Chapter 19

I was silent, frozen on the sofa. His eyes told me that he wasin love with me: then and now. Something shined on his handsome face of likeness and confusion and loss and hope.

“Yes,” slipped out of his mouth, and then he became catatonic.

“Why me, Bill?

“Why not you? I always thought you were wonderful, handsome, the man of my dreams. If Seth hadn’t had you, I would have. Everything about you was perfect, and still is.”

“You took the photographs of me to have a part of me, didn’t you?”

“I did.” He sounded humiliated, perhaps embarrassed for sending the photograph, the invitation to his show, and visiting.

“Bill,” I said, watching him crumble in front of me.

He gathered up his photographs, shoved them into the portfolio, closed the leather binder, stood, and began to walk away. Over his right shoulder, he chanted, “I’m sorry about this, Tom. I didn’t mean to…upset you. I realize how foolish I’ve been. Forgive me.”