Nick dug out a tripod and set the Waybak Camera on it. He adjusted the lens until the apartment door swam into focus. He stared at the door in the viewfinder. Useless, for Bixbee's note claimed the camera never filmed whatever was actually happening right then and there in front of the lens. He hesitated before pushing the start button, remembering the events that brought him to this desperate moment. Now that the moment was here, he hesitated, wondering just what he expected to happen. What he wanted to happen. What he feared to happen. He closed his eyes as memories of the months since Winnie gave him the Waybak Camera filled his mind.

Nick, for only Winnie called him Nicky, (as in Nicky, darlin), had bought the funky old camera at a repair shop known for the odd machines Bixbee, the owner, patched together and sometimes sold. She gave it to him for their fourth wedding anniversary, two days before her death. An eternity ago, although only three months, one week, if you looked at the calendar. "Appliances, the modern gift. Something for your collection," she said, kissing him. She handed him a box wrapped in blue paper and bound with a gold ribbon.

He opened it and took the antique camera out of its carry bag. He examined it carefully. The label said "Waybak Camera. The one and only." It had a weird arrangement of dials and gauges. One spun to a year, others to a month, a day, a minute, a second. The year dial went back 100 years. "Here's the battery," he said, turning it around and around. The camera came with one roll of film, a mere 5 minutes' worth. He read the label: Caution. This is the only roll of film. There is no more forever. Film your heart's desire: What you wish you had seen, may then be seen.

He thought for a minute. "Hunh," he said. "Bixbee designed this thing to film the past." He laughed. "It's a hoot, Winnie," he said, "and a hoax. I hope you didn't spend too much for it."

"Oh, no," she said. "I stopped at Bixbee's Marvelus and Fantastik Repair Shop. Where that eccentric Mr. Bixbee repairs machines by combining them into one-of-a-kind gadgets that don't do anything useful. I bought it at his going-out-of-business sale."

He handed her a small rectangular package wrapped in green with a gold ribbon, the exact shape of a gift box for jewelry.

"Hmmmm," she said, "this package could hold a fancy chocolate bar. My favorite." She smirked at him, and they began to laugh.

"Serve you right if it did," Nick said. He frowned. "Actually, it does hold a kind of chocolate, according to the saleslady."

She gave him a look of mock alarm. "I guess you can't lose with chocolate." She undid the ribbon, carefully laying it aside. She recycled so many things. She slipped the jewelry box out of the giftwrap, folded the giftwrap carefully and setting it aside, too. She held the velvety box in one hand and lifted the lid. Her face softened, then broke into a smile. "Oh, it's so lovely. It's perfect." She lifted the pendant out and examined it carefully. A fruit basket of colored gems held apples, bananas, grapes. White diamonds formed a small bow on the handle.

"The basket is chocolate diamonds, according to the saleslady. The bow, white diamonds. The other stones are rubies and topaz and amethyst," Nick said proudly. "Set in 10 karat gold." He looked at her cautiously. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," she said, with a giggle. "Fruit for our fourth anniversary." She handed him the pendant and turned around, lifting her dark hair off her neck with one small hand. "Put it on me, Nicky, darlin. I want to wear it."

He opened the clasp on the chain and placed it around her neck. He fastened it carefully, tugged gently to make sure it was secure, then let go.

Winnie touched the pendant, settling it on her bosom. She turned around, smiling the wide beautiful smile that made him wonder why she'd ever settled for him. "How does it look?"

"Beautiful," he said, "but you outshine the diamonds."

He worked at home, editing film. Wedding videos, commercials, whatever. He did excellent work and had all the jobs he wanted. She worked at Winston Savings and Loan. She would pick up Lacey, their daughter, every afternoon on her way home. By five-thirty, he'd hear her key turn in the lock, and his two girls would come in, with a "Hello, Nicky, darlin," and "Daddy, Daddy!"

Two days after their anniversary, she left work a little early to stop at the weekly Farmers Market on Fourth and Winston, to get the farm fresh vegetables he liked. She had selected a bunch of carrots and was handing them to the clerk when a car swerved to avoid a dog running loose in the street. It bounced over the curb, hit a pole, and rolled into the farm stand. Winnie, the clerk, and the driver died. The dog disappeared down Winston and was never seen again.

