The noise brought Grandma to the doorway. She smiled from his eyes to mine. “What’s going on here?”

“Deep, dark secrets, Rose,” I said. “Don’t ask.”

I rushed upstairs. I closed my curtains, though it was the middle of the afternoon. George Washington University had better alumni records. In no time at all I found an Antonio Jorge Romero who had received a PhD in neurochemistry in 1994. I checked for other science PhDs that year received by anyone named Antonio. None.

I went to the window and pinched the hem of my curtains. My mother made them out of this cloth I found online. The design was like a musical score. With the sun coming through, the notes looked like birds on telephone wires.

After a minute I returned to my laptop and typed in “Antonio Jorge Romero neuroscientist.” Up came a photograph of a smiling, brown-haired, tanned, intense-looking man. There was only one. He was on the faculty of University College London. With a few clicks I confirmed the year and place of his doctorate.

I went to my dresser and made faces in the mirror. Mask of tragedy. Mask of scorn. Who do you think you are? Why should anyone care?

Back at my desk, the screen had gone blank. I jabbed in alarm at the tracking pad until his face lit up, still smiling, though not for me. I could breathe again, but for the life of me I could not look straight at his picture. I could take my father in only with quick sideways glances.

Warm eyes.

Lips-together smile.

Welcoming smile?

Something wrong with his teeth?

Eyebrows slightly raised. In humor? Arrogance?

Hair reddish brown like mine. Shoots of gray, like my mother’s.

The closer I looked, the more the eyes withdrew.

I exited his picture and tapped a drumroll on the desk with my nails.

¡Coraje!

I went to Outlook and typed out an email.

Put it in Drafts.

Closed the lid.

Stared at the glowing bitten apple.

Stared at the place in my arm where the needle goes in.

Opened the lid.

Opened the draft.

Unfocused my eyes so the words were unreadable.

Stitches in straight lines.

A winter’s worth of birds.

¡Coraje!

¡Coraje!

Send.

Dear Antonio Jorge Romero,