“Oh,” Petty said, but it was more like a sigh. She smiled at me, a sad smile, and I felt my sinuses back up.
I opened the album, and it was a shock to see a picture of someone who looked just like Petty, sitting on a hospital bed, holding a newborn baby, with a huge proud smile. And next to her, a young, beaming Michael Rhones. Which confused me. In the letters, he’d been furious that Marianne was pregnant with the other guy’s baby, although he also said he’d raise the baby as his own if she’d just come back to him. It appeared that they’d reconciled. Maybe the birth had brought them close again. I’d heard of that sort of thing. Still, it seemed odd.
I turned the pages, looking at the photos of baby Petty lying on the floor with toys around her, Marianne reading colorful board books to her, baby Petty with bunny ears on her first Halloween, Petty smiling dimply and toothless. This was shocking too, because I’d never seen her smile like that. Toddler Petty with water wings in a swimming pool, Michael Rhones pulling her around by her arms, Petty squinting against the bright sunlight.
So when had Marianne finally left Michael for Petty’s real father?
“That’s weird,” Petty said. “Dad and I never went to the pool. I never did learn how to swim.”
“What are you talking about?” Jeannie said, indignant. “You were on the swim team, for God’s sake! And your father took you to the pool hundreds of times when you were little. You don’t remember?”
“Oh, right,” Petty said. “I meant that—-it just seems so long ago, that’s all.”
“Do you have any other photo albums?” I asked Petty’s grandma.
Jeannie got up and pulled a wedding album out of the same cabinet. She handed it to me.
I opened it up and there was the same photo of Michael and Marianne under the snow--covered gazebo that was in the album from the box in Dooley’s office. Petty nodded at me, obviously recognizing it too. On the next page was another eight--by--ten of them standing on the altar of a church with a big cross behind them, Marianne looking up at Michael. She had on a large sweeping white dress with a long train, and she was absolutely beautiful, radiant.
“He looks so . . . normal,” Petty murmured.
“Who does?” Jeannie asked.
Petty smiled at me and said, “Michael does.”
We went through the album, Jeannie commenting on this or that detail. She pointed out Glenn, Marianne’s brother, and I remembered Michael had lied to Petty about that too—-he’d said neither he nor Marianne had siblings.
I wondered how deep the lies ran.
“Tell us your favorite memory of our wedding,” I said. “What was the best part?”
“The expression on your face when you saw Marianne walking down the aisle on Bart’s arm. I never saw a happier -couple, and that’s the truth. I was so mad when they wouldn’t open up the terrace for the reception, remember? Just because it had rained.”
Petty nodded, in a daze.
Then Jeannie’s face darkened. “But why you had to go and invite that man to the wedding, Marianne . . . What were you thinking?”
My spidey sense tingled. “What man?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t remember,” Jeannie said to Petty, as if she’d been the one who asked. “The ex--boyfriend.”
“Right,” I said, looking at Petty. “The ex--boyfriend. The one we both worked with, right?”
Jeannie glared at Petty. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Everything’s okay,” I said. “I can’t seem to remember his name. Can you remember it?”
It was like performing delicate heart surgery. I took the photo album out of Petty’s hands and set it in Jeannie’s lap. I needed to proceed with caution.
“I’d like to look at his face to remind myself how smart Marianne was for choosing me over him. Are there any pictures of him at the wedding?”
Jeannie stared down at the album. “At the wedding?”
“Right. Remember? Marianne invited him. Are there any photos?”
“I—-I don’t know. Did he come to the wedding?”
“I thought that’s what you said,” I said, feeling as though my patient was slipping away, flatlining. “Maybe I was mistaken.”
“Did I dream that, do you suppose?” Jeannie said. She looked down, frowning, and was silent for a while. Then she smiled at Petty. “Your bridesmaids were all in navy blue. I wanted you to wear a veil, but you had to have everything your way. It was your day, you kept telling me. And I kept reminding you who was paying for your day. You wanted to wear red nail polish! So tacky. But I couldn’t stop you from doing that, could I?”
Petty shook her head, her eyes glazed.
Jeannie turned again to me. “And I didn’t like you at first, Michael. Remember?”
“How could I forget?” I said. “But you never did tell me why.”
She glanced around and leaned in to whisper, “Of course it was all that mental illness in your family.”
I looked at Petty then back at Jeannie. “Mental illness?”