It was a copy of the one in their entryway, of George and the view from the bluff near their house.

“Where did you get this? Wait, no, don’t tell me. Dad.”

“He couldn’t leave. I couldn’t stay. But we still love each other. And we both love you.”

The breath escaped from Echo. “I can’t . . . I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Maybe . . . that you forgive me?”

Echo put the picture down on the desk, backed away from it. “Do you know that I tried to find you? I was nine years old, and I took my dogs and I tried to mush to Anchorage! My sled was damaged, I was hurt, and alone . . . and you weren’t there. You were never there.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know how to begin to forgive you.”

She shouldn’t have come here. She headed out into the hallway.

“Echo.” Effie followed her. “Try and understand. My work—it was important. My dreams—they were important.”

“More important than me? Than Dad?”

Effie swallowed. “Sometimes.”

Yeah. “That might be the first truthful thing you’ve said.” She walked out into the waiting area and picked up her jacket, her hat, her scarf. Then she turned to her mother, every muscle in her body tight. “You know, I feel sorry for you. You have awards, but you don’t have me. Or Dad.”

Her mother stood in the doorway, and her jaw tightened, her eyes hardening. Yes, this was the woman she’d seen in the picture. “Don’t be so selfish, Echo. It wasn’t about me. Or you. Or your father. It was about something bigger than me. I help people.”

“I’m sure you do, Doc. But let’s not kid ourselves. All of this was about you.” She headed toward the door, stopped, turned. “You know, I used to think you left because of me. That I wasn’t enough for you. And yes, maybe that’s true. But really, you weren’t enough for you. You weren’t content with the life, the person you were. That was the real problem.”

She walked down the hall, exited through the doors, and hit the button of the elevator. The doors opened and she walked inside.

She stood, her breaths tight. The doors closed, and she gritted her jaw against the urge to cry.

Dodge was pacing in the waiting area when she returned, shaking his head, as if he might be talking to himself. He looked up when she came over, blinking at her. “You okay?”

“How’s Jane Doe?”

“She’s unresponsive. I don’t know. I gave them my information . . . if she wakes, they’ll call me.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

He looked at her. “Echo?”