Stevie hears the door slam as she stands at the sink washing the dishes. She stares out the kitchen window, watching the hummingbirds hover over the flowers in the garden before finding their way to the bird feeders. The smile she has on her face disappears quickly. She feels Lindsey behind her. He's huffing, his breathing heavy and loud. He's angry and she can tell. He grabs her shoulder, turning her around and pressing her to the sink. The wet plate falls from her hand, smashing to the floor.

"What the fuck did you do?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"Nothing"

"Don't bullshit me, Stevie! My cars."

"What about them?"

"Did you think it was funny? Do you know what eggs do to the paint job?"

"No"

"I didn't think so. Come with me." He takes her hand and takes her into the garage where he had cleaned the hood of one of his cars. She blanched, feeling a bit weak and sick. There were indelible white spots all over the once pristine paint job, as he showed her by running his hands over it. "Eggs eat through the clear coat and can fuck the paint job. It's not funny, Stevie. This is going to cost a hell of a lot to fix"

"I didn't know. I thought it would just make a mess. I didn't know" she reiterated.

"You left the garage door up and it baked it on....fuck!" he shouted. "Why?"

"I was angry. You treat me like shit, Lindsey. All I wanted was for you to notice me. All I wanted was for you to--"

"To what? Suffer? I do that enough. You knew this would happen. I don't buy your little story."

"It's not a little story, it's the truth."

"Bullshit!" He is inches from her face, screaming at her. She begins to cry, her hands covering her face. "I don't care about this house anymore, I don't care about keeping up appearances, all I care about is getting away from you. I'm done; I can't do this anymore!"

"What?"

"What do you not understand? I'm over suffering through this hell just to make other people happy. We're miserable!"

"Lindsey..."

"No, Stevie. I've had enough."

She looks at him in shock. After how he treated her, he's the one to end things? He gets into his defaced car, backing angrily out of the driveway. She watches him, not quite sure how to react. It's over, he's done, he said so himself. The more she let herself dwell on the fact that her marriage is over, the worse she felt. The tears consume her again and she brings herself back into the house. Their smiling faces in every single picture seem to stare down at her, taunting her as her eyes tour the room. Why? Why now? This sort of thing had gone on for years and neither had decided to quit before- why now? Is he tired of her? Is he seeing someone else? Does he not love her anymore? Did he ever really love her? The questions plagued her mind. Those who had gotten a glimpse into their world quickly wanted out once they saw what occurred behind closed doors but for some reason, even through all of the torturous arguments the love between them never truly ceased.

Stevie finds herself in their old bedroom, the one they had shared years ago. The huge, beautiful bed still lay draped in a gauzy canopy, the linens bright white and perfectly turned down. It seemed to be like Roanoke, where everything still lay in its place, ready and waiting for the happy couple to come back to bed. She goes to the closet and pulls a box down from the high shelf. It is small, narrow, like what copy paper or files would come in. She sat on the floor, not wanting to disturb the perfection of the bed, and lifted the lid. Loose photos yet to be put in albums, as well as photo books with gold edged pages stared up at her from inside. A stack of pictures caught her eye and she studied them. Some are old and yellowing from not being properly stored or taken care of but others were perfect and pristine. More smiling faces- young and clearly in love. They could never quite keep their hands off each other. She noticed they held hands or were in kissing in almost every photograph. She reaches for the photo album that lay underneath all the loose pictures, returning the stack she had in her hand to the box. She sits the large book in her lap, opening the cover. It still smelled of floral perfume and she smiled through her tears.

"Oh!" she says with a gasp. "Our wedding"

'1974', the first page reads. Their album had failed, they were dropped from their label. They were now broke and she returned to work, feeling defeated and discouraged. The days were hard, they were very poor and they barely had enough money to pay for a roof over their head, let alone to have food in their bellies three times a day. Stevie and Lindsey were both becoming thin and we're both in danger of becoming very sick. She called her parents in tears one night, saying she loved Lindsey so much but she feared they wouldn't make it as musicians or as a couple. Her parents invited her home but when she refused they had to reevaluate. She wouldn't come home without Lindsey. After a few days, Stevie got another call from her parents. Lindsey had asked for her hand and they told her they would agree only in the condition that he would get a job and support her so she didn't have to work so hard. He would give up playing guitar and find something practical. Stevie cried, hearing that he had agreed. She knew just how important music was to him yet he was still willing to give it all up to be with her. As a group they chose a date and her parents paid for the wedding, wanting the affair to be a happy one. The couple didn't ask for much, but Barb and Jess went all out for them, inviting friends and family from every corner of the earth.

She turns the pages, notes of the goings-on recorded in calligraphy below each photo. She remembers the day fondly, their hands clasped together, the words the preacher said, the guests all crying as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm. It was all picture perfect.

"How did this happen, baby? Why aren't we like this anymore?" she asks herself, running her fingers over the faces of two kids locked in a passionate kiss, Lindsey hands still on the veil after he had uncovered her face. She can still feel the intensity there. Her fingers linger on the last page, the invitation plastered to it, letting herself sink back into the joy she felt as she mailed them out with her mother.

Soon after they married, her parents allowed them 6 more months to try to make this silly music thing work and like magic or an answered prayer, they were invited to join Fleetwood Mac. The money came in quickly and they were doing better than they ever had. They bought their dream home and they were recognized by design magazines, praising them for their impeccable taste. Photos were always being taken and tours were arranged, giving them a strange sense of pride. The parties and the fans did a number on their marriage, Lindsey becoming insanely jealous of the attention she was getting from men. No matter how much she reassured him, it only made things worse between them. He felt she was hiding something or covering something up. It drove him insane. He became paranoid and angry, pushing her away. Thinking a child would change everything and possibly save their marriage, they actively tried for a year. Lindsey became obsessed, micro-managing Stevie's every move in hopes it would produce the child they so wanted but nothing ever came of it. Stevie felt undesirable, simply a tool he wanted to use and throw away in order to obtain the family he wanted so badly. Tensions only grew, forcing them into separate rooms and leading near separate lives, the parties used to show off their grand home being the only thing that united them, at least in the public eye.

She smoothes the invitation once again and closes the book. She wipes her tears, placing the album back into the box. She stands, struggling slightly to get the box back up on the shelf. She turns around and sees Lindsey standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in" Stevie says.

Lindsey crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes grey and stormy. "What are you doing in here? I thought we said we wouldn't go in this room."

Note: sorry for the recycled title