that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Photos,” he says. “I presume that means photographs?” He touches the button, indicating it for me, only to have it pop open. “These are all . . . ?” He taps one, and the screen fills with a picture of Enigma, posing wide eyed. He holds the phone out for Pandora, perched on the back of his seat. “We’ve found your missing baby, Pan. She’s right here. Trapped in this tiny box.”
The cat leans to sniff the phone and then glowers at me.
“Do you want me to take your picture?” I ask William.
“Not particularly.”
“Too bad.” I snatch the phone back and lift it. “Say cheese.”
“Say what? No, do not take—”
I press the button and laugh. “Too late.”
“Witch,” he whispers, his eyes widening. “Do you know what you’ve done? Stolen my soul with a click of a button, trapping it forever . . . forever in . . .”
“Can’t even get the rest out, can you? You did manage to say it with a straight face, though. Well, almost.”
I press the button again, watching the screen as his voice sounds, saying. “Witch . . .”
William’s brows jump.
I pass over the cell phone and show him how to hit Play. He watches the video clip I shot. Then he watches it again before turning to me with, “Witch.”
I laugh and reach to take the phone back.
“Oh no,” he says, whisking it away. “Now, I get to take your photograph.”
I protest, but he insists, and I show him how to do it.
“Shall I pose with my scone?” I reach for the plate, only to find it empty. “Apparently, I’ve eaten the whole thing. Surprise, surprise. I am overly fond of scones as you can tell.” I wave a self-deprecating hand at my figure.
He frowns and then nods. “Ah, yes. You do seem to have accumulated a remarkable quantity of crumbs on your bodice. Enough for nearly a full scone.”
I smile at him. “Thank you.”
His brows knit in fresh confusion. Then another nod. “I suppose it’s ungentlemanly of me to notice the crumbs. It may also suggest I’m paying more attention to your décolletage than is seemly. Take another scone and pose for the photographer, please.”
I do as he asks, and he snaps a couple. He checks them and takes more, testing angles. He snaps a few of Pandora, too, who gives me a fresh glower, as if this nonsense is clearly my fault.
William settles into his chair and flicks through the screen. “All of these are photographs? There must be hundreds.”
“When it’s that easy, we do take hundreds. Most are photos. The ones with a box symbol in the corner are videos.”
I nibble my scone and sip tea as he flips through photos. Then I hear Michael’s voice and stop cold.
“—first day of school, Professor Dale,” Michael is saying.
“Put down the camera,” my voice replies.
“Oh, no. The occasion must be documented. May I say you look very fine today, Professor Dale. If my profs looked like you, I’d have been too distracted to ever get the grades for grad school.”
I scramble up to take the phone back. William doesn’t notice, his gaze fixed on the screen, expression unreadable.
On the video, my voice says, “I’ll be late. We need to go.”
“You’re the prof. You’re allowed to be late. We have a few minutes to spare, and I believe I am in need of a quick lesson in—”
I snatch the phone away, murmuring something unintelligible.
“That was . . .” William says.
“My husband.”
He stiffens so fast that Pandora gives a start.
“He’s passed,” I say, adding that more quickly than I intend. I settle into my chair. “We met in graduate school. He died eight years ago. A cancerous tumor in his brain.”
I look ruefully at the phone. “We can invent a tiny box that will shoot a million photographs, but there are some things we still can’t do. Still can’t fix.”
“I’m sorry.” A pause, stretching well past awkward. “I should have asked if you’d been—or were—married. Also, whether you have children.”
I shake my head. “We wanted them, but we thought there was plenty of time. And then there wasn’t.”
Another long pause. “Your husband wasn’t in that moving picture, but I saw a young dark-skinned man in several photographs with you. The voice seemed British but . . . something else, too.”
“He was from Egypt. He studied in England before coming to Canada.” The first time we met was in an economics class. He said my name,