Deven sank to Kennedy’s bed, the mattress sagging under her weight. A myriad of emotions surged through her mind like a tsunami, but her eyes remained paralyzed on the picture in her hand.

It wasn’t like the photo was risqué or anything. Paul was standing on the wooden balcony of some kind of cabin. Judging by the way his face was tinted pink, it was especially cold, despite how he was swaddled in an oversized coat, hat and scarf. A panoramic expanse of mountain terrain spanned behind him, serving as a picturesque backdrop comparable to a postcard. If Deven had to guess, she would assume he was in the Poconos. Which would seem like a completely normal picture to have exchanged among friends or lovers. So, why then, did Kennedy have it?

As far as Deven knew, her sister hadn’t even met Paul. He was the acting oncologist for Deven’s father, Jamie, so it was she who had to frequent his office during cancer treatments. Plus, before Paul moved his practice, he worked at the hospital with Deven, so they ran in the same circles among hospital staff. As close (or close enough) as Deven felt her friendship was with Paul, even she didn’t have a casual picture of him. The thought was laced with a twinge of jealousy that felt foul and bitter, though she would never admit that to anyone but herself. Still, the questions lingered, murky with confusion that settled on her mind like smog. And the one woman who had the answers wasn’t there.

“Hey, you good?” Benji’s voice carried across the room, snatching Deven’s attention from her daze. He flicked a questioning look between her and her hands.

Deven debated only briefly before holding the picture in his direction. “Do you recognize him?” She watched Benji’s face for some sign of recognition. She wasn’t surprised when he shrugged and passed the picture back.

“Nah. I’ve never seen Kennedy with him.”

“Yeah, me neither. But I know him.”

“He a friend of yours?”

Good question. Deven hesitated over her response, her thoughts flitting over one of her last phone calls with Paul. The dialogue had been very pedestrian, both of them still riding on embarrassment from the run-in with Justin after the miscarriage. In total, the call had lasted an excruciating five minutes. But what had been even more painful was hanging up, not knowing when (or if) she would even talk to him again. So far, she had been right to be concerned. Three months without so much as a word.

“He was my father’s doctor,” she said, finally, and left it at that.

Benji’s nose curled with the news. “Your dad? Did Kennedy ever take him to the doctor or something?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”