Then with Eleanor.

Then, at his request, with Brian.

Nobody demanded one perfect photograph that could pretend the intervening years had never happened.

Finally Nathan came to me.

“Just us,” he said, waving Zachary over.

The three of us stood together beneath a tree bright with spring leaves.

Zachary put one arm around each of us, and Nathan laughed at something the photographer said.

It was not a formal portrait.