Laurel House, May 1998.
I enlarged the photo.
There were four people standing on the porch.
A middle-aged couple I didn’t recognize.
A teenage boy with sandy hair.
And a little girl in a yellow dress.
I leaned closer.
The boy was young, but unmistakable.
Lucas.
My fingers went cold.
Why did we have this photo?
Why had Lucas never mentioned Laurel House?
I sent the image to Grace.
Her response came a minute later.
“Anne, the girl in the yellow dress is Melanie.”
For a moment, the kitchen disappeared.
All sound faded.
I looked at the photograph again.
Lucas, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders angled away from the others. Melanie, maybe six years old, clutched a stuffed rabbit against her chest.
They had known each other as children.
Lucas had not met Melanie last year at a conference.
He had lied about that too.
Grace called immediately.
I answered, still staring at the photograph.
“Where did you get this?” she demanded.
“Our shared cloud storage.”
“Why would Lucas have this?”
“I don’t know.”
“My parents never told me he knew us.”
“Are those your parents in the photo?”
“No.” Her voice shook. “That’s the problem.”
