THE WORDS “LEBANON VALLEY GAZETTE OBITUARIES” flashed across Kate’s computer screen.
“ ‘Sarah Fischer, fourteen,’ ” Eve read, “ ‘of complications from gout.’ ”
“See?” Kate said. “Who gets gout at our age? Nobody!”
Eve began clicking furiously, opening Kate’s bookmarks. Names and faces blinked on and off. More deaths: Meryl Haber, Walter Gilbert, Bryann Davis, Francine Etkowitz…
“This is sick, Kate.”
“I know. Scroll to the bottom. One of the names has a link.”
“ ‘Alexis Wainwright…several days before her fourteenth birthday’…blah blah blah…‘premature hardening of the arteries’…‘for more information, click on…’ Bingo.”
Eve clicked. Another site assembled itself on the screen:
JOURNAL OF THE SOCIETY OF GENETICS
AND
PATHOLOGY
Premature Telomere Foreshortening in Chromosome of Adolescent
Speculation over the role of telomere length in the aging process took a leap forward in the death of a teenage girl in Cold Harbor, whose aberrant genetic makeup was seen as a primary cause of preternatural senescence. Further investigation revealed the existence of the damaged chromosome in one of the parents, who remains asymptomatic.
“You’re the science genius,” Kate said. “Do you understand this at all?”
“I think I do,” Eve replied. “You have these things in your body—chromosomes. You get them from your parents. They contain DNA, which make the genes, which build the proteins that make you you. Sixth-grade biology, right?”
“I must have been absent that day.”
“Anyway, the chromosomes have these wavy things at the ends, like tails. They’re called telomeres. Ours are, like, totally buff, because we’re young. But once you hit our parents’ age, forget it. The telomeres shrink. Some scientists think that telomeres control aging. They give the body instructions on how to get old—you know, they tell the skin to sag, the hair to fall out…”
“That is so disgusting.”
“Anyway, this girl’s telomeres shrank too early,” Eve explained.
“Duh.”
“She inherited this mutated gene from one of her parents, who didn’t actually have the disease. Her mom or dad just carried the gene, then passed it on to her.”
“So this girl died of old age.”
“Or some part of her body aged too quickly.”
“Like I said. Same thing with Tanya’s heart. Same thing with the other kids. See? I’m not as dumb as I look. It’s an epidemic!”
“It’s a theory, Kate,” Eve cautioned. “Read the first word of the article. ‘Speculation.’ They don’t know.”
“All great discoveries start this way.” Kate grabbed the mouse. “We are on the verge of something big, Eve. A Tony Award.”
“Nobel Prize.”
“Whatever. We’ll split the proceeds. I think I can find some other sites, too.”
As Kate began surfing, images flickered on the screen. Photos. Icons. Text.
A face.
It had flashed briefly. Not long enough to get a good look.
“Wait!” Eve said.
“What?” Kate asked.
“Go back.”
Kate clicked once, twice…
Blink.
The face again. A yearbook photo. Staring off into the distance. Like a million other poses of a million other junior high school kids.
It was captioned ALEXIS WAINWRIGHT.
But the face was familiar.
My face.
No. The hair was different. Shorter. And Eve would never have worn a ripped T-shirt in a formal photo.
Eve knelt. Looked into the eyes.
The eyes.
I know them.
Mine.
But not mine.
“Weird.” Kate’s finger was frozen over the mouse. “She looks exactly like you.”
She’s a stranger.
That’s all.
A photo of a face.
She probably looks nothing like you in person.
Looked like you. She’s dead.
“Eve? Earth to Eve!”
Eve’s eyes were glued to the name now.
It brought something to mind. An image.
A girl from her past.
The strong one.
The angry one.
The eyes stared at her. It’s me, they were saying. Me, Alexis.
NO!
This is ridiculous.
A coincidence.
No. Big. Deal.
“Eve?” Kate repeated. “You’re scaring me.”
Eve took a deep breath. “Sorry. I was thinking about when I was little—when I was upset. I’d become this bratty kid, and her name was—?
“Alexis!” Kate blurted out.
“You remember?”
“Do I? You were, like, possessed.”
“Well, so, you know—the face, the name. It kind of freaked me out.”
Kate fell silent. She was staring at the screen now. “Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“Why did you pick that name—Alexis?”
Eve shrugged. “It sounded cool, I guess.”
“You didn’t know anyone by that name?”
“Nope.”
“Not even from your deepest past? From before you were adopted?”
“I was a newborn! How could I?”
“We don’t forget our early memories, Eve. Even I know that. You had to have seen your birth mother, right? Maybe your birth father, too. You heard their voices.”
“Okay. So?”
“So, what if the couple had an older daughter? What if her name was Alexis?”
Sister.
Parents.
“Wait,” Eve said. “You think—this girl is my—?
Leave.
Now.
Don’t listen.
“Look at her, Eve.”
“Kate, that is so totally—?
Look.
The eyes.
I know them.
NO.
How could I?
A face. A name. That’s all. Chance.
“What?” Kate said. “What is it? Am I right? Are you remembering?”
She’s putting ideas in your head.
Go. Quick.
“Uh, Kate, I don’t like this—?
“You have to find them, Eve!”
“Who?”
“Your birth parents. The Wainwrights!”
“They’re not my birth parents!”
“Eve, it’s so obvious.”
“There are millions of faces, Kate. On millions of Web sites. And this one just happens to be my long-lost sister? From my long-lost family? Does that make sense to you?”
“Okay, I know you don’t want to believe it. I don’t blame you. Sometimes the truth is hard—?
“I know the truth already!”
You HAVE parents.
You are Eve Hardy. Not Eve Wainwright.
Eve bolted. Opened the door.
“But what if I’m right?”
Kate’s words stopped Eve cold.
What if?
Mom. Dad. For real.
A sister, too. And me.
A family.
Happy.
Once upon a time.
Eve sank against the doorjamb. “Kate, you don’t understand what you’re doing to me.”
“You have to know,” Kate said gently. “Knowledge is power. You once told me that.”
“What if they are my birth family? They didn’t raise me. They weren’t there for me. Why should I care about them? Why should I cross the country for them? So they can throw me out again? Or so they can fall on their knees and apologize? Either way, what do I get?”
“A family medical history,” Kate replied.
“A what?”
“Alexis died because of the disease, Eve. The disease could be genetic. You’re her sister!”
It makes no sense.
I CAN’T BE HER SISTER.
I CAN’T HAVE THE —
THE —
The eyes.
Again.
Following her.
Beckoning.
From the screen.
From the dead.
With a click, they would disappear from the screen.
But they would never leave Eve’s mind.
They know.
They live.
In me.
Nothing made sense.
But it didn’t have to.
Some things never did.
Eve stood frozen, indecisive, her hand on the doorknob.
Then, slowly, she shut the door. “Ski camp is coming up. We’ll be away from home for two weeks.”
“I can cover for you,” Kate said quietly. “Your parents don’t have to know where you really are.”
“Can your brother help us?”
“We’ll say he’s driving us to camp. He can drop you off at the train station.”
“I couldn’t lie. I’d have to write Mom and Dad and let them know.”
“Suit yourself.”
Eve scowled. “I just don’t know…”
“Don’t you?”
Eve thought about it. But this was beyond thought. Beyond reason.
This was instinct.
“I hope Cold Harbor isn’t too far away,” she said with a sigh.
Kate smiled.