal charges.”

I sighed and nodded again.

Katie reached over and squeezed my hand. That helped. At least it wasn’t likely to get worse.

In the car, Katie sank deep into thought. I just stared out the window, my mind blank.

“Dad…,” she said after a bit. “That woman… that you propositioned. How long has it been?”

“Since what?”

“Since you… uh… had a date?”

“Three years. Well, longer. But… I haven’t… uh… dated anyone since your mom passed.”

“Have you, um… propositioned…?”

I snorted. “You mean solicited?”

“Not that I’d judge you. I certainly wish Jason had…”

I sighed. Jason’s “girlfriend" had turned out to be more of a gold digger than if she’d been a hooker.

“So have you… um… been… alone?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And I knew—knew—from her tone, that right then my daughter had decided to get me laid.

We met with the assistant D.A. an hour before my arraignment. We sat in a cramped conference room down the hall from the courtroom. Other than a metal table and four folding chairs, the room could’ve been abandoned. It certainly needed a paint job and something other than fluorescent lighting. At least it wasn’t stuffy.

The assistant D.A., a short bald man in his thirties, shuffled through the papers he’d pulled out of a manila file. He looked up at us twice, both times frowning. After another two minutes of skimming the reports, he set them down and leaned back.

“So, Mr. Peterson,” he said, “I’m not sure I can accept your plea offer.”

My lawyer leaned forward. “Sir, why not? We’re offering to avoid the expense of a trial here. Mr. Peterson is no threat to the community.”

“But he is a repeat offender.”

“I wasn’t arrested the first time.”

“No,” the assistant D.A. agreed. “The officer gave you a warning because you were on your own property and agreed to quiet down.”

“Which I did.”

“Mmm hmm. But the second time you were arrested.”

“However, the charges were dropped,” my lawyer said.

“Because the restaurant owner felt sorry for you.”

I shrugged. He had.

“This time, well, Ms. Grayson does not feel sorry for you. She wants us to throw the book at you.”

I winced and hung my head.

“My client is prepared to apologize to her,” my lawyer said. “Formally, and in writing.”

“I’m not here to negotiate on her behalf.”

“So what are you offering?”

The assistant D.A. paused. I almost looked up, but I still burned with shame. Katie laid a comforting hand on my upper arm.

“Mr. Peterson pleads guilty to the soliciting charge and the disorderly conduct charge. We drop the assault charge. For soliciting, he goes on the sex offender registry. He pays a one thousand dollar fine and spends two nights in jail.”

Katie sucked in her breath.

“Let me confer with my client.”

I lifted my head. “No. We take it, but I don’t go on the sex offender’s registry.”

The assistant D.A. studied me. “Why?”

“Because I’m not a pervert.”

I once again hung my head, too embarrassed to even look Katie’s way.

We drove home in silence. I could sense Katie’s anger, simmering just beneath the surface, in the way she gripped the steering well and held her jaw stiff. She focused on the road and didn’t look my way at all. Not that I wanted her to.

I was surprisingly relaxed. Well, relieved. The certainty of what came next helped. I idly wondered what prison would be like, but I wouldn’t be there long enough for it to matter. And then it’d be over. I’d have paid my debts to society.

But Katie stewed.

And I couldn’t think of a thing to stay.

We pulled up to a stop light two-thirds of the way home when she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“It’s the photos, isn’t it?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“You kept them.”

“I couldn’t exactly give them away.”

“You could’ve destroyed them. I thought you did.”

“Your mom didn’t want me to.” And I didn’t want to. They were… exquisite. Beautiful, and extremely artistic.

“Where are they?”

I sighed. “The negatives or the prints?”

“Both.”

“The negatives are in my files. The prints are in an album in the bedroom.”

“The bedroom?” She gave me a sharp side glance.

“That’s where your mom put it.”

She fell quiet again. I sighed and leaned back as she drove a few more blocks.

“They’re not worth prison, you know.”

“I’d do more prison time if I were on the registry and they found them.”

“Then get rid of them.”

I stayed silent.

“Oh, come on, Dad!”

I took a deep breath. “They were important to your mother. Two days in prison is nothing.”

“Pfft!”

“I get out of prison and it’s over. Those registries are forever!”

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, if that were possible. Fortunately, we were almost home. She waited until she’d pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. Then she turned and glared at me.

