I stared at the photograph. Two teenagers who thought they knew what forever meant.
“Why like this?” I asked. “Why a cruise?”
“Your sister had told a friend of a friend, and word travels. I know how that sounds. I told myself I’d sit at a nearby table and leave. Then I saw you, and I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t walk away and let you keep believing it was your fault.”
My eyes stung. I refused to let the tears spill.
“You could have mailed the photos to me,” I said. “You didn’t have to come.”
“You deserved a face,” Peter said. “Not another envelope.”
I stood up. My legs felt borrowed.
“I need to be alone,” I said.
“I know.”
He didn’t stand or reach for me. He slid the prom photo toward me and folded his hands.
“Keep it,” he said. “It was always yours.”