Zadie climbed the steps to the porch, nudging birds out of the way with her toes as she went. Her right hand formed a fist and hovered over the front door for several seconds before she finally knocked. Moments later, she saw a shadow pass over the window and the doorknob turn.

“Hi. Can I help you?” For a split second, Zadie thought she was looking at her mom. The woman was older than her mother, early fifties, with the same long, wavy hair only dyed strawberry blond instead of auburn. But this woman had no freckles, no crimp in her left ear. Her nails were longer, unchewed.

“Hi, uhh … I’m looking for Nora Wilder.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know any Wilders.”

Zadie’s heart plummeted. “Oh, okay. Sorry to bother you.”

She turned and started hurrying toward the car when she heard the woman say, “I do have a sister named Nora, though.”

The sound of her mother’s name made Zadie’s breath catch. She turned back around to face the woman, pulse thrumming in her ears.

“But her last name isn’t Wilder. It’s Vogel. How do you know this person?”

“She’s my mom.”

A veil of uncertainty crossed the woman’s face. “What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t. It’s Zadie.”

“Zadie, I’m Jenna. Hold on a minute.” Jenna disappeared back into the house, closing the door behind her.

Jenna was gone for longer than a minute. As the seconds ticked by, Zadie grew more and more anxious. Could Nora have changed her last name—“Wilder” sounded like a name her mom would have picked for herself—or was it all just coincidence? For a fleeting moment, Zadie’s nerves got the better of her, and she almost got in her car and drove away.

The door opened. “Hi. Sorry about that,” Jenna apologized. “Your mom … when was the last time you saw her?”

“Five years ago.”

The woman smiled nervously. “Why don’t you come inside?”

In that moment, Zadie felt like she was leaving her body. She watched herself say “Okay,” then follow Jenna into the foyer with its cherrywood staircase and Turkish runner.

“This was our parents’ house before they retired and moved to Florida,” Jenna said. The house was tidy, but its age was showing in the cracked plaster walls and missing banister spindles. Several black-and-white family photos hung on the wall. One gentleman in a pinch cap had a bird of prey perched on his forearm. Jenna noticed Zadie looking at it. “Our grandfather. He was a falconer,” she said, then moved toward the hallway. “Nora’s in the conservatory. This way.”