Nic scanned the faces in the picture but she couldn’t pick out anyone who looked particularly like her. She moved closer to V and placed the book in front of her, next to the tea.

“Which one is Daisy?”

V opened the book past the first page. “They each have a page I think. Like a yearbook. I remember when she came back late that summer and made us all look at it.”

She turned a page to a dark-haired girl from Boston. “Look at this one—Cindy Coughlin. She attends The Milton Academy and rides horses.” V said the last part in a mocking tone. She turned more pages, stopping at others, reading their profiles with that same tone, only with increasing anger.

Finally, she stopped—at the page for Daisy Alice Hollander.

“There she is!” V said. “Look what she wrote—attends Hastings High School and studies ballet. What a joke! She never took a ballet class her whole life.”

Nic leaned in closer, taking in the face of the girl who’d disappeared ten years ago. Long blond hair. Big white smile. Skinny arms sticking out of her shirt.

“Well? What do you think? Are you looking in a mirror or not?” V asked.

“I don’t know,” Nic said. “Am I?”

“It’s all in the eye of the beholder,” V answered. Then she handed the book to Nic and got up from her chair. “Here—sit down, look through the rest of it. There’s other pictures in there—small groups of them out on the lake, by the fire. Camp shit. I think Daisy is in some of them.”

V took her teacup to the sink and started washing dishes. Nic turned the pages, one after the other, scanning faces of girls. Daisy was in several of them, front and center, posing, smiling. She was beautiful and that was the last word Nic would use to describe herself. Though there was a time when she might have felt that way. When she might have felt the way Daisy seemed to in these pictures—talented and beautiful, with the world at her feet.

At the very front of the book were headshots of the teachers and counselors. At the very back, pictures of staff. Nic started to skim them quickly, but then found herself slowing down. The photos were small and faded. The features of the people were hard to distinguish. In the kitchen. By the boathouse. In the rec room. They caught her attention at first because they had faces of men and women. The campers were all girls. But the staff—especially in the kitchen—included men, and of all ages.

She was about to turn a page when she stopped. Cold.

She leaned in closer, not believing her eyes. But then she could not deny them. The cheekbones. The chin. The hairline. Even the smile on his face.