There were still pictures of Cecil and Franny. The kids too. It was getting to Ingrid. Wasn't she enough for Cecil? When she moved in, she cleared the house. She thought he'd thrown them away like she'd asked, but he hadn't. She wanted to burn them.
"Why?" Cecil winced at that idea. "Is it bad luck?"
"You tell me?" She thought so. Having his past still tucked away in a closet. "You might think of going back to her, no?" She couldn't have a thought of that. Now could she?
"Really, it isn't hurting a thing." Cecil begged to differ.
"Its not like you were their father, or anything, you never were." She reminded him.
"Yes, but there was a time." He looked around the livingroom then as he remembered little feet everywhere and it was a kinder time, not a place packed with her punk things of skulls and black Lolita look. He'd been so considerate.
"What? You don't like it?" She gave him a harsh look then as if she might zap him into a mouse if he didn't watch it.
"Of course, I love what you've done to the place." He looked at the huge abstract Heart on red canvess. "I love your art."
"You think its quite simple, don't you?" She was getting testy now.
"No, I don't." He kissed her then as if he didn't mind.
"Good." She supposed she'd have to live with the box in the closet of those old pictures, but she hoped one day to make them disappear.