Chapter 4: The Album

Winslow's POV

My great-grandmother had assembled the entire family in the sitting room outside my old bedroom.

Nobody would tell me why.

My great-grandfather sat in the leather chair, ninety-four and scowling.

My grandparents sat on the sofa.

My mother and father sat on the piano bench, because there was nowhere else.

My aunts and uncles filled the doorway.

"Sit down, Winslow," said Winifred.

She was ninety-two, five foot one, and she had never in her life asked me twice.

I sat.

I had been awake since five.

I had watched Coralie's car pull away an hour ago, and I wanted to be wherever she was.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing's wrong," said my mother. "We just have something to show you."

Nobody handed me anything.

I looked around.

"Butler," said Winifred, not loudly.

The Taft family butler came in with a thick white photo album and put it in my hands.

One look at its cover told me what this was about.

I had been refusing dinners for twelve years.

I had thought they wanted to put a woman in front of me again.

My great-grandmother sat down next to me and patted the cushion.

"Open it. There's a surprise inside."

I knew that if I didn't at least look, none of them would sleep.

So I opened it.

It was full of men.

Every page had one photograph, tall and well-lit, and under each photograph was a profile typed in tidy columns.

Height. Weight. Blood type. Hobbies.

And a column labeled *Orientation*.

Every man in the album had written the same word in it.

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