“Do you want to sit down?” she offered, pointing to the couch. “Are you hungry?”

He slowly approached the couch and sat. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

No, thank you. How polite.

He spoke again. “I’m sorry, but do you know where my mother is? I was hoping to meet her.”

She walked to the kitchen and filled the tea kettle before placing it on the stove. He didn’t move, and Claire felt her muscles relaxing. She set the broom down.

“If your mother is who I think she is,” Claire said slowly, “I’m very sorry, but she’s no longer with us. She passed away years ago.”

Brow again furrowed, Marty looked down. “Oh.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He looked up at her. “How is that possible? She just came up in that system and we were matched and –”

“It was me,” Claire said gently. “I’m Claire Cooke. Your mom, Rebecca, was my twin sister.”

He eyed her warily for a moment. “Twin?”

Claire nodded, rushing into the other room to dig through a pile of unpacked boxes. She pushed two out of the way, letting them fall to the floor with a boom.

Claire didn’t care. She didn’t even remember what was in those boxes. The only one she was interested in was labeled “bedroom closet.” She never traveled far without these precious belongings, one of which was a photo album of her family.

She pulled it triumphantly from its place and placed it in Marty’s hands. “That’s us. On the cover. With our parents and our sister Holly.”

Marty stared at the picture before silently opening the album.

Claire sat across from him and shifted nervously in her seat. Would this make him angry? Rebecca used to have such a temper.

“How did she die?” he asked softly.

Claire clasped her hands awkwardly in her lap. “A plane crash.”

He flipped the pages and reached a section of newspaper clippings about the crash. “Your parents, too?”

Claire nodded. “Yes. And Holly, and her husband.”

He sat back and looked up at her. His lips had faded to a pale pink.

“Can I get you some tea?” she asked, standing up.

He nodded, remaining silent as she futzed around the kitchen.

She returned a few minutes later with a mug for each of them.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting it and taking a sip.

He looked so much like her, especially with the faces he was making. It made Claire feel sick, homesick almost, like Becca was looking back at her from the grave.

She spoke again. “I’m so very sorry, Marty. My sister was…” She released another unintentional sigh. “Troubled. She had issues, and we tried to help her, but it was difficult. She rejected help, she ran away. I didn’t even know that she had a son.”

He let out a sigh. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know she existed until recently.”