Then he would forget about the lights for a while. A couple years later, the lights would be on again. He’d turn them all on after my parents had gone to bed. Or he’d play music for Baby B. Lucas opened all the windows and blasted Nina Simone—“Here Comes the Sun” and “Mr. Bojangles” because those were the songs Baby B liked. How did Lucas know Baby B liked those songs? Good question. We were ten when he started playing Nina Simone. Always with the windows open, as if Baby B were a bird who might alight on the sill. Always full blast. “He’s not deaf, he’s dead,” I used to tell him.

Or he would bake for Baby B. Cinnamon cookies, the spice of them filling the kitchen, drifting out the open windows.

The lighthouse was like the world’s tallest candle. Lucas climbed up to be closer to his brother. He climbed to be closer to that light calling him home. He was a sucker for a beacon.

My mother didn’t exactly encourage him, but she had her own rituals for remembering Baby B. She lit candles, burned incense. Sang to him on our birthday. The way I saw it, they were complicit. She said she could feel him close by sometimes, and Lucas believed her.

What did I believe? I wasn’t sure. When the stranger came, we were twenty-eight years old. We’d been orphans for almost ten years. We’d been happy, but we’d been lonely. We’d both longed for more.

Cole came to the booth at lunchtime. He leaned his elbows on the counter. I made a mental list of what I saw: jaw stubble, Adam’s apple, bitten fingernails, crease between his eyes from squinting or from worry.

“Maybe this goes without saying,” I said, “but given the turn of events, I think we better keep things—friendly—between us.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “Very disappointing.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive the disappointment.”

“We’ll see.”

“And I’m sorry about Lucas—”

“I like Lucas.”

“I just mean all this stuff about Baby B.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m intrigued.”

“That’s good, because I have a favor to ask you.”

“Now I’m really intrigued.”

“He’s just so happy,” I said. “I mean the happiest I’ve seen him in...well, maybe ever. I’m asking you to—go along—just for a little while.”

“You want me to pretend I’m Baby B?”

“No! I know that’s crazy. But maybe you could not mention to Lucas just how crazy it is.”

“And you think this is good for him?”

“It’s not good for him to sulk around at home day in and day out, that’s for sure. I mean, if you’d seen him before—”