“I did some reading,” Max says. “I guess it was really hard for people to just leave Russia. If someone left, it was usually kept secret because it embarrassed the government or something. Maybe this dude, the dad, managed to smuggle his wife and daughter out to America, to get them somewhere safe. Then he says they’ve disappeared. Boom. They’re safe and he’s not in trouble.”

“Why wouldn’t he go with them?” Olivia asks, her face pale. “I mean, a dad should stay with his family, right?”

“If he was an important politician, maybe he couldn’t leave as easily as they could,” I say. “But why is there no record of them here?”

“No record of a Tatyana Petrov that matches your gram’s age. But there is a Susan Smith and her mother, Mary. They arrived in San Francisco on May 2, 1958, from Paris, France. I tried looking for immigration records from France, but so far there’s nothing.”

“They changed their names.” I close my eyes, the information like a computer code scrolling across my eyelids. “To protect them from something?”

“Maybe,” Max agrees. “Or… the Russian government could have sent them to the United States as spies.”

I grit my teeth. “Why do you both think that my gram is a spy? You’ve met her. Does she seem like a spy to you?”

“Which is what would make her a good one,” he insists. “A good spy can fit in anywhere. They’re adaptable, smart, good with language. Can you think about any time she did something that seemed the slightest bit suspicious?”

Olivia kicks at the wood chips on the ground around us and stares at me with wide eyes. “You have to remember something.”

I pull off my shoe to shake out the wood chips lodged in the heel. The dust from the wood floats in the air and fills it with the scent of freshly cut trees. The smell triggers a faded memory peeking around the crisp edges of now. Click.

Gram is arguing with a man while I gather sticks. I’m five. It’s March 2, 2011, on a Wednesday, and Gram is babysitting me while Mom and Dad are on vacation. We’re in the woods, and I want to keep exploring under logs for lizards, but she’s told me to keep quiet while she talks to the strange man. I strain to hear, but they’re not saying real words. The man yells at her, and she runs to me and grabs my hand. We run away, and I’m scared because I’ve never seen Gram cry before.

“Lulu!” Olivia’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look up, remnants of the woods still before me. “Where were you just now?”

I brush a hand over the papers in my lap. “What does the word ‘izmennik’ mean?”

“What?” Olivia’s brow crinkles before her gaze flies to Max.