Before I Do(15)

Beneath the sound of breaking glass, there was an audible intake of breath from the room, then a tense silence. Audrey blinked her eyes open.

“Jesus!” Josh cried, trying to free his neck from the noose. “Audrey, you nearly broke my neck!”

Audrey’s arm hurt, her neck ached, and she felt the fire of rope burn on her skin.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Lawrence flailed about, pushed back his chair, picking up shards of glass from the table.

“Are you okay? Audrey? Audrey, talk to me!” came Vivien’s panicked voice as she stood up to try to see what the damage might be.

When Audrey looked up from the floor, all she could see was Granny Parker’s somber face, looming down from her chair. Then she said sternly, “Now, that is a bad omen, a very bad omen indeed.”





9


Six Years Before I Do



Fred shook off his umbrella before bringing it inside the café, a small gesture of thoughtfulness to the café owner’s floor that Audrey noted with pleasure. There were only two seats left, in a booth at the back, so they squeezed in opposite each other. Audrey buzzed with anticipation. She immediately pulled out her wallet and showed him the photo strip she had tucked inside.

“I don’t know why I took them. I thought they’d been forgotten. It was a silly idea to leave a reply. I didn’t think you would come back, that it would ever get to you.”

Fred pulled out his own wallet, took out the photo strip of Audrey, and pushed it across the table for her to see. This admission of having kept each other’s photos felt so refreshingly candid; there was a thrill in jumping ahead toward intimacy.

She smiled down at the images of her, pleased with the sultry confidence of that final shot. Would she have left something that provocative if she’d seen the image first? Her hair was wild in the photos, wilder than she remembered, and the light shone through, giving a sort of haloed effect.

“I thought you might not be real,” he said, shaking his head. “You look like an angel. I don’t mean that to sound—” He blushed. “Just that there’s something otherworldly, you know?” he said as a waitress came to take their order, then he reddened at her raised eyebrows and pen tapping against her notepad.

“Coffees, please,” Audrey said, keen for the waitress to take their order and leave them alone again.

“Filter okay?” she asked, then turned to Fred. “Same for you?”

He nodded.

“Anything else?” The waitress looked disappointed. They were taking up valuable table space and clearly didn’t plan on eating.

“You do those hot churros, don’t you? With the cinnamon?” Fred asked.

The waitress nodded.

“Oh, I love those.” Audrey clapped her hands.

“A plate of those, please.” Fred gave the waitress a grin, and Audrey watched her soften, returning his smile before she walked away.

“Where were we?” he said, redirecting his attention to Audrey. “Right, I had just embarrassed myself, telling you I thought you were an angel.”

She paused, biting her lip. He reached across the table to take back the strip of photos, as though worried she might take it away. His hand brushed hers as he reached for it, and she was keenly aware of the contact point. When he opened his wallet to put it back, she noticed he had more photo strips inside.

“What are those?” Audrey asked, suddenly worried she might be one of many women whose photos he’d collected. Fred paused before taking out another of the strips to show her.

“I’ve had a thing for photo booths since I was a kid,” he said. “The vintage ones, the proper analog machines. There are hardly any left; soon there won’t be any.” He held up the photo of her again. “I love that these photos don’t exist anywhere but here. They can’t be reproduced—this is all you have. It makes them more valuable.” He held up another strip in his hand, looking at it before showing it to her. “My parents split when I was eight. On weekends with my dad, he’d take me to the arcade. I played video games, and he played the slots. If either one of us had any coins left over, we’d take a strip together at the booth on the way out.”

They paused to thank the waitress, who had returned with their coffees and churros. Once she had gone, Fred passed the photos in his hand to Audrey. Faded, well-thumbed paper, bent in places, they showed a teenage Fred, perhaps fourteen, squatting in the booth next to his father, both pulling silly faces. In one, his father had taken off his porkpie hat and pressed it over Fred’s face just before the flash went off. The father’s face was caught midlaugh, a genuine moment of joy.

“These are my favorite pictures of Dad.” Fred’s eyebrows knitted, then he reached to take the photos back. “When I look at these, I can relive that exact moment with him, his energy. I can remember what he was like, full of life.” Audrey knew precisely what he meant. She could conjure her father when she looked at the stars. She could hear his voice. Fred closed his eyes then, as though aware he’d navigated the conversation to darker terrain.

“You lost him?” Audrey asked, and he nodded. “I lost my dad too, when I was twelve.”

“I’m sorry. Tell me about him,” Fred said, his gaze intent on her face. She saw in his eyes a reflected understanding of how this particular grief felt.