“Get rid of them.”

“No.” I glared back.

She blinked first and looked away. A tear formed in her eye.

“I’ve already accepted the deal,” I said a bit more gently. “Getting rid of them now won’t change anything.”

She sighed and got out of the car.

Katie didn’t stay long. She fixed a salad she said I could eat for dinner, along with the brats in the fridge. We talked about her kids, my grandkids, as we did, carefully avoiding anything of importance. She was impatient to get back to her home before they got out of school and I was ready to have my own house to myself.

I waved to her from the porch as she drove off, and waited until her car disappeared at the end of the block. Then I promptly went up to my bedroom and the bookcase with all the photo albums.

I found the problematic one immediately. Caroline had labeled each of the albums and organized the entire bookcase by date. Well, the date of the last photo taken inside. I pulled it out, wiped the thin layer of dust off the cover, and then sat on my haunches. I needed to put it somewhere Katie couldn’t find it and take it. That would take some thought.

But first…

I cracked the album open. The first photo made me smile. Baby Katie, asleep in her mom’s lap. Caroline’s breasts, full with milk, hung heavy, but her smile was beatific. She looked like an angel, forever captured in black and white.

One-year-old Katie spilled out of her mom’s lap in the second photo. Still asleep, her mom’s expression was more amused exhaustion than pure joy.

I slowly flipped through the next several. All in black and white, all with both mother and daughter nude, they captured the toddler turning into the coltish girl. The lines began to appear in her mother’s face, and Caroline’s breasts sagged more and her hips grew, but that just made her more beautiful to me.

In the teen years, the ladies posed more side by side. Some years, I’d had them look at each other. Others, they both faced the camera. Most had playful smiles. Sometimes Caroline looked worn, though her eyes remained warm.

And then the final photo, shortly after Katie’s eighteenth birthday. They’d posed on the chaise, laying side by side, Caroline with one arm around her daughter. Katie had a far away look in her eyes. Caroline—Caroline just looked pleased.

I stared at the last nude photo I’d taken of my daughter. She’d become a beauty, and Jason was an idiot for letting her go.

I couldn’t let the album be destroyed. It was… history. It was clearly art and not pornography. I’d never convince the religious moralists of that, though. Nude kids were automatically child porn as far as they were concerned.

Nobody but Caroline, Katie, and me had seen these photos. No one ever would. But I wasn’t ready to let them go.

I needed to move it some place Katie wouldn’t find it. Of course, she’d just accuse me of hiding it and demand I tell her where it was, so I needed some plausible story for where it was. And after some thought, I came up with the perfect place.

I went into the closet and found the small suitcase of Caroline’s sex toys. I hadn’t had the heart to throw those out either, and Katie had just quickly looked at the contents and shoved it back in the closet. If she did find the album under the toys, I could pretend she just hadn’t looked well enough the first time.

Except opening the suitcase brought back more ghosts. Caroline’s collection wasn’t that extensive, but… wow. The memories.

Caroline kept all the dildos wrapped in plastic bags, even the one “cloned” from me. I’d once asked why she had so many and she said it depended on her mood and fantasy. The same with the vibrators, though I knew she liked the Magic Wand the best. We’d never collected much bondage gear, because neither of us cared for more than blindfolds, which we’d used sparingly. Still, it was a nearly full suitcase. Fortunately, there was enough space that, with some rearrangement, I was able to get the photo album tucked in back.

But by the time I slid the suitcase back into the closet, the ghosts were overwhelming. I was hard from all the memories.

So I decided what the heck. I pulled one of my favorite photo albums from the shelf—Studies in Black, taken just a year before Caroline had gotten sick. I got undressed, got on the bed, and started flipping through it. I settled on the one of her bent over the arm of the chaise. The one where the black stockings and garter belt had framed her ass and pussy perfectly. I closed my eyes and let the memories take me as I started to stroke.

I mindlessly watched YouTube videos while I ate my solitary dinner. I put my plate and glass in the sink and then caught myself. I didn’t need Katie chiding me for not doing the dishes, so I went ahead and washed them. While I was at it, I cleaned the rest of the kitchen. That actually felt good, so I headed to my studio. No point in giving Katie an excuse to complain about that.

Except… the studio was overwhelming. It’d been so long that the dust alone threatened to choke anything that disturbed it.

