She laughed, but looked a little skeptical. “Time was, maybe I would have, but not now. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“You don't know me,” he said.

“Then—” she said.

“I'm a friend of your sister's,” he said.

“Is she okay? Is Gracie?” The question flew out, almost before she could think.

“They're fine,” he said. “Although I think of Gracie as Jessica.”

Her smile went away. She studied him, her green eyes narrowing. Her jaw was clenched, and she had one hand on the door, ready to close it.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Because she wants you to come up to Nova Scotia—Cape Hawk,” he said. “She thinks you're still in Peru, and she's sitting by her computer waiting for you to send her an e-mail from the back of beyond.”

“That's between me and my sister,” she said, emotion rising in her face. “You'd better go now.”

“Please, Sam.”

Her hand was firmly on the door, and she'd pulled it nearly closed. She was behind it, and he couldn't see her face. He heard her breathing, high and rapid. He could almost feel her trying to decide.

“Are you her boyfriend?” she asked.

Patrick felt surprised by the pointed question. “No,” he said. “Just a friend.”

She hesitated, but for some reason, that tipped the balance. She opened the door, and he walked in.

The living room was small, with a sofa and two chairs. She gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs, and she took the other. He watched her perch on the edge, as if she hadn't really committed to sitting yet. He gazed around the room, decorated with bright blankets and banners, obviously from her travels. A violin case lay on top of the bookshelf.

There were framed photos on one wall, and he scanned them and saw several of Marisa. Patrick took a deep breath and looked Sam in the eye.

“You and your sister used to live here together?” he asked, remembering what Jack had said.

“Yes. This was her apartment first.” She pointed at a small mahogany table, some brass candlesticks, a crystal owl. “That was our grandmother's silver chest. The candlesticks and owl were Patty's—she bought them when she first moved in, to make her apartment feel grown-up and cozy. I moved to Baltimore to be with her. I became a nurse because of her.”

“You were inspired by your big sister.”

“Yes.”

“She misses you, Sam.”

Sam looked down at her feet; Patrick watched her composing herself and realized how much she resembled Marisa: the shape of her face, oval with high cheekbones and pale, freckled skin. Green eyes, a wide, expressive mouth. But where Marisa's hair was dark, reddish brown, Sam's was bright copper.

“I know you mean well,” Sam said. “But you really don't understand.”

“Can you tell me?”