I reach across Bailey to pick up the printout of Cookman’s class. There it is. No Reyes. But one Smith.

Katherine. Katherine Smith. I point to her name and Bailey starts typing quickly, searching for the yearbook index. KATHERINE SMITH coming up. SMITH, KATHERINE. Ten page numbers by her name.

Maybe they were friends—or she had been Owen’s girlfriend, the one that Professor Cookman remembered. And Owen had been in town for Katherine’s wedding. He had brought his family back to help his old friend celebrate. Maybe if I could find her, she could shed light on who Owen used to be.

“Was her first name Katherine, Elenor?”

“No, not Katherine. Let me see. Bride’s first name is Andrea,” Elenor says. “And… yes, there we are. Andrea Reyes and Charlie Smith.”

I feel deflated that it wasn’t Katherine herself, but maybe she is related to Charlie somehow. This could certainly still be the connection. But before I can repeat that to Bailey, she turns to a page featuring the debate society and President Katherine “Kate” Smith.

And the photograph comes up.

It’s a group photograph of the entire debate team. They are sitting on barstools in a small, old-school bar, more like a cocktail lounge than a traditional pub: wooden rafters, a long brick wall, bourbon bottles lined up like presents. Lanterns line the bar top, backlighting those bottles, backlighting the dark wine bottles above them.

The caption under the photograph reads: DEBATE TEAM PRESIDENT KATHERINE SMITH CELEBRATES WINNING THE STATE CHAMPIONSHIP AT HER FAMILY’S BAR, THE NEVER DRY, WITH TEAMMATES FROM (L) TO (R)…

“No way!” Bailey says. “That could be the bar. Where the wedding was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t say anything, but last night when we were at Magnolia Cafe, and you were asking me all those questions, I remembered being at a bar for the wedding,” she says. “Or, more like, some sort of small restaurant. But then I figured it was late and I was just grasping for something… anything… so I let it go. I didn’t even mention it. But this place in the photo, this Never Dry bar, looks like the bar.”

I cover the phone’s mouthpiece, and look down at Bailey, who is pointing with fever, almost in disbelief. She points to a record player in the corner, a weird kind of proof.

“I’m not kidding,” she says. “That’s the bar. I recognize it.”

“There are a million bars that look like that.”

“I know. But there are two things I remember about Austin,” she said. “And that bar is one of them.”

Which is when Bailey makes the photograph bigger. The debate team faces growing less blurry, Katherine’s face becoming delineated. Easy to see.

We both go silent. The bar doesn’t matter anymore. Owen doesn’t even matter, exactly.

All that matters is the face.