“What did your grandfather say?” I asked Campbell, keeping an eye on Lily and my mind in the moment—and not on Nick, who’d never told me why he’d stood me up at the Gutierrez party that night.

“The great Davis Ames told me the same story he told you,” Campbell replied. “He paid Ana. She disappeared. He has no idea what happened to the baby.”

“Maybe he or she was adopted by a very nice family,” Sadie-Grace suggested, stretching one leg up until it nearly touched her ear. “With a very flexible older sister!”

She was obviously thinking of herself and baby Audie, but my mind went to a different place—and to a different older sister. Hope.

“Funny you should mention that,” I told Sadie-Grace. “My perusal of the White Gloves dossiers did yield a possibility. . . .”

I told them about Summer—about her blond hair and brown eyes, the cancer, her date of birth.

“Was that the only possibility that jumped out at you?” Campbell asked me in a tone that suggested that she was probably going to make me pay for not mentioning any of this until now.

“No,” I said, but I couldn’t bring myself to elaborate on Victoria’s other theory.

As luck would have it, I didn’t have to.

“It could be me,” Campbell stated, finally earning Lily’s complete and undiluted attention. “It’s not like my grandfather would admit it if it was.”

“You?” Sadie-Grace was almost comically wide-eyed.

“Walker was always Daddy’s favorite,” Campbell said, looking at Lily, even though it was Sadie-Grace she was responding to. “I was supposed to be Mama’s.”

“His and hers,” I said, because she’d told me that once. “Like towels.”

“And yet . . .” Campbell dragged out the words. “Mama and I have always been like oil and water, gotten along like a house on fire, insert conflict-laden cliché of your choice here. She adores Walker. She’s never adored me. My birthday’s almost here, and she hasn’t said a word.”

“Do you think your mama forgot your birthday?” Sadie-Grace asked, wide-eyed.

“I’m not really wondering about Mama and my birthday,” Campbell said, her voice flat.

“You’re wondering if you’re really hers.” I cut straight to the thick of it.

“Maybe I’m not,” Campbell tossed out. “Maybe I’m just my father’s daughter. It would explain some things, not least among them why Walker and I are so close in age.”

“And why your mama . . .” Sadie-Grace started that sentence but didn’t finish it.

“Doesn’t find me to her taste?” Campbell suggested. “I always just figured she fell head over heels in love with Walker the day he was born, and I came so soon afterward there just wasn’t any more oxytocin bonding hormone left over for me.”