She nods. “I spent a few days in the hospital after getting my tonsils out. I must’ve been about seven or eight, I think, so he was about twelve or thirteen. When he visited me at the hospital, he brought a bunch of games: Operation, Connect Four, a deck of cards. Before I knew it, visiting hours were over. I started to panic. I didn’t want to be left behind in a strange place. So, he asked our parents if he could spend the night. The nurse said it was fine. He could sleep in the bed beside mine as long as they didn’t need it for another patient. You know how hospitals are never quite dark or quiet enough at night? Well, I kept falling back in and out of sleep. But every time I got startled awake, I would look over at Sunil, and I felt safe again. Like I was home.”

Although he doesn’t say so, Kavita knows Hawthorn understands exactly what she means by home.

“When I found out he was struggling, I thought to myself, finally Kavita, here’s your chance to save him for a change. I honestly thought I could.” Anchor pulls. “The truth is, Sunil was close to turning things around, but he couldn’t see it. He had his appointments. He’d taken the first steps towards recovery. If he’d held on a little longer, he would’ve been able to see it for himself, one day. That’s one of the hardest things to accept. We almost made it.” The centre of her palm pulses like a heartbeat, and she recalls all the pain that gathered in her tortured flesh. She wants to squeeze her nails into her scar, but breathes shallowly instead, waiting for the feeling to pass, as she knows it will, given time.

Hawthorn hands her back the photo. Frowning, he gazes more deeply at the picture of Sequoia, as though searching for details that he had missed.

“The guilt that gets me is that I’m the healthy twin, and I don’t know why. We shared almost everything. But I couldn’t share the loneliness of her illness. It kills me that she went through it alone.”

“When does it go away?” she asks.

He looks at her sideways. “What?”

Anchor pulls, pulls, pulls. “The guilt.”

He tosses the Polaroid into the box. “I’ll let you know.”

They sit for a while, nestled in quiet, as though even the birds dare not sing. Kavita slides the photograph back into her pocket.

“Thanks for being here,” he says. “I think I’ll open the other letter later.” He slips the letters back into the tackle box and shuts the lid. “Are you coming inside for cake? My parents can’t wait to meet the friend from group I keep talking about.”

“I’m a sucker for cake,” she grins. “But look at my jeans. I’m all dirty.”