Cold prickled across my arms even though Claire’s apartment was warm.
“Ethan?”
Her voice came from the bedroom.
I stared at the handwriting.
A second later, Claire stepped into the living room.
I stared at the handwriting.
The dress fit her perfectly.
Emerald green, exactly the way I’d pictured it when I went back to the boutique without her. Her dark hair was pinned loosely behind one ear, and she was still fastening the other earring.
For a moment, she smiled.
The dress fit her perfectly.
Then she saw the photograph.
Her fingers stayed on the earring.
She didn’t finish putting it in.
“Where did you get that?”
I almost laughed.
“Your couch.”
Claire said nothing.
She saw the photograph.
I held the photograph up.
“Who is Nora?”
Her hand dropped slowly.
“Ethan…”
“No.” I pointed to the date. “Why did you write this the day we met?”
She looked toward the couch as though there might be another answer sitting there.
“Who is Nora?”
Finally she said, “Because I knew who you were.”
I stared at her.
“Before Tinder?”
“Yes.”
The green dress suddenly looked absurdly bright in the room.
“You knew me before we matched?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I knew who you were.”
Claire looked at the photograph instead of answering.
I read the note aloud.
“‘Found Ethan today. Tell him.’ Tell me what?”
She reached for the back of a dining chair but didn’t sit.
“Nora was my sister.”
I read the note aloud.
I looked at the little girl in the photograph again.
Something moved at the edge of my memory.
Purple glasses.
A laugh.
A book held open between two sets of knees.
Nothing stayed long enough to grab.
“Your sister?”
Something moved at the edge of my memory.
“My half-sister. She was much younger than me.”
“Why am I in a picture with her?”
Claire looked directly at me now.
“Because you were friends.”
The answer should have helped.
Instead, it made everything worse.
“Why am I in a picture with her?”
