She sits in a dark, stuffy room, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. It's her apartment, but she doesn't feel at home. The door opens, and he switches on the light. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asks. No reply. Neither the darkness nor the silence is surprising. After 10 months of marriage, he's beginning to wonder what he's gotten himself into. "What's for dinner, Angela? Ang…?" She looks up and beyond him, "Yes," her stifled answer. "What are we going to eat for dinner tonight?" he repeats, frustration already surfacing. It's been a long day; why does he have to come home to this? She gets up and goes into the kitchen; he hears the clanging of pots and pans as they are disturbed. He flips the TV on to catch the tail end of the news. "Rain, rain, and more rain…" he mutters.

It's not that Ben grew up a stupid kid. No, he was one of the smartest in his class; it was just that he had never been in the habit of thinking about decisions before he made them. The results included a totaled 1979 AMC Eagle, a scar on his left elbow that he still doesn't really remember getting at the Boston concert, another scar on his right nipple from a piercing infection, an ex-girlfriend named "Kiki," 250 shares in Kmart, a few other pains in this life, but none more frustrating than Angie. What happened to that fabulous girl he proposed to? Ah yes, she's in the kitchen and… for the love, what is that smell? Ben moves to get up when she appears over his shoulder with a plate in hand. It contains eggs… and spaghetti sauce.

She clumsily sets the plate down in front of her husband and retreats back to the kitchen. Her mind is awake now; she knows where she is, but she fumbles with why. "I have a headache, I'm going to bed," she calls from the kitchen. No reply. She knows she's being difficult, and she doesn't care. Down the hall and into the bedroom, she closes the door behind her and switches on a small bedside lamp. She reaches for the envelope tucked under the bed. It's gone.

He smears the eggs around his plate a couple of times and then resigns himself to the fact that he's not going to eat the dinner from Hades. Television still blaring, he reaches into his backpack for the envelope, opens it, and reexamines the black and white picture of strangers on a cliff above the ocean. Except Angie is in the picture; she is sitting and looking happy, not picture happy, but really happy. "Why was this hiding under the bed?" he wonders. He was hoping for something a little more… secret maybe? He tosses the picture onto the coffee table, making a mental note to ask her about the picture in the morning when she doesn't have a "headache."

She is momentarily frantic. She inspects every inch of the bed. Could it have fallen from its careful hiding place? No… then the unthinkable crosses her mind… could he have found it? Took it? Done who knows what with it? No… yes? No. She looks around and under the bed again. Nothing. Not under the bed, not beside the bed, not under the table, not in the dresser, not by the laundry hamper, not in the laundry hamper, not under the bed… She runs into the bathroom… not in the bathroom… She runs back… Her eyes roam the bedroom again… groan. Dejectedly realizing that nothing further can be done at that moment, she gives herself to the bed and the mercy of her pillow. Her eyes burn through the ceiling, but she does not resist sleep tonight.

Awakening, he squints at the TV until finally Gamera the flying turtle comes into focus, his shell spinning and shooting fire into a group of innocent Japanese citizens. Eggs and spaghetti sauce that haven't moved from the coffee table smell cold and stale. He stands up, turns off the TV, crosses the cluttered room, and turns out the light. The picture remains on the table as he stumbles down the hall, into the bedroom, and finally, to bed.

It's a cool spring day and salt is in the air. They all pull over at the viewpoint. Running down the rocky path, they lose each other in the tall grass. Laughing. They stand over the edge of the cliff and look out across the ocean. "I feel small." Turning around, there he is, as he always was, extending his hand to hers. Look up-everyone get over here… and smile-click.

Angie and Ben both awaken to the ear-piercing alarm clock. He rolls over, out of bed and into the shower. She stays tucked in for a little while longer and then convinces her warm body that it really does want to get up and out of this heavenly bliss for some cheap coffee. Her bare feet are cold on the kitchen floor as she flips the switch on the machine. He passes her on his way into the front room and turns the TV on. She follows distantly behind to catch the morning headlines, then, "My picture…" He doesn't hear. "What is my picture doing out here?" she repeats. Ben is lost in the TV, "I don't think I can stand anymore rai-" "Why is this picture on the coffee table, Ben?" she shouts. "Oh, that," he replies, "I found it under the bed, and I was going to ask you what it was doing there."

Her mind is elsewhere once again. She passes him, reclaiming the picture from the table, places it back in the envelope and walks to the bedroom. He's shouting something, but she cannot understand his words. The envelope is placed back under the bed-no, on second thought, it is moved to its new home behind the dresser. There. Now it will be safe.