When she was half an hour late, he called her phone. No answer. He called her office. She had left early, as usual, on Thursday. He tried her phone. Again, no answer, just voice mail. He left a message. Another half-hour passed, and he called the daycare. Lacey was there. Winnie had not picked her up.

Feeling worried, he yanked on his jacket and ran out to get his daughter. He arrived at the daycare and hurried to the room for three-year old's. Lacey sat at a table, scribbling with crayons. He said, "Lacey."

"Daddy!" she said, happily, and then ran over to him, lifting her arms to be picked up. He was near the exit door when the manager called him over.

"Mrs. Green," he said, "I can't wait. My wife doesn't answer her cell. I've got to get home. If she comes here for Lacey, have her call me, please."

Mrs. Green's face drooped. "Please come into my office. Betty, take Lacey for a few minutes," she said.

Nick handed Lacey to Betty and followed Mrs. Green into her office. She shut the door behind him and motioned him to a seat. She sat behind her desk. Her lugubrious expression worried him, but he kept repeating to himself, It's all alright. It's all alright. A mantra against misfortune.

"The news reported an accident at the Farmers Market on Winston. I believe your wife stopped--stops there every Thursday."

He nodded. It's all alright.

"A car jumped the curb and hit two women at a booth in the Winston Street Farmers' Market. One of them was Winnie. She was taken to Memorial hospital."

It's all alright.

"Is there someone you can call to take Lacey?"

He nodded dumbly. "My sister." It's all alright.

An hour later he sat beside a hospital bed, holding Winnie's hand. The machine that breathed for her had been disconnected and beeped slower and slower, until the beeps stopped. Flatline. She was gone. Her mother sobbed quietly as her father wiped tears from his eyes.

It's over. It will never be alright again. Winnie, Winnie. I love you so...I loved you so. I love you so.

The next few days, the funeral, the burial, the guests and the flowers and the thank-you notes passed slow moment by agonizingly slow moment. Over the next several weeks, Lacey asked for her mother over and over again. He'd bring her home from daycare and she'd look around the apartment for Winnie. Before she went to her grandmother's, she'd ask him if Mommy was there. Finally, she seemed to accept Winnie was not anywhere. Nick's broken heart shattered again.

Nick got back to work, editing everything he could get, anything to keep his mind occupied. He worked late into the night, falling exhausted into bed. Until he understood he had to care for Lacey, not just for her sake and his, but because Winnie had loved her so much. And loved him. He took Lacey to the park regularly, and to buy ice cream and too many toys. He began to clean some of Winnie's things out of the apartment, her clothes, her books, and her quarter-full bottle of perfume. Her scent still drifted through the room occasionally. He couldn't seem to find where it came from. He got his vegetables frozen or in cans from the grocery store.

One weekend when Lacey stayed with her grandmother, he sorted through the bedroom closet, taking Winnie's clothes for the thrift store. He smelled her perfume again. He put a bag of saved gift wrap and bows aside to recycle. He pulled more bags from the shelf and realized one of them was the carry bag with the joke camera she'd given him. That smelled of her perfume, too.

He took the bag to his desk and took the camera and its accessories out. There was no way to charge the battery, but when he plugged it into the camera, the on light turned green. He checked the zany dials again. He set the date and time for the night before Winnie's death, the time she'd walked through the door with Lacey. He scrolled through the viewscreen options until he came to the address screen. He used his address: Apt 2-C, 197 S. Elm St. He attached the film cannister. And remembered.

 The memories stopped. He blinked, remembering what he was doing. He pushed the on button.

The camera whirred as the film ran through the spools. After a few minutes he shut it off. His hands shook as he reset the address to the Farmers Market on Wilson, at the intersection where an SUV jumped the curb, hitting a booth and killing Winnie. There were three minutes of film left. He set the dial to one and a half minutes before the accident.

