Laurel turned to face Emma again, and even though her smile looked a little strained, her eyes were warm. “This is all really crazy . . . but it’s kind of cool that we’re related. Biologically, I mean. You know you’ve always been my sister. But I’m glad we’re related by blood, too.”

Quick flashes of memory crowded my mind of us as little girls. Laurel was right. We had been sisters. We’d fought like sisters, but we’d also taken care of each other the way sisters were supposed to.

Mr. Mercer cleared his throat, running his hand over his jaw. “There’s one more thing,” he said. Emma’s eyes shot up at him. More? “Becky said some strange things to me before she left. It’s hard to know what to believe. Becky isn’t always . . . reliable. But for some reason my gut says she might be telling the truth this time. She says that she had another daughter. That Sutton had a twin.”

Emma’s heart wrenched to a halt in her chest. For one long moment her vision went blurry, the Mercers’ living room turning into a smeared Dali-like landscape around her. They still didn’t know the whole truth. When she’d looked at Becky’s files two weeks before, Emma discovered that Becky had yet another daughter, a twelve-year-old girl who Becky said lived with her father in California.

“A twin?” Laurel squeaked.

“I don’t know if it’s true.” Mr. Mercer looked down at Emma, his face unreadable. “Becky didn’t seem to know where your sister—your twin—was now, Sutton. But her name is Emma.”

“Emma?” Laurel turned an incredulous glance at Emma. “Isn’t that what you called yourself at breakfast the first day of school?”

Emma picked at a snag in Sutton’s dress, playing for time. She was spared answering when Mr. Mercer spoke again.

“Becky told you about her, didn’t she?” he asked softly. “That night at Sabino?”

Her mind churning, Emma managed to nod, grateful that Mr. Mercer had provided an explanation. It was most likely true. When Emma had spoken with Becky last week, Becky had talked about Emma like she’d already told Sutton about her once. Either way, Emma knew she had to be very careful here.

“All she told me was her name,” Emma said softly. “I should have told you. But I was so mad. I was trying to find out if you knew about her, too, see if you recognized the name. I thought maybe I could pick a fight and you’d have to tell me.”

Another tense silence opened in the room. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Drake look up from his bed and glance around, wagging his tail tentatively. The second hand on Mr. Mercer’s Cartier watch clicked audibly. It seemed ploddingly slow compared to Emma’s own racing heart.