Page 101 of When We Believed in Mermaids

“We didn’t have one,” Kit says, then recognizes her slip. “None of us did.”

“You didn’t?” Sarah echoes, wrinkling her nose.

And in that instant, with the faces of my sister and my daughter mirroring each other, both with the same nutmeg curls, the same tilt of eyes, the same freckles on the same nose, I recognize there is no way this secret can be kept. Sarah is Kit’s mini me, down to inclinations and eye color.

At that moment, Sarah says, “Hey, we both have the same toes!”

Kit looks at Sarah’s foot, held beside hers. One short leg, one long, the same second and third toes, such a specific genetic order, webbed in exactly the same way. Kit looks up at me, touches her niece’s hair. “So we do. That’s crazy.”

My heart speeds up, and under my hair, the sweat breaks out. I look at Simon, who gives me a perplexed shake of the head. He spreads his hands.What is this?

He speaks to Sarah, however. “Sweetheart, it’s time to go upstairs.”

She lets go of a huff, and I think she’s going to protest, but she only turns to Kit and says, “It’s adult time. I have to go. Will you come back?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Sarah hugs her, hard, and I see how it shatters my sister, the way she squeezes her eyes tight and her fierce arms circle my child. “It was so nice to get to meet you.”

“Bye,” Sarah says in a small voice, and heads upstairs.

A vast silence fills the space beneath the music as she departs. Kit glances at Javier, and he takes her hand in a protective way, moves closer.

At last Simon says, “She couldn’t look more like you.”

Kit bows her head, looks at me.

And here it is, the moment I must have known was coming. I’ve been feeling it bearing down on me for weeks, this collision of my old life and the new one. I take a breath, meet Simon’s eyes. “We’re sisters.”

He’s bewildered. “Why wouldn’t you just say that?”

I take a breath, unable to halt the tears that fill my eyes. “You said I could tell you anything, but—” I look up. “This is a really long story.”

Kit stands up, her hands fluttering over her skirt. “We should go. This is between you two.”

Simon waves her down. “Please don’t go yet. I’d like to know the story.”

She hesitates, looking first at me, then toward the stair, then gives Simon a short nod. She tucks her skirt beneath her legs and perches at the edge of the couch, ready to flee at any moment.

A shivery fear makes my skin cold. “It would be better if we talked first, Simon. Seriously.”

He shakes his head.

I’ve already lost him. I can see it in the set of his shoulders and the loose, apparently relaxed way he holds his hands. He hates lying. He won’t tolerate it in employees or friends, and I’ve known that for almost as long as I’ve known him.

But not before I fell in love with him.

Sooner or later, you have to face things, face your life. Here is my reckoning. “Okay. Short version is: My real name is Josie Bianci. I grew up outside of Santa Cruz. My parents ran a restaurant. Kit is my younger sister. Dylan was our—” I look at Kit.

“Third,” she says. “Not a brother, exactly. Not a relative. But our”—she looks at Javier—“soul mate.Alma gemela.”

“I don’t understand.” Simon blinks, as if he’s trying to see through fog. “Why lie about something so ordinary?”

“Because,” I say wearily, “until a few days ago, Kit and my mother thought I was dead.” I swallow, meet his eyes. “Everyone did. I walked away from a terrorist attack in Paris and let everyone think I died.”

He pales, the skin around his eyes going white. “Jesus! Is that how you got the scar?”

“That was the earthquake.”