68

The Army had delivered a box of what they called Mike’s “personal effects.” It sat, unopened, in the middle of the dining room table.

“I’m not entirely certain I’m ready to open it,” Mom said, looking at Frank where he sat across from her. “My hands are shaking.”

Oma brought a plate of cookies in from the kitchen, handing it to Joel. “If you want to wait, that’s all right, dearest.”

“You might as well get it over with.” Grandma crossed her arms.

“I agree,” said Aunt Rose.

“Whatever you want, Glo,” Frank said.

She nodded at him. “Will you open it?”

Frank stood, lifting the top off the box and looking down into it. One item at a time, he passed it to Mom. A stack of letters from home, a pouch full of coins, my copy of A Wrinkle in Time, the Bible Oma’d given him, a can opener, and a few odds and ends. He hesitated when he picked up Mike’s dog tags and the St. Michael medallion, closing his fingers over where they rested in his palm. He cleared his throat, handing them to Mom, and reached into the box one last time.

“And his camera,” Frank said, sitting. “He has at least six rolls of film in there.”

Mom stood and peeked over the edge. “I’ll take them in first thing in the morning.”

It took more than a week to get the photos back from Mike’s box. By then Frank was back in Bliss, Grandma and Aunt Rose were at home in Grand Rapids. Mom had decided it was better anyway, just the three of us getting to look through them first.

“We can take our time,” she said, sitting in the middle of the couch.

Joel and I sat on either side of her.

My heart beat fast when she broke the seal on the first envelope, pulling out a stack of square photographs. The topmost one was of a little boy kneeling on the ground, holding a puppy to his chest. The next six or more were of a green field, most of them blurry.

But then was one of Mike wearing his grin, standing in front of a helicopter with a red cross painted on the side. Then one with him and three other men, all with serious faces. He’d taken pictures of a bunk that I assumed to be his, a few buildings I guessed were on the base.

Stack by stack, we found pictures that told part of the story he’d lived in Vietnam. Him with a nurse or sitting on his bunk, writing a letter. Who had taken the pictures? I doubted we’d ever know. But I certainly was grateful.

“Just one more,” Mom said, opening the last envelope. “Oh, Michael.”

It was of our Christmas together, the night before he left. He’d spent every shot of that roll on us. The picture of all of us together. One of Oma smiling sweetly. Bernie and Frank with arms crossed, not looking at each other.

“Look at this,” Joel said, pointing at a picture of him playing his guitar.

“You look so grown up.” Mom handed it to him. “Oh, and I took this one.”

Mom held up a snapshot of Mike and me sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree, face-to-face, laughing about something. How seeing that picture made me miss him.

We kept flipping through them, then Mom stopped on one of her, holding her cup of tea and smiling prettily into the camera, her head tilted and one foot kicked up to the side. Behind her, Frank looked at her, the sullenness gone from his face and replaced by his full smile.

“That’s a nice one, Mom,” Joel said.

“Yeah,” she answered, her voice soft. “It is.”

The last was of the three of us, my brothers and me. They’d put me in between them, both of them giving me a kiss on either cheek. If my smile could have gotten any bigger it would have surprised me.

“Oh.” Mom sighed. “I wish I could have that evening back.”

Joel put an arm around her. “Me too, Mom.”

“And to think I got after him for taking all these pictures,” she said. “I wanted him to save the film for Vietnam.”

“He never was very good at doing as you said.” I laughed. “The stinker.”

“How I love him.” She blinked. “I love him so much.”

We looked through all the pictures one more time before putting them away for safekeeping. Mom said she’d buy an album at the five-and-dime the next day.

It was late, but we didn’t go to bed. And we didn’t turn on the news. We just sat together, missing Mike.