“This is Eve,” Zach said. “She works with me at the library.”

“How lovely,” his mother said.

Eve checked the street as a blue SUV barreled by. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe. But the car didn’t slow, and she glimpsed a family inside it.

“I invited her to lunch.” Zach was peering over his mother’s shoulder as if he expected to see someone else with her.

“Delightful,” his mother said.

Another car, a black one, turned onto the street. She had to get inside, or at least out of sight. She inched closer to the door.

“I didn’t think you’d be home,” Zach said. “Is everything okay?”

Zach’s mother’s eyes brightened. “Of course, Zachary! Don’t be silly. Can’t I have a change in plans without causing concern? Come in, please, both of you.” She opened the door wider.

Eve darted inside. She flattened against the wall and watched through the window as a black car with tinted windows crept down the street. It rolled past the house without stopping. Her rib cage loosened, and she took a deep breath.

“I thought you had your museum meetings today,” Zach said, coming inside too.

“Oh, I couldn’t. Your father has some business associates coming for dinner. I need to prepare.” His mother shut the door behind them, and Eve sagged against the wall. Safe, she thought.

Zach frowned at her. “You’ve been preparing for those meetings all month.”

“I can catch up on the meeting minutes later.” His mother dismissed his words with a wave. “Let’s see what I can whip you two up for lunch!” She beamed at both of them, and her cheeks shifted shape as if they were molded plastic.

For the first time, Eve looked at the inside of the house. A staircase with white carpet swept up in a curve to a second floor, and a brass chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. To her right, she saw a living room with stiff chairs that faced an immaculate fireplace. To her left was a dining room with a banquet-style table decorated with a linen tablecloth, crystal candlesticks, and a bowl with orchid blossoms floating in water.

“I’ll make us sandwiches,” Zach said to his mother. “Don’t worry about us. Mom, you—”

Her plastic smile erased as quickly as it had appeared. “Don’t start, Zachary.” She kissed him on the top of his head. “You and your friend go sit on the sun porch. I’ll bring you something nice.” She scurried into the dining room and then through a white door.

Zach sighed. “And that’s my mother. Come on. We’d better sit on the back porch.”

Eve followed him past the staircase to a hall filled with framed photos. Slowing, she looked at them. One was a bride, a younger version of his mother with coiffed hair and a smile that looked exactly like Zach’s—a happy smile, not a plastic one. She wore a lace-encrusted dress and stood on a curved staircase. Another was a man in a suit, shaking hands with other men in suits. In another photo, the same man was in a boat on a lake in jeans and a plaid shirt. He held a fish that was as long as his forearm. Eve stared at the lake photo the longest. She knew this place. Another memory? Leaning closer, she peered at the shape of the evergreen-covered hills and the dock, all familiar.

“The fish that didn’t get away,” Zach said. “I caught a minnow that day, as Dad is very fond of reminding me. I threw it back.”

“Lake Horace,” she said, suddenly sure.

“You’ve been there?” Zach asked.

She felt herself deflate. “No.” She’d seen it in a photo on the mantel, one of the fake photos that the agency had made. “I mean … yes. I … spent a few summers there as a little kid.”

“You remember the bait shop on East Main? My father swears by their tackle. We’d stop there on the way up, buy Dr. Peppers and bait, and then we’d spend the afternoons on the lake.”

She swallowed a lump in her throat. She didn’t know why her eyes suddenly felt hot. “Sounds nice.”

“Yeah, well, out of the four of us in that boat—me, Dad, his fish, and my minnow—I think the only happy one was that minnow. I set him free.” He guided her to another photo, a boy and a man with hats and goggles who were bundled in pillowlike coats and pants. “Another of Dad’s favorite activities, skiing. This shot is memorable as the ‘before’ image on the day I broke my arm.” He pointed to another. “And this was my first day of first grade. Clearly, I would not have acquiesced to the tie if I’d had any choice.”

From the kitchen, his mother called, “You looked adorable! And it was a hairline fracture.”

“I looked like a tool. Sheer luck I wasn’t saddled with horrific nicknames for all of elementary school. Do you have any nicknames?”

Eve shook her head. Aidan called her “Green Eyes,” but she didn’t want to think about him. She was safely inside Zach’s house, away from him, away from the agency, away from anyone who knew who she used to be. She peered at another photo, a little girl on a swing. The girl was so clearly laughing that you could almost hear it through the picture. A boy—Zach, much younger—was behind her, also laughing. Sunlight was caught in his eyes. “That looks like a happy memory.”

“My sister.” Zach’s voice was flat. “She died when I was eight.”

“Oh.” Eve was aware that she was supposed to say more. But her mind felt blank. He stared at the photo for a long time, as if he were trying to memorize the way her curls flew into the air with the wind.

“You’re right, though,” Zach said at last. “That day was happy.”

Side by side, they looked at the picture.

Zach broke the silence. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Maybe, she thought. She could have dozens or none. Her stomach felt as if it were squeezed tight. She couldn’t remember one happy day or horrible day with her family, at least not with any certainty. “I live with my aunt.”

“Right. I know.” He looked as though he wanted to ask more. But he didn’t. “Come on. Back porch has chairs you can actually sit on, as opposed to the living room, which is designed solely for Victorian women in corsets.” He tugged on her elbow, and she followed him to an enclosed porch at the back of the house. The porch had windows on all sides, as well as three skylights. Flowering plants hung from each corner, and a fan turned overhead, stirring the warm air. Most of the windows were open. Screens kept the bugs outside.

Behind them, Zach’s mom appeared with a tray holding two tall glasses filled with yellow liquid, lots of ice, and little plastic swords that pierced slices of lemon. “Lemonade?” she said brightly. She laid the tray down on a wicker table.

Zach sighed again. “Thanks, Mom. You really didn’t have to.”

His mom patted his cheek. “I like to. Don’t deny me this.” She scurried back inside and shut the door behind her. A stained-glass sailboat hung on the door. It swayed from the motion of the shutting door.

“Your mom …” Eve stopped. She couldn’t say what she was thinking—that he was lucky to know his mother. She wondered if her own mother missed her, and she wished she could miss her mother. She couldn’t ask what it was like to have a mother. I’m broken, Eve thought. Empty pieces were rattling inside her. She thought again of the forest. She remembered she’d felt safe when she’d been carried through the trees. Whoever he was—father, brother, uncle, friend—he had made her feel safe.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Zach said, again in that flat voice. “Let’s talk more about you, okay? How did you discover you can … you know? Does anyone else know?”

“My aunt knows. And her friend Malcolm.”

“The guy who drops you off, right? Large, African American man with legs the size of sequoia tree trunks? Looks like a bodyguard, right down to the leather jacket and the shades? Probably knows six kinds of martial arts and carries a knife in his socks?”

“It’s a gun.”

Zach’s eyes widened. “I can never tell if you’re serious or if you have the most awesome deadpan delivery of any person alive.”