I frown. “Laurel’s yours, too?” That doesn’t make any sense. Laurel is only six months younger than me. It’d be impossible.
“No, no.” She stands up and slaps the dead leaves and branches off her bottom. She stretches, then looks out over the city lights, her back to me. “Have you ever wondered what the ‘E’ in your locket stands for?”
I shrug, even though she’s not looking at me. I push myself up with my raw, tender palms. My legs are one big scrape, and there’s an ache in my lower rib cage that I know is going to be a serious bruise. My shirt is pretty much ruined, torn and covered in dirt. I sigh, moving next to her on the ledge to look down over the subdivision.
When I was little, I used to have this recurring dream that my reflection would step out of the mirror and we would play together. When I explained the dreams to Laurel, she said they sounded scary, but they never were. My reflection and I would run across a playground hand in hand while the sun rolled up into the sky. I knew, the way you know in dreams, that we were two parts of a whole, that we were each incomplete without the other. I would wake up from those dreams feeling complete in a way I never did during my waking life. I never told anyone, but I used to pretend that the E in my locket stood for my reflection.
“Mom always said the locket was vintage, and it stood for whoever owned it before me.” I take a deep breath. “But when I was little I pretended it belonged to a friend of mine.”
Becky nods slowly. She reaches into her back pocket and takes out a hard pack of cigarettes. She slides one between her lips, then fumbles with a match. Her hands are shaking, and the flame wavers for a moment before she gets the cigarette lit. She takes a long drag and exhales.
“When I got pregnant with you,” she says very quietly, “I was really excited. I mean, it wasn’t a planned pregnancy, obviously. I was young, I was constantly in trouble. I didn’t know how I was going to take care of you. But when I felt you kick for the first time, I knew I couldn’t give you up.”
I open my mouth to interrupt her, but she holds up a finger. “Please, Sutton, this is hard for me to talk about. Just wait and let me tell you the whole story. Then you can yell at me some more.”
I bite my lip, but nod. She takes another drag from her cigarette, the smoke wreathing her face. “I started getting ready for you. I scraped together enough money for a stroller and a crib. I read a bunch of books from the library about babies. I didn’t have any money for an ultrasound or any of that, but I took vitamins and ate green vegetables every day and played music for you. You loved salsa music. You’d go crazy in there.” She laughs, and for a moment she almost sounds like a normal mom.
“Then I went into labor. I’ll spare you the details—hell, I don’t remember most of the details. You weren’t positioned right, and they had to operate. They gave me so much pain medication that I didn’t really know what was going on until it was over. Then they brought you to me. You—and your sister. Your twin. Emma.”
For a long moment I can’t move. I can’t speak. I look up and she’s watching me, a tentative, hopeful expression on her face. I shake my head slowly.
“You’re imagining things,” I say. “You must have been high as a kite. I don’t have a twin. That’s impossible.”
“You do have a twin,” she says. “I never told my father. I’ve never told anyone. But I want you to find her, Sutton.” A single tear fights its way loose and rolls down her bony cheek.
I think about my recurring dream, me and my reflection ruling the playground. I think about the feeling I’ve always had of missing somebody, missing somebody who should be right next to me and isn’t. I’d always assumed the feeling was about my birth mom, but now I wonder—have I always known she was out there, deep in my blood? My twin?
And suddenly, I know Becky’s telling the truth.
My mind is swimming, but a barrage of questions comes pouring out of me. “Where is she?” I ask. “Does she know about me? Does she know about our—our grandparents?”
“No. She doesn’t know any of it.” Becky stubs her cigarette out in the dirt, pocketing the filter. “I don’t know where she is anymore. I’ve lost track of her. The last time I knew where she was, it was a foster home in Las Vegas, but Family Services moves her around so often I don’t know where she is now. Her last name’s Paxton, unless she’s changed it.”
“Well, how am I supposed to find her, then?” I ask. Becky just shakes her head.
“You’ll figure it out. You two are meant to find each other, Sutton. You need each other. I should never have separated you in the first place.” She crosses her arms over her chest and heaves a loud sigh. “I have to go now, or everything will get too complicated.”