Why hadn’t she plugged that hole when she had the chance? She was going to be smarter this time – she was going to give the chipmunk a clear exit. She quietly got up and crept over to the corner where she kept the broom. Then she tiptoed to the front door and opened it.

Bracing herself, she popped the bathroom door open.

And screamed.

The man in the bathroom screamed back.

“Please! It’s okay,” he said, hands up.

Claire backed up, clutching the broom in front of her like a baseball bat. She could hardly see his face. He was dressed in dark clothes and had a hood pulled over his head. “Stay there!”

He nodded, hands still up in the air.

She paused. “I’m going to call the police!”

“Please don’t call the police,” he said, taking a step forward.

Claire couldn’t help it; she shrieked again. She had the urge to run away, but when he stepped into the light, she froze.

There was something familiar about him and she stared at him, trying to place it. Claire was transfixed by the man’s eyes. They looked exactly like Rebecca’s.

“I’ve been camping for a while, and I just wanted to shower. I was about to crawl back out of the window when you came back. I didn’t think you were home…”

She lowered the broom a few inches. “Are you…the one who sent me that letter?”

“You got it?” A smile spread across his face. “I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to meet you. I’m Marty.”

Claire felt like she was going to lose her balance. Rebecca had always said that she wanted to have a son named Marty, after Marty McFly in Back to the Future.

She’d loved those movies, raving about how she wanted to live in the Wild West with Doc Brown and never have to worry about rules again.

“Marty,” she whispered.

He nodded, putting his hands down and lowering his hood.

“You look so much like her,” Claire said, shaking her head.

He tilted his head to the side. “Like who?”

She couldn’t stop staring. She cleared her throat. “Your mother.”

His face contracted, frowning and encircled with lines. “I’m sorry… I thought you were Claire Cooke?”

The cold air blowing in from the front door was too much. She turned around and quickly shut the door.

Marty was still standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He didn’t look threatening at all, with his wet hair and crystal clear green eyes, the exact shade of Rebecca’s.

Really, the exact shade of Claire’s as well, though she never spent much time looking in the mirror. She had, however, spent many hours of her life looking into Rebecca’s eyes, overwhelmed with love or jealousy or exasperation. Until one day, she never got to look into them again.