The library was a squat building that smelled of paper and glue and something sweetly yeasty, like bread dough. It was one of my favorite places on the island, a safe, familiar spot. Most of the books were on the second floor, which had steeply slanted walls like an attic. You had to duck to get at the books. On the ground floor there was a cheerful reading room with armchairs and racks of magazines, a couple of computers, and two librarians.

One librarian was Martha Day. The library was named after her mother, who had died when Martha was born. It was amazing to think of her as an infant, because as long as I’d known her she’d been ancient, wrinkled, and scrawny, and often looking sharply in a direction where exactly nothing was happening. She wafted around the library with an air of secrecy. Today, her eyes landed on me sitting at the computer, and she seemed to snap into focus. She nodded at me, and I picked up my hand and waved. If she’d kept looking at me like that, like she knew something more than the rest of us, then I would have told her about Cole. But she looked away and hurried off to shelve books.

Elijah West had returned to the island to be the head librarian—and part of the job description was convincing Martha he wasn’t there to replace her but to aide her, which he pulled off impressively.

I turned to the computer screen, typed Cole Anthony. A few people popped up, none of them him. I typed Baby B, which turned out to be a company that sold babyproofing paraphernalia. I typed Pastlives.com, and a silvery screen appeared, with bold dark letters in some sort of handwriting font. This was a website Lucas used to frequent, and I would tease him about it.

Welcome to pastlives.com. According to the ancient beliefs of the Hindus and many other religions of the world, we are not born once, but again and again. We live many lives and learn many lessons as we make our way toward nirvana, the final state of bliss. Although many of us don’t remember people, places, and events from our past lives, a few do. On pastlives.com you can discuss your past life memories and reach out to people from past lives.

I skimmed some of the forum discussions. One woman wrote that she and Harrison Ford had been in love in another life. That means he’s part of your soul group, the circle of people who remain together life after life, someone had responded.

But I can’t reach him, she wrote. He won’t answer my letters, and I can’t get him on the phone.