He did not miss the way Staas’ laughter cut off at his question, and watched with stirrings of trepidation as the other man got up to pull a picture frame from the bookshelf. Staas sat next to him with it in hand, and Ira cocked his head to get a good look at it.
And recognized it immediately. During his first visit to the Mooren’s apartment, he’d mistaken the tiny boy in it for Theo, maybe at an awkward angle. From a passing glance Ira had thought that the mysterious teenager also in the frame was perhaps a caretaker at Little Sprouts, until he’d seen the same person again – tall, thin, brown hair, round face, stunning smile— in pictures on the wall in Staas’ room. He’d wondered about who it was, but hadn’t asked.
So he had been—still was?—the best friend. Carey. Who’d also left Staas’ life, all too early and in a way that made Ira twist inside for the both of them. It was hot and violent and it didn’t go away as Staas’ words started to constrict and the older man's eyes began brimming bright with old grief.
Holding it sideways for the other man, Ira looked at the picture with Staas for a long time, in silence. He felt like he was searching for something in it, but didn’t know why or what it was. Ira finally let go of the frame, let it fall gently into Staas’ waiting hands, and sighed.