I took a deep breath. I needed to at least do something.

I decided to at least begin with the dust. I’d long since piled all the lighting equipment, backdrops, and other props against one wall, leaving the main floor open. So I swept and mopped until I was just too tired to go on. It wasn’t really done, but it was a start. I decided to call it a night.

I slept late the next morning and didn’t get anything meaningful done until late afternoon. One of the perks of early retirement is that I didn’t have to. I read a little, watched more YouTube, and then cleaned the kitchen right before Katie’s school got out. I suspected she’d drop by unannounced, and I was right.

Katie bustled in right before dinner time without knocking or ringing the doorbell. I was actually in the kitchen snacking on some chips and salsa. She carried a grocery bag, which raised my eyebrows.

“There was a sale at Hy-Vee.” She began unloading apples and strawberries. “I thought I’d get you some.”

“You know, I can do my own shopping.”

“For frozen pizza.” She gave me a pointed look, which I returned.

“I’ll help put those away.” I stood and cleared my snack.

“Jason’s got the boys this weekend,” she said as she continued to put groceries away. “I thought I’d come over and do some cleaning.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Mmm. I want to get my room ready.”

I grimaced. Caroline had turned Katie’s old bedroom into a craft room, which I’d then let fall into neglect. It still had a bed in it, but the sheets hadn’t been changed in years.

“So you’re really going to move in,” I said.

“Mmm hmm.”

“You don’t need to.”

“You were arrested. You’re going to jail.”

“Not for two weeks.” The judge had been very accommodating during my plea.

“Dad!”

I sighed. “I’m okay. Really.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m fine.”

“No. You spend most of your days doing nothing. You’re not going out. You’re not dating. You’re not even doing photography!”

My shoulders sagged. I sank back down into a kitchen chair. “I’ll be fine,” I mumbled. “I’m surviving.”

She put a hand on my shoulder. “You need to do more than survive. You need to live.”

I nodded. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right.

I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t. My mind kept floating back to Katie’s accusation that I’d quit photography. It wasn’t quite true, though it was mostly true. I’d taken photos off and on since Caroline died. I just hadn’t liked how they’d come out. Even the nudes with the college girl—what was her name? Alyssa? Yeah, Alyssa. Those photos had been dull. Flat. I’d lost my eye, which hurt just as much as losing my wife.

I’d lost my eye, and I had no idea how to get it back.

With no artistic vision, and without Caroline, what was the point in living?

I didn’t have an answer, but I wasn’t ready to check out either.

I thought more about the college girl. Maybe the photos weren’t as bad as I’d thought. She’d certainly been cute. And very open-minded.

Since I couldn’t sleep anyway, I got up and headed down to my studio to look at them once again.

It wasn’t hard to find Alyssa’s photos. I’d filed them correctly—the prints and negatives in a single folder. I wondered why I’d used film instead of going purely digital and then remembered—I needed to use some of my old film up.

We’d shot eight rolls, all in my studio, all in black and white, on a warm autumn day. Alyssa was a petite brunette with breasts that were oversized for her frame. We’d done two rolls of her in a little black dress before she’d shed it and posed in thigh-high stockings. Those were okay, I noted, but not great. They didn’t highlight her best feature, which was those breasts. I should’ve posed her in a chemise or translucent gown.

We’d done a set of basic poses in front of my neutral backdrop and then moved the chaise over. Those actually looked decent, with her taking on a seductive smile as she preened in various poses. If I’d softened the lighting, she might’ve looked amazing instead of just good.

But my breath caught at the last photo. Alyssa knelt, her upper body on the chaise, her knees on the floor, her legs slightly spread, her pussy completely exposed.

It wasn’t a great picture, but the pose…

It was the same pose Caroline always took when she wanted me to set down the camera and fuck her.

I looked at the picture. My eyes defocused and the image of Caroline overlaid my vision. A ghost, so to speak.

But a ghost that was real enough for me to be steel hard.

I took Alyssa’s photo up to my room to jerk off.

Katie brought the boys over on Saturday. Her excuse was to help with yard work, but it was pretty clear that it was mostly to check up on me. We got everything done by early afternoon. Katie wanted to get started on some inside cleaning, but I managed to head that off by suggesting a trip to the Farmer’s Market. Katie frowned at me, having figured out what I’d done, but couldn’t object to me suggesting buying fresh vegetables.

