It showed Tiffany standing in front of a huge pine tree in the hotel lobby, in a high-necked black dress with her hair pinned up.

I remembered that night clearly because I’d spent forty minutes out in the freezing parking lot talking to an owner-operator whose rig had snapped an axle near Chattanooga.

Tiffany had gone into the ballroom ahead of me to sort out our table assignment with the floor manager.

I bent closer to the lamp and lifted the heavy album to within six inches of my face.

The light caught the glossy surface of the print and picked out the fine details of the jewelry lying against her dark dress.