I sit on the edge of the bed, figuring out my next words. I’m suddenly uncharacteristically shy. It hadn’t occurred to me that I may have trouble presenting this information, that it would be hard to do so without inevitably disrespecting Odilie, her memory. I hadn’t planned a speech, or any sensitive way of explaining the situation. I guess I just have to show her. “Can I have your laptop?”

Page nods slowly, steps out of bed, the downy hair on her legs rising slightly as her skin makes contact with the synthetic cold. Once she gives me the laptop, I get to work logging in to my Instagram account, pulling up my profile, pulling up Odilie’s. I watch Page’s face as I do so. But she doesn’t bat an eye. She’s most likely spent time recently on Odilie’s page, in her strange attempt to emulate her life.

Then I show her. Toggling between the two tabs without a word, trying to make Page understand without explaining. It’s bizarre to be sitting in this room that feels like evening, with so little light filtering in, the laptop’s blue glare turned on low. After I’m done flickering through the photos—there are ten in total—I take a long glance at Page, trying to gauge her expression.

“Your sister, she knew me. Which means Tom, he probably knew who I was, too. I’m not sure what this means. I don’t think it changes anything. But it’s weirding me out.” And then I’m scrambling around for more words, because Page is still silent. “I’m sure this, this mimicry was totally benign on Odilie’s part. We both know who the real culprit, the villain, was. But I mean, this is your sister. Do you have any idea what was going on in her head to do this?”

I’m beginning to feel cold, icy even, from the AC, the whirring of its central coolant suddenly so acutely audible. Page sighs, a long, resigned sound, and it feels like she’s been holding it in for months. Her eyes shoot up to meet mine, her legs crossed on the edge of her bed. “I knew, Vera. I knew. That’s why I wanted to meet you.”

We sit at the dining room table, a large glass-and-onyx showpiece, and she tells me.

Not before pouring herself a Bloody Mary. She starts off simply. “I’ve been lying to you, Vera, about my motivations here. But let me back up. Odilie, I think she sort of hated me.”