"Of course I remember!" Old Mrs. Covington declared firmly. Her eyes sparkled with sudden clarity. "You were wearing that lovely red sweater in the certificate photo. It brought out the color in your cheeks."
Lyra leaned forward eagerly. "The certificate photo?"
"Yes, yes. The marriage certificate," Mrs. Covington nodded, sipping her tea with a steady hand. "Percival looked so handsome standing next to you. Though he wasn't smiling—that boy never smiles for photos."
"Mrs. Covington, do you remember where we took this photo? Or when?" Lyra pressed gently, careful not to upset the fragile thread of memory.
The elderly woman's brow furrowed. Her gaze drifted toward the window, becoming unfocused. "It was... it was..."
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the lucidity in her eyes dimmed. Mrs. Covington blinked several times, then looked at Lyra with renewed confusion.
"I'm sorry, dear. What were we talking about?" she asked, her voice suddenly smaller.
