Robert sifted through his truck. Paper bags that once held fruit littered the cab. Camera straps and beer bottles and coffee cups spilled over onto the front seat. But he had to find it. He had to find that picture.
"Ah!"
He pulled the wrinkled picture of a house in Madison County off of the floor. It was frayed and folded, faded and worn where he had held it for the last 4 years. It never left his truck.
Four years ago today he had driven his truck past a mailbox of a man he'd never met, and fallen in love with that man's wife.
Francesca Johnson. The woman that never left his mind. The woman permanently at the end of his lens.
It was as if he had always loved her – always had her outline in his lens.
Now that he had touched her, he could never imagine feeling what he felt that week in Iowa.
Whenever he was near Iowa, he made sure to drive through Winterset. Just in case someone would see his truck, recognize him, and get the word out to the farm in the country, near Roseman Bridge.
Now, on the 4th anniversary of the biggest event in his life – he opened the tailgate of his truck, and sat with his feet dangling off the back. He held the picture of her house, and the picture of her, and he cracked open a beer.
It wouldn't be right to contract her – though he had sent a complimentary subscription to National Geographic to her house.
It wouldn't be right to send her a letter – or to call.
So instead he sat on the back of his truck, drank a beer, and smiled just as much as he frowned.
He imagined what it would be like to send her flowers just because he wanted to.
He imagined coming home to her.
He'd never wanted a home. He'd never wanted to settle. But Francesca made those thoughts seem normal to him. Of course he didn't want a wife…he only wanted her.
He often wondered if they could have made it, he usually settled on the fact that they would. He knew they had what it would take to grow old together.
He contemplated driving through Iowa again – leaving flowers in the middle of the night, but he talked himself out of it. She'd made her choice, and his. As much as he wanted to carry her away, that wasn't what she really wanted. And he knew that.