Margie tapped her chin. He’d set off to sail the world, but he checked in every few weeks. Usually.

“Of course I can,” said Margie, voice too high.

Claire let out a sigh. “It gets worse. Look at this.”

Margie accepted an envelope from her before carefully opening it and peering inside. There was an old Polaroid picture of Claire.

“Aw, look how cute you were!” Margie squealed.

Claire shook her head. “That’s not me, Margie. That’s Rebecca.”

Margie frowned. “Oh. Right. I’m sorry.”

“Look at the letter that came with it.”

Margie smiled as she unfolded it, reading it once, then again, her smile fading. “Claire! What is this?”

“I think it’s a letter from Rebecca’s son.”

“You never told me Rebecca had a son.”

“Rebecca never told me that she had a son.”

Margie stared at her friend, mouth open. So much for not working herself into a tizzy. She was well on her way. “What does this mean, Claire?”

“I don’t know.” Claire took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t know how she could’ve hidden this from us. I have no idea when this picture was taken.”

Margie stared at the picture again. Perhaps now she could convince herself that this wasn’t a picture of her friend, though she surely wouldn’t have known the difference if Claire hadn’t told her. They had been identical, after all, despite their personalities being polar opposites.

“Well,” Margie said. “That’s quite a secret she kept.”

Claire nodded. “I’m not surprised. I mean, of course I’m shocked, but I’m not surprised. Becca lived so erratically, so… I don’t know. So differently than I have. It’s strange, but I’ve always wondered if…”

Claire trailed off, staring into the mug.

Margie inched closer. “What?”

“This is going to sound silly,” Claire said with a sigh. “I’ve always wondered if Becca survived the plane crash.”

Margie sat back, trying to hide the surprise on her face. “Why?”

Claire shrugged. “It’s just a feeling that I’ve had. You know how they never found her body?”

Margie nodded.

“I could see her just running away from it all,” Claire said. “What if she had this boy after the crash? Just gave him away and disappeared?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t go to the park to meet him last week, then?” asked Margie.

“No, I didn’t open this letter until today. I panicked, thinking that he might be lurking in the woods and that he’s some sort of serial killer.”

Margie laughed. “So you came here.”

“Yes.” Claire nodded. “I came here. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

“Nonsense,” Margie said, smiling warmly. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m not afraid.”

Claire offered a sad smile.