He hesitated, wanting to take the film out and burn it, and tear the camera apart. Even if this junk camera films what happened, why would you want to see it? The past is a ghost without a future. Even if you film these two moments, can you watch them? Would you want Lacey to see them?  No. He resolved to destroy the film after watching it and destroy the camera. There would be no more film anyway.

He pushed the start button. The camera clanked and for a moment he thought it wouldn't work. The film started spooling through the camera and he didn't know whether to be relieved or regretful or frightened. After an eternity, the film ran out and the camera stopped. The on/off switch broke with a loud snap and the lens cracked. He removed the film cannister and set it aside. He put the camera back in the bag and put it in the coat closet until he could break it apart.

In the morning he took the film cannister to a friend who still worked with film. He waited while the film was developed, printed, and copied onto a computer file. He thanked his friend profusely and went home, thinking about anything but what he might see on the film.

At home, he opened Adobe Premiere and uploaded the files. He waited until it finished. He waited and waited, then opened a file. He watched as Winnie walked up to a market booth, spoke to the elderly woman operating "Green Goodness Farms" produce. She picked up a bunch of carrots, examined it, and handed it to the woman, who put it into a bag. As Winnie held up a tomato, a small dog began to cross the street. An SUV swerved to avoid the dog, bounced over the curb, hit a pole, and blocked his view of Winnie and the booth as it crashed into them. The clip came to an end. He sat for quite a while, staring at but not seeing the last frame, the car's alarm lights frozen in mid-flash as the dog hurtled down the street, all four feet in the air forever.

Nick wiped his eyes and began the second clip: Winnie entering the apartment the evening before the accident. He wept as the door opened and Winnie entered, leading Lacey in. He could see Lacey's lips forming "Daddy!" as she ran out of the frame to him. Winnie followed her, smiling her wide beautiful smile. He watched this clip again and again, until he was yawning. He shut the computer off and went to bed to a dreamless sleep.

In the morning he opened the program again and began editing. He didn't stop till he had a jerky version of what he wanted to see. He watched the clip. Winnie walked to the booth and picked up a bunch of carrots. The SUV approached the intersection. The dog ran into the street. The SUV blipped and sideswiped a parked car. The little dog was running down Winston and was seen no more. Winnie walked away from the stand, shopping done. The clip flashed ahead as the apartment door opened and Winnie entered with Lacey. If only.

He closed the program and shut down the computer. He ate a tasteless meal, showered, and went to bed for another dreamless night.

In the morning he loaded all the film to a drive and put it with the Waybak Camera. In a day or two he'd wipe the files and burn the film. The camera could be broken apart and trashed. Then he had a breakfast of cold cereal and sat at his computer to edit a commercial. His mother-in-law would drop Lacey off at dinnertime.

Mid-afternoon, Nick took a break and prepared Lacey's favorite dinner—macaroni and cheese with bacon. He scooped the mix into a baking dish and put it in the oven. He was exhausted and laid down on the sofa. He dozed, and began to dream, disturbing dreams of Winnie at the booth the with the SUV moving over the curb, her walking down the street, a dog running and running, Winnie entering the apartment with Lacey and telling him about the accident at the Farmers Market. Broken dreams of the hospital bed and her funeral, then the apartment door opening to no one. A machine beeped throughout the dreams. The sound of a key in the door woke him.

He sat up, brushing his hair back. He wondered what he'd been dreaming about. He checked the time. Winnie and Lacey were due home any minute. No, she was dead. Was that a dream? Or was Winnie coming home again the dream?

The door opened and Winnie entered with their daughter. Lacey ran to him. "Daddy! I colored a picture today. Wanna see?"

"Sure do, Lacey," he said. Did I dream Winnie was hit by a runaway car and died? Or is this the dream? If this is a dream, let me live in it. "You're home, Win," he said. "I had a dream you were hit by a car."

"After that horrible accident when an SUV almost killed me a few months ago? Of course, we have nightmares." She sat next to him. The jeweled pendant of a basket and fruit gleamed at her throat. He stared at it groggily. The past few months fuzzed and blurred in memory, ending with her sitting next to him.

She smiled her wide beautiful smile. "Wake up, Nicky darlin. I'm home."