“Start from the beginning,” Ashley says. And I do. I tell her about the lighthouse and the kiss and how great everything was. How thoughtful Zack seemed and all of the time we spent steaming up the car windows. Even as I tell her, the whole day makes no sense. I suppose I thought walking through the last few weeks aloud would bring an ah-ha moment. Where everything would finally click and make sense. But it only confuses me more.

“So he basically leaned in to kiss you and then walked you out.”

“Basically.” It sounds ridiculous to say it, but it’s really how I see things happened.

“Maybe he’s got the crazies like your Mom.”

“Bipolar,” I correct her for the millionth time.

“Whatever. He sounds like he’s got it. Maybe you’re a carrier and you gave it to him when you kissed him.” She’s teasing, trying to make me feel better.

“Oh and I didn’t tell you the weird part,” I say.

“You mean there’s a part that’s weirder than him groping you then showing you the door?”

“The weird part isn’t about Zack. It’s about the woman.”

“What woman?”

“The one that was staring at me on the first day of school. Remember? I told you about her. It sort of freaked me out for a minute. But then she just disappeared.”

“Okay.”

“She grabbed me when I was leaving Zack’s house and started questioning me.”

“Questioning you about what?”

“Why I was at Zack’s house, I guess.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked me my name and then asked what I was doing there.” I picture the woman’s face as I speak. She was angry.”

“Who is she?”

“I have no idea. But her and Zack both definitely didn’t want me there.”

“I wish I was there with you. I’d go kick Zack’s ass for you.”

“Only Zack’s ass? What about the woman?”

“I’d kick her ass using Zack’s limp body as a battering ram.”

I smile, because she definitely would.

We talk for a while longer and I feel a little better when I hang up. At least I’m starting to feel less like it’s something I did.

***

I need to clear my brain of Zack and trying to figure out what happened. Aunt Claire won’t be home for hours, so I decide to take the time to look around in the attic. I’ve snooped through most of the house already, the attic is my last hope to find something about my sister. Aunt Claire showed me the staircase when I first moved in but told me that there was nothing to see but boxes and things in storage. Although she and I have made a lot of progress becoming more comfortable with each other, we still don’t talk openly about my mom or my life before Mom died. It’s always very shallow. I just wish we could both lay our cards on the table. I’m tired of playing solitaire.

The attic is neat and organized. No surprise there. Aunt Claire keeps her life very orderly. Exactly the opposite of how Mom was. There are a lot of boxes. Most are labeled with things like, “Nursing school text books” or “Size 6 winter clothing”. In the corner behind a bunch of other boxes I find one labeled, “Childhood photos and papers.”

Unlike all the other boxes it isn’t taped closed. It looks like Aunt Claire has been in this box recently. Maybe when she learned Mom died she went back and looked at old memories.

Even though I feel increasingly guilty for violating Aunt Claire’s trust with each snooping session, I decide to look inside. She never put any restrictions on where I went in the house or what I touched. Never said I couldn’t look at anything. I keep trying to convince myself I’m not doing something wrong, but I know better.

The box is full of loose papers and pictures. It isn’t neat and organized like the rest of Aunt Claire’s life. There are dozens of school pictures of Aunt Claire. Her and Mom looked a lot alike when they were young.

I find stacks of old report cards— lots of As, perfect attendance and glowing praise from teachers. I wonder what Mom’s say. I can’t imagine they had the same comments. Mom was definitely much more of a rebel than Aunt Claire— that’s one thing I know.

At the bottom of the box I find a large manila envelope labeled “Hospital Records”. Maybe it’s about Aunt Claire’s husband. She doesn’t talk about him very much, but she told me he had cancer and was very sick. I know he was in the hospital for a long time before he died.

I open the envelope, finding yellowed pages. Aunt Claire’s husband only died five years ago. As I flip through the papers, a knot in my stomach forms finding a set of baby footprints. The kind the hospital gives a mom when her baby is born. It’s labeled “Baby Girl A.”

I don’t know if the footprints are mine or my sister’s. I trace the outline of the tiny feet with my finger. The feet are as small as a doll’s, they don’t seem big enough to belong to a real baby. I hadn’t thought about whether we were born full term or not. The miniature footprints make me think we must have been born premature.

Behind the footprints is a document titled “Discharge Note.” I read it slowly learning more than I thought any box would reveal.

Baby Girl A was very sick. She was in the hospital for two months before she was allowed to go home. The note talks about surgery and procedures and things I don’t really understand. I consider asking Allie if she would ask her dad about the procedures since he’s an obstetrician. But I haven’t told Allie anything about my family and I’m not sure I’m ready to let anyone but Ash in on my secrets.