Chapter 3

Evelyn was in the middle of restoring a medieval Book of Hours when her phone buzzed.

"Evelyn, there is a private gig. You interested?"

"What book is it?"

"Not a book this time. It's a photo album. An old lady's personal album, and all the photos are stuck together. They need to be separated and rebound."

Evelyn pushed her magnifying glass up onto her forehead, thought for a moment, and said, "Send me the address."

She liked taking on private gigs. Work for churches, libraries, or museums always came with a ton of rules and red tape, but private gigs were much more relaxed. Plus, old ladies were usually easy to get along with, and they always fed her.

The next afternoon, she followed the address and found the quiet, tree-lined street. Old oaks, bare red brick walls, and an old house. Right up her alley. She lingered at the entrance for a moment, took a picture, and posted it to her feed.

Evelyn: [Today's gig spot.]

The door was slightly ajar. She knocked.

No one answered.

She knocked again, but still got nothing. So she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The entryway was dim, thick with the smell of camphor. Staircase on the left, living room on the right.

A man was sitting in the living room, totally absorbed in his phone.

"Hi, I'm here to restore the photo album," Evelyn said.

The man looked up.

Evelyn looked in his direction, more precisely, at the spot where he was sitting.

She could make out a human shape. Dark gray clothes, short hair, but his face was nothing but a blur. She tried to pick out the details—eyes, nose, mouth—but everything seemed hidden behind a layer of frosted glass.

She stopped trying and shifted her attention to his clothes, his posture, and the phone in his hand.

"Are you Mrs. Grace Goodwin's family?" Evelyn asked.

"No," the man said, standing up. "I'm the tenant on the third floor. Are you Ms. Chase?"

"Evelyn Chase," she replied.

"Leonard Brooks." He nodded. "Grace's upstairs. I'll go get her."

He headed upstairs. Evelyn stayed put, taking in the living room with its vintage furniture, old photos, and a rocking chair.

On the chest of drawers sat a small framed photo. She walked over for a closer look. A young woman in a drop-waist flapper dress, her hair waved and close to her head, was smiling as she stood on the balcony.

Even though her face was a blur, Evelyn could still feel that gentle warmth from a bygone era.

The stairs creaked. Grace came down, with Leonard following behind her.

"Ms. Chase?" Grace said, smiling as she reached out her hand. "Oh, thank you for coming all this way."

Evelyn took her hand. It was soft and warm. She caught a whiff of camphor, old clothes, and just a hint of osmanthus fragrance.

"Just call me Evelyn," she said.

"Alright, Evelyn," Grace said warmly, repeating her name as she led her into the living room. "The album's right here. Come have a look."

The dark red velvet album lay open on the coffee table. Evelyn sat down, pulled on her gloves, and turned to the first page.

This was her element. Photos, paper, glue, mold, and wormholes. She knew them inside out. They didn't move or speak, but they always left their marks. Every crease, every spot of mold, and every tear was a story written by time.

"All these photos are stuck together," Evelyn said as she flipped through the pages. "The adhesive's gotten old, so the pictures are glued tight. I'll need to take them apart one by one and rebind the album."

"Can you fix it?" Grace asked.

"I can," Evelyn replied, glancing up and giving a smile to the fuzzy outline of her face. "It'll just take a bit of time. Maybe a few days."

"Great. Just take your time," Grace said, patting her hand. "Stay for lunch. I'll cook something for you both."

"Oh, you really don't have to—" Evelyn started.

"Please, I insist," Grace said with a grin. "I eat by myself anyway. It's much livelier with more people around."

Evelyn glanced at Leonard. He was standing nearby, and somewhere along the way, he'd quietly started recording Grace with his voice recorder.

"Are you recording?" Evelyn asked.

Leonard nodded, not offering any explanation.

Evelyn let it go. Everyone had their own odd habits. She'd seen plenty before. She went back to the album, turning the pages one by one.

The photos were mostly black and white, with a few faded color ones mixed in. They spanned decades. Some looked like they were from the 1930s or 1940s, while others were from the 1980s or 1990s.

There were wedding photos, baby's first celebrations, graduation pictures, and family portraits. Everything you would expect to find in an ordinary family album.

She paused on one page.

It was a group photo. Seven or eight people lined up, with this very house in the background. In the center stood a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit, flanked by women and children.

"Is this your father?" Evelyn asked, pointing at the man.

Grace leaned in for a closer look and smiled. "Yes, that's my dad. This was taken in the 1940s. I wasn't even born yet."

Evelyn nodded and kept flipping through the album. She noticed Grace was still watching her, her gaze intent but tinged with confusion.

"Have we met before?" Grace suddenly asked.

Evelyn paused and then smiled. "No, I'm pretty sure we haven't. This is my first time here."

"Oh." Grace nodded, but she still looked a little confused.

Evelyn didn't pay it any mind. Old people forgetting stuff? Happened all the time. She kept flipping through the album when Leonard spoke up.

"Grace can't remember faces. She's got Alzheimer's," Leonard said.

Evelyn looked up in his direction. "Oh, okay."

"You're not surprised?" Leonard asked.

"I'm face-blind," Evelyn replied, tapping her cheek. "Born with it. I can't recognize faces, so when people don't recognize me, it's no big deal."

Leonard went quiet.

Grace laughed. "You two—one can't remember, the other can't recognize. Guess fate brought you together."

Evelyn smiled too. She looked at the blurred face—a man in dark gray, holding a recorder. She couldn't make out his features, but she could feel his gaze on her.

"What do you do?" Evelyn asked.

"I'm a university professor. I teach classical Latin," he replied.

"Oh, that explains the recorder," Evelyn said.

"It's just a personal habit," he said.

Evelyn didn't ask any more questions. She kept flipping through the album, page by page, photo by photo. Some of the photos had writing on the back.

"Spring 1948, taken at home." "Kevin, one year old." "Helen came to visit."

The ink was faded, but the handwriting was still clear.