[Gene's question shifts his attention from the conversation back to the album. He doesn't answer for a while-- instead, his fingers ghost over the leather cover. It seems like a decade ago that he'd found it. He starts feeling guilty about how angry he'd gotten at Angela when he saw that picture of her, then shakes it off. It's no use anymore, now. It won't help Angela rest easier in her grave if he feels guilty about it.
Finally he nods, and flips open the first page, his back turned slightly to Gene. He's not prepared for the rush of emotions when he sees baby Tommy in his baptism outfit, small and pudgy; Angela holding him in her lap in the next photo. He lets out a shuddering breath when he flips the next few pages, not fully taking in those images. He stops just before flipping to the last page, where he knows he'll see Angela, still beautiful, young, with her long hair tumbling over her shoulders. Instead, he puts his hand down on a page where he sees Tommy the way he remembers him: still pudgy, in his Sunday suit, sitting quietly. Handsome, like his mother.
He glances at Gene over his shoulder, then jerks his head, silently asking him to come over.]
spam
Finally he nods, and flips open the first page, his back turned slightly to Gene. He's not prepared for the rush of emotions when he sees baby Tommy in his baptism outfit, small and pudgy; Angela holding him in her lap in the next photo. He lets out a shuddering breath when he flips the next few pages, not fully taking in those images. He stops just before flipping to the last page, where he knows he'll see Angela, still beautiful, young, with her long hair tumbling over her shoulders. Instead, he puts his hand down on a page where he sees Tommy the way he remembers him: still pudgy, in his Sunday suit, sitting quietly. Handsome, like his mother.
He glances at Gene over his shoulder, then jerks his head, silently asking him to come over.]
That's my boy. Tommy.