“This looks like a graveyard,” James said.
“It is,” Harold replied. “I believe it was the last time I saw Big Burt. He walked around, studying the headstones. Then he motioned toward a patch of grass. ‘Right here is where they’ll bury me soon,’ he said. He knew he didn’t have long.”
“Not really. Burt didn’t seem at all distressed. Just calm, resolute, sure of himself, as always. Which is how I hope to comport myself when the time comes.”
James closed the album.
“Well, Harold, this is quite a moving collection of images.”
“And I think you truly understand the utter necessity of carefully documenting important episodes of our lives.”
“I do. There was a time when I contemplated burning the whole lot. Everything that was connected to those catastrophic marriages of mine. But I’m glad that I didn’t.”
“Your tone tells me you’ve finally made peace with them.”
“In part, yes.”
“Beter a little than not at all, eh?”
“Perhaps,” Harold said. “We all heal in our own way, at our own pace.”