"You're mistaken."
He considered this. He nodded once, slowly, with the courtesy of a man who has spent thirty years being polite to nervous people. Then he set the camera on the stool beside the light stand and crossed the floor to the desk in the corner, where a large monitor sat on an articulated arm, its screen angled away from the bench.
"Maybe. Let me check something."
The keyboard made small dry sounds. The room was very quiet. Somewhere below, in the candle shop, a door chimed. Emma looked up at her mother, and whatever she saw in Natalie's face made her own face uncertain, younger.
"Mom, are you okay?"
Natalie did not answer. Her hand had gone still on Emma's back. Adam looked from his wife to the photographer and back again, and his hand lifted from her shoulder.