Most of the newer pictures were of a different young girl growing up. She was accompanied by a handsome, distracted-looking man in the early shots only, and then alone or with Lyn. These mother-daughter shots tended to show Lyn with the watchful look of the novice photographer, wondering if the camera's self-timer was going to work-suggesting there was no one either behind the camera or in their lives.
Joe studied the ascent of the child through grade school and puberty, as caught on stage, in a cheerleader's outfit, at the high school prom, and at the desk of what looked like a newspaper office, where she was gazing perplexedly at a computer screen. She was a pretty girl with long hair, slim like her mother.
"That's Coryn," Lyn said from behind him.
He turned and saw her standing by the open door to the hallway, two mugs on a small tray in one hand-a practiced stance for someone used to delivering drinks and snacks to tables.
"She's very pretty," he said, crossing over to take the tray and set it on a coffee table between the armchair and the sofa, by the fire.
"Pretty," her mother agreed. "Also smart, stubborn, opinionated, and private. I love that child like nothing else on earth, but I'm not so sure I'll ever figure out what makes her tick."
"Gave you some troubles over the years?" he asked.
Her answer surprised him. "Never. A completely even keel. Everybody kept expecting her to flip out, especially as a teenager, only because she was so steady, we all assumed she was building up for a huge blow. But it never happened. She's twenty-three now. I don't think it's going to happen."
Lyn sat in the middle of the sofa. Also on the tray were small containers of milk and sugar. "What do you take in your tea?"
He took the armchair opposite and chuckled at the question. "A little of both will work."
But she paused. "You're hedging somehow. How do you usually take it?"
"You're going to think it's like a bad Vermont advertisement. But if there's a choice, I put maple syrup in with the milk."
She immediately rose and headed back toward the kitchen. "I have some, right out in the open. Won't take a second."
She was back in almost that time, unscrewing a glass bottle as she entered. "This I've got to try. I love maple syrup, but I've never tried it in tea."
"Coffee, too," he said, adding, "but I may be alone there. Nobody else I know does that."
She sat again and prepared the mugs, smiling up at him. "You've got a sweet tooth."
He accepted the proffered mug. "Yeah, I've been told that." He took a sip. "Perfect."
She tried her own and nodded approvingly. "That's great. I wouldn't have guessed."
"Where's Coryn now?" he asked, settling into the armchair's embrace, enjoying watching her on the sofa.
"She works for some newspaper in Boston, learning the ropes and hoping for something bigger soon."
"The Globe?"
Lyn shrugged. "No-that she would've mentioned. I did ask her, but that's what I meant. She keeps her own counsel. For all I know, she'll be calling me tomorrow from the L.A. Times. I hope not, though. I would really miss her."
"You see a lot of each other?"
"Not as much as a mother would like, but we talk on the phone pretty often."
"Is she it for your family?" he asked, nodding toward the photographs.
Lyn gazed in that direction, as if the subjects pictured had suddenly stepped into the room, which, after a fashion, they had. Joe kept his eyes on her. He had always enjoyed watching her, from the first time he'd seen her. She had a magnetic effect on him that he was only now beginning to appreciate.
"No," she answered quietly. "I have my mom and a brother, Steve."
"The other boy in the picture isn't a brother?"
She nodded slowly, still gazing off. "He was. He and my father died at sea."
He was taken aback, and felt badly for leading her there. "I'm sorry."
She turned toward him again, her expression sad but open. "I am, too. I loved them both, in different ways. Jose was wild and funny and full of beans; my father was just the opposite. A rock. I see a lot of Dad in Coryn-both of them so steady. Losing them pretty much kicked my family in the head. Steve and my mom never recovered."
"Where are they now?" Joe asked softy.
"Mom still lives in Gloucester," she said briefly.
He considered asking more but realized that either it wouldn't matter or that he'd find out later on. He hoped for the latter, if only because it meant some future for the two of them.
"Steve's in jail," she then added, almost as a challenge.
"Ouch," he reacted. "That's tough. I see what you mean-did all that start after the boat went down?"
She looked at him in silence for a couple of seconds, her mug cradled in her lap. "I guess that's right," she then said. "You're used to these sob stories."
She hadn't said it harshly, but he answered with care nevertheless, feeling his way. "They aren't sob stories, but I wish they were more rare."
She nodded silently and took a meditative sip of her tea. "I'm sorry," she murmured afterward.
"For what?"
"That all came out wrong. My dad and Jose died years ago, when I was still in my teens. It's not like it's fresh-or how Mom and Steve turned out. I don't know why I threw it at you like that."
"No damage done. We've got to get to know each other somehow. It won't always be just right."
"Is it right, though?" she asked. "So far? I don't want to come across as someone I'm not-including how I just showed up out of the blue."
"It feels right to me," he told her simply. "You said from the start where you stood." He laughed before adding, "And that it was basically nowhere in particular. I can live with that. I'm not without my own complications."
Her hand suddenly flew to her forehead. "Jesus," she said, "that's right. How are they doing?"
He smiled back at her, wishing that were the extent of it. "I didn't actually mean that, but they're fine, or at least Mom is, physically, and Leo is still stable."
"But she's taking it hard," Lyn suggested.
"They're very close," he answered.
She got that distant look back into her eyes. "So were Dad and Jose."
"It was a storm?" he asked after a moment of silence.
"Yeah. I almost wish it was something more dramatic, like in that George Clooney movie. But it was just run-of-the-mill, a carbon copy of all the other storms that kill fishermen year after year."
"Did they ever find them?"
"Not them, not the boat. Nothing."
He stared at the fire for a while, reflecting how much harder that must have made it for the survivors, never knowing for sure what had happened.
"God, what a life," he finally muttered.
"How come neither you nor Leo ever got married?" she asked after a while.
"I did," he answered, his eyes still on the flames. "A long, long time ago. She died of cancer. We never had kids."
"What was her name?"
"Ellen," he said, letting the name drift around inside his head like a childhood prayer, never to be forgotten. "I didn't feel like getting married again after that."
He finally shifted his gaze to her. "What about you and Coryn's dad?"
Lyn half smiled. "Nothing quite so romantic. We were no match made in heaven. Barely lasted three years. He stuck around for Coryn for a while after that; then he lost interest. Neither one of us has heard from him in years."
"You still have his photo."