The flight was bumpy, but Aria wasn’t sure if that was what made her queasy. The list of possible culprits was long. She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t slept. Dehydration was a possibility, considering she’d cried her eyes dry.

“Emmitt said we should go to this address. He didn’t say much else, but apparently you’ll get some answers if we do. Maybe your dad has some living relatives there.”

“Maybe,” Aria replied as she stared out the window, foolish enough to think maybe something in Philadelphia would be familiar. Her last time here, she was a three-year-old. She’d spent many nights trying to conjure up a true memory of her father. Surely she’d gone to a park with him. Had he pushed her on the swing? Had she sat on his shoulders and never worried about falling?

“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now,” Monroe offered gently. “I can tell you a hundred times not to blame yourself, and it won’t matter. I don’t have any advice. I don’t have anything, but I’m here.”

It was not lost on her how much willpower it took for a man, especially this man, to admit he was out of solutions. To just be present and without a direct purpose was a difficult proposition and that he was willing to attempt it, meant a lot to her. “I wouldn’t be able to do this alone,” she admitted, giving up on staring out the window. Nothing in Philadelphia would be easy. The one connection she had to this place was now dead.

“Here we are,” Monroe said, forcing a cheery tone as he pulled in front of a three-story apartment building. It was a slate color with bright white trim. Certainly not newly built but well kept.

“Are we supposed to knock on the door?” Aria asked, feeling nervousness roll up her spine. “Emmitt couldn’t give us anything else to go on?”

“I didn’t talk to him directly,” Monroe said as he looked at the apartment. He was watching as if the answer would climb out of a window. “James said he’s a pain in the ass. Effective, but he doesn’t make anything easy.”

“I can’t imagine anyone in that house wants to see a couple strangers on their porch, talking about ancient history and a dead man.” Aria didn’t unbuckle her seat belt.

Monroe cut the engine and took her hand in his. “It’s not ancient history. It’s your history, and the worst that can happen is they have no idea what we’re talking about. We’ll leave and try something else.”

“I guess,” Aria agreed, refusing to admit what being turned away would actually do. If the people in that house were her blood relatives, and they didn’t want her, she’d get back in the car and tell Monroe to drive until they hit the ocean, until this place was a distant memory.

He clicked her seatbelt free, and she stepped out of the car with the uneasy legs of a newborn deer. A few seconds later Monroe was at her side, propping her up with his sturdy arm.

“Look,” he said optimistically as he read the names next to each apartment’s buzzer. “Laurence. That’s on the second floor. That must be what we’re looking for.”

“You think he lived here?” she asked, looking around for something he might have touched. Something he might have loved about this porch.

“We’re about to find out,” Monroe said as he pressed the buzzer and waited.

“Yes?” a sweet voice called back. “Who is it?”

Aria didn’t answer. What would she possible be able to say through this little electronic thing that could bring someone to the door? Likely they’d think she’s crazy.

“Uh, yes ma’am . . . my name is Monroe, and I was hoping to talk to you about Scott Laurence. Is he a relative of yours?”

“He is,” the voice said, sounding far more guarded now. “What is this about?”

“His daughter,” Monroe said, nervously clearing his throat and unconsciously tightening his grip on her.

“There is a toll-free number you can call if you want to set up an interview. But there is no new information. Everything is up to date on our website. This is our private residence.”

“I know that,” Monroe said. “I’m very sorry to intrude. If you could spare just a minute. I have new information for you.”

There was a long pause before the voice came back. “I’ll give you Detective Logan’s phone number. He’s in charge of the case. Any new leads can go to him. But, what exactly do you . . .” she trailed off. “What kind of information is it?”

Monroe looked at Aria and held his breath. His eyes roamed over her face expectantly.

“Hello?” Aria finally edged out. “I am . . . uh, I’m his daughter. Scott Laurence was my father.”

The pause on the other end of the speaker dragged on, and Aria held her breath