“Dad, why did that man know her name?”
He didn't answer.
Mom finally approached.
Her face was wet with tears.
“Let's go home.”
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
For a second, I thought she would tell me everything.
Instead she whispered,
“Not here.”
The biker had disappeared.
But his leather jacket remained on the floor.
A teacher picked it up.
Inside the jacket was a small photograph.
She looked at it.
Then looked at me.
Her expression became pale.
“What?” I asked.
She handed it to me.
It showed two girls standing beside a motorcycle.
One was Lily.
The other was me.
I stared.
I didn't remember the photograph.
I didn't remember Lily.
But the girl beside her was unmistakably me.
Only younger.
Maybe eight years old.
My fingers began shaking.
Dad snatched the photograph from my hand.
“Where did you get this?”
The teacher pointed toward the exit.
“From the biker.”
My father looked at Mom.
Mom looked at Dad.
And suddenly I understood.
They both knew.
Whatever had happened to Lily Carter wasn't a stranger's secret.
It was my family's.
That night, my father locked the front door.
Then he locked it again.
I stood in the kitchen watching him.
“Who was Lily?”
No answer.
Mom sat at the table.
She had changed out of her graduation clothes but still hadn't removed her makeup.
Her eyes were swollen.
Dad pulled a chair out.
“Sit down.”
“I don't want to sit.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
I folded my arms.
“You've both lied to me.”
Dad's face hardened.
“We were trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Silence.
Then Mom said,
“From the past.”
I laughed bitterly.
“What does that even mean?”
Dad looked at her.
Mom nodded.
He went to the hallway closet.
He returned with a small wooden box.
He placed it on the table.
I recognized it immediately.
It had been in our house for years.
I had always assumed it belonged to my mother.
Dad opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
A hospital bracelet.
And a child's drawing.
I picked up the drawing.
Two girls stood beneath a yellow sun.
One was wearing a blue dress.
The other wore red.
At the bottom, written in childish handwriting, were the words:
EMILY + LILY FOREVER.
My throat tightened.
“I drew this.”
Mom nodded.
“You were eight.”
“Then why don't I remember her?”
“Because you were injured.”
I looked up.
Dad continued.
“There was an accident.”
“What accident?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Mom finally whispered,
“Lily was your older sister.”
Everything inside me stopped.
I stared at them.
“No.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Emily—”
“I don't have a sister.”
“You did.”
“Did?”
Mom began crying.
“She died.”
I stepped backward.
My body felt strangely cold.
I looked at the photographs again.
Lily was older than me.
Maybe four years.
In one photograph, she was holding my hand.
In another, she was pushing me on a swing.
In another, she was standing beside a black motorcycle.
The same motorcycle.
The same man.
“Who is he?”
Dad didn't answer.
I pointed at the photograph.
“The biker.”
Mom whispered,
“His name is Cole Mercer.”
“What was he to Lily?”
Dad said,
“He was her guardian.”
“Guardian?”
“He wasn't family by blood.”
“Then why was he at my graduation?”
Dad's jaw tightened.
“Because he promised Lily he would be there.”
I stared at him.
“What promise?”
Mom stood.
“He promised that if she couldn't stand beside you on graduation day, he would.”
I thought about the auditorium.
The final row.
The empty seat.
Cole sitting alone.
The photograph.
The jacket.
The torn gown.
Suddenly my anger became complicated.
“What was under my gown?”
Dad looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“Then why did he tear it?”
“We'll find out.”
I went upstairs.
I couldn't sleep.
At 2:17 a.m., I opened my bedroom window.
There was something on the lawn.
A black motorcycle.
And beside it stood Cole Mercer.
He looked up at my window.
Then he raised one hand.
He wasn't threatening me.
He was holding something.
A small silver key.
I met Cole the next morning.
He was waiting outside the diner three blocks from our house.
I knew because I saw the motorcycle.
I walked toward him.
He didn't move.
“You owe me an explanation.”
“I know.”
“You destroyed my graduation.”
“I know.”
“You tore my gown in front of hundreds of people.”
“I know.”
“My father almost attacked you.”
“I know.”
I stopped.
“Do you say anything besides ‘I know’?”
Cole's mouth moved slightly.
Almost a smile.
“Sometimes.”
I sat across from him.
He placed a paper cup of coffee on the table.
“I didn't hurt you.”
“I know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You know?”
“You had a chance.”
He nodded.
“That matters.”
“What was on my gown?”
Cole leaned back.
“A tracking capsule.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Someone attached a small chemical marker beneath the lining.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“So they could find you.”
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Then why did you tear it off?”
“Because Lily taught me how to recognize the smell.”
He reached into his pocket and placed a photograph on the table.
Lily.
She was sitting on the hood of his motorcycle.
Behind her stood a man I didn't recognize.
“Who is that?”
“Daniel Voss.”