“That does sound beautiful.”

“Then don’t make me go alone.”

As Kavita watches him behold the objects of his lost youth, she knows she is witnessing a rare moment of frailty in her friend. Normally, she is accustomed to him so sure of himself, so sage. In the end, they aren’t so different. Watching as his chin dips toward his chest, she knows that they are the same, haunted and incomplete, without their other halves.

He reaches into the box and lifts out the Polaroid. The first sight of Sequoia and Hawthorn as children stalls Kavita’s breath. They share the same dark hair and fair complexion, the same penetrating brown eyes and tempting smile. Sequoia’s hair is styled in a side ponytail. She is dressed an oversized fuchsia Roots sweatshirt and tapered acid-wash jeans. Hawthorn is wearing an identical outfit, although his sweatshirt is teal and his jeans a lighter wash. His hair is cut short. It feels strange to see him without his trademark half-up ponytail. She notices the comma-like dimple denting his left cheek. Something about seeing the two of them standing side by side, smiling, completely unaware of the future that would tear them apart, weakens her

“Tell me about this picture,” she asks.

“Well,” he says, gazing, “we’d just finished digging the hole. Instead of including a newspaper like most people do, we wanted to include a picture of us. Mom took it. Dad was right next to her, joking around, trying to get us to crack up. God, look how young we are.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kavita manages to say despite the tears gathering in her throat. “You’re beautiful together.”

Hawthorn can’t take his eyes off of his sister’s childhood image. “You know, it’s impossible to encompass everything she was. Even if I talked about her for a year straight, it still wouldn’t be enough. I wanted you to be here today because I wanted you to get to know her the way I knew her. But it’s impossible. You can’t get to know someone from a few random objects in an old tackle box.”

Kavita pulls the picture of Sunil out of her pocket. “Or from a photograph.”

His eyes widen with awe. “You brought it.”

He holds the picture carefully. In it, Sunil is standing beside her in their dining room with his arm around her shoulder. He is at least a head taller than her. He is wearing a grey sweatshirt and a black Nike cap. Her hair is in two braids, and she is dressed in a canary yellow Bart Simpson t-shirt. On the table is a round ice-cream cake decorated with pink sugar flowers.

“Is that a hospital bracelet on your wrist?” he asks.