The Scent of Memories

He almost missed it. His feet hurt, his back ached. He glanced at his watch. Two hours to go. The wedding was her big day. Then the reception. He had to capture that magic moment. That was why they hired him. He was the best, and they knew it. The light, the shadows, just the right angle. He moved up the outside aisle, focusing on their hands. Their fingers intertwined. Then their faces filled with love. Their eyes, their lips. The minute they said ‘I do’.
How many couples had he photographed? A hundred, two or maybe three. He won awards for his other photographs, but weddings were his bread and butter. Yet he felt as if this was one too many. He promised himself this was the last gig. However, he had made that promise before. Never kept it.
Some young bride with stars in her eyes and hope in her heart. She would smile and he would forget the long hours it took to make her day one she would remember for the rest of her life. He could picture her in a nursing home sharing with her roommate the extraordinary photos of her wedding so long ago. So he would give in, promising himself this was the last. Now he moved to the audience. Sweeping the crowd of well-wishers. Focusing on the parents. Their smiles, their hands joined together.

After the reception, the rice throwing, the bride and groom drove away. He breathed a sigh of relief. Another wedding finished. Too busy with the camera to eat during the reception, he stopped at a fast-food restaurant.
After a long hot bath and a good night’s sleep, he looked through the photos of the wedding. There she was again, just like the last five weddings. Six row third seat from the left. Instead of looking at the bride and groom, she stared at the camera. He felt some kind of attachment to her. Auburn hair, sparkling green eyes, just a hint of a smile. As if she and he shared the best secret in the world. He lay it aside to join the others in his collection. Who was she, or was he the only one who could see her? He gathered all the photos with her in it. Same pose, same smile.

After he finished the wedding album, he went for a walk. For some reason, he stuck the photos of this mysterious woman in his pocket. As always, he hung the camera around his neck. A cool breeze moved the leaves, giving relief from the morning sun.
At the park, he watched the children play. Some on swings, some on slides. One little boy with his antics captivated his attention.
“They're having a lot of fun. “ A voice said behind him.
“Yes, they are.” He said. He turned to the voice. His eyes widened; his breath caught in his throat. His heart leaped in his chest.
“May I set down?” She said. He nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.
“Hi, I’m Cathy Walkins,“ She said, sticking out her hand. Woodenly, he shook it.
“Ja…Jack Gibson. You were at the wedding I photographed yesterday.”
“Oh, you’re a photographer?” she said, glancing at his camera.
“Yes, I do weddings. Was your daughter at my wedding yesterday?”
“Couldn’t be.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t have a daughter.” She said, smiling.
He pulled the photos from his pocket, handing them to her. She shuffled through them, her mouth hanging open. “That’s me. I mean that’s me twenty years ago.”
“That’s impossible.” He said.
“Wait.” She dug into her purse. “Here.” She handed him a photograph.
He looked from the photos in his pocket to the photograph she had handed him. It was the same woman.
Slowly the images on the photos he carried faded away, leaving the pew or chairs vacant. Suddenly, he was aware of the scent of roses. He stared at the woman before him. She was dabbing on perfume.
“My favorite scent. Do you like it?
“Very much. “ He made a decision. “Cathy, how about I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“I would like that and you can let me in on the fascinating world of photography.”

Six months later, He prepared for a wedding. This time, he was the groom and Cathy the bride. As she came down the aisle, the scent of roses wafted to him. To him, it was the scent of love and memories.