They left before the sun, the lake house dark behind them, the bags packed in the trunk, the photograph and the letters in a folder on the passenger seat. Sophie drove first, her hands steady on the wheel, the highway empty ahead of them.
Aaron watched the familiar landscape give way to something else — the hills turning to farmland, the farmland to flats, the sky opening up in a way it never did by the lake. He had not left the house much in the weeks since the trust had begun unraveling, and the movement felt strange, like waking from a long sleep.
"You're thinking too loud," Sophie said.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just tell me."
He looked out the window. "I keep wondering what I'm going to say to her. If I find her. If she's still alive."
"You'll say the truth. That you found her sister's papers. That you found a photograph of her with your father. That you want to understand."
"And if she doesn't want to talk about it?"
