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Here is the photograph and my part fiction/part memoir story:
The Eccentricities Of Romance
Nobody in my family ever really knew Ivy. One day out of no where Dad, a widower for seven years, announced he was going to marry some woman he’d met on the internet. That just didn’t sit well with us. The internet part. The sudden part.
Nobody in my family ever really knew Ivy. And then one day, decades later, Dad had died and Ivy had reached a critical point in her ability to care for herself. We moved her into a care facility.
“I’ve always wondered what attracted you to Dad,” I said during one of our last visits.
“Those model airplanes he had hanging from the ceiling of his library. Remember those?” Ivy squeezed my hand. “I just thought that was the most romantic thing I’d ever seen.”
I shook my head and smiled. They had always been such an odd pair. The engineer and the poet. “You two.”
“I know,” she agreed. Her smile lit the space between us.
Nobody in my family ever really knew Ivy, and that was the shame of it all.