So Sunday afternoon, she came back alone. She only stayed a couple of hours, but we did work on the studio. Mostly, we dusted and mopped. Katie also got out the vacuum and cleaned the chaise. I found other things to do while she did. Watching her bent over the couch as she worked brought up a ghost I didn’t want to face.

After she left, I thought more about that. I’d been driven out of the room by a memory?

And I was going to jail for two days because of my memories.

Maybe it was time to do something about that. I just didn’t know what.

I decided that maybe Katie was right and the best thing I could do to “move on” was to get my studio in better shape. Not that I really wanted to move on, but going to jail was kind of a wake-up call that I needed to do something different.

On Monday, I moved the chaise across the room to break up the memories, and then ended up rearranging most of the rest of my equipment as well. It took me Tuesday and most of Wednesday to more or less finish the new configuration. In the process, I accumulated a pile of studio lights and other equipment that needed a little refurbishment. I also hadn’t begun to touch my files or the dark room, but it was something.

I was drinking a celebratory beer—for the cleaning—when Katie arrived. She bustled into the kitchen where I was sitting and watching a YouTube video with her arms full of groceries.

“You know,” I said, “I can shop for myself.”

“Do you buy vegetables?”

“I bought vegetables Saturday at the Farmer’s Market.”

“Not many.”

I shrugged. “I also bought apples. And strawberries since they’re in season.”

“Those aren’t vegetables.”

“I know what vegetables are.”

She pulled broccoli and carrots out of one of the bags. “The boys are having pizza tonight. I thought I’d cook.”

“And what if I had plans?”

She shot me a Really? look.

“I could’ve!”

“Mmm hmm. So what have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” My tone was emphatic. “You’ll be proud of me.”

“You did?” She looked at me, amused.

“Yep. Wanna see?”

“Sure.”

I finished my beer and helped her put the rest of the groceries away. Then I led her to my studio and pointed out all the work I done. She put her hands on her hips and looked around, clearly impressed.

“See!” I said. “I did more than the minimum. Just like a good kid.”

She smirked at the old, old family quote.

“Does this mean you want ice cream?” she asked.

“Sure! After dinner?”

“Only if you help me cook.”

“You’re on!”

We sat at an old wooden picnic table not far from Zesto’s. Katie licked her cone with the same fervor as she had as a little girl. I couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes twinkled when she caught me watching, but she didn’t say anything.

Instead, we just enjoyed the late spring Nebraska evening. It hadn’t gotten too warm yet, for which I was grateful. The bugs were just beginning to come out in force.

“This was a good idea,” I said as I licked my own ice cream.

“You did clean your studio.”

I chuckled. “Some of it.”

“So more when you finish.”

I chuckled again. “That might not be a good idea.”

“Why not? You can afford it.”

“Financially? Yeah.” I patted my stomach. “But the calories…?”

“Well, if it’ll get you to clean…”

“We’ll do something else. Next time.”

She smiled.

I spent more time cleaning Thursday and Friday. Now that I’d moved the chaise, the ghosts weren’t always in front of my eyes. By Friday evening, I had the studio almost functional. Of course, I hadn’t actually touched any of my cameras yet. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to.

Part of the problem was my cameras were old. I’d been a film holdout and now I wasn’t even sure I could get everything I needed without putting in an online order. Then I remembered I’d cleaned out the development chemicals. Digital it was.

I got my digital camera out and took a couple of test shots of a vase of flowers. “Flat” and “bland” didn’t begin to describe the results. At the end of the evening, I deleted them all.

I needed… something different.

Frustrated, I went to bed restless. After not sleeping, I got out the photos of Alyssa and relieved some stress. Only then could I sleep.

Katie brought the boys over on Saturday for some more yard work. I persuaded her to knock off early so we could go shopping. We ended up at Best Buy where the boys browsed the video games while I looked at digital cameras. Katie drifted to my side.

“Browsing or buying?” she asked.

“Dunno.”

“Mmm.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You should get one. A new one.”

“I don’t need one.”

She looked at me. “Are you using it?”

“I tried.” I shrugged. “They weren’t very good.”

“What’s you shoot?”

“Still life.”

“That’s not what you’re good at.”

I shrugged again and pointed to a very high-end camera. “What do you think of that one?”

She frowned, but let me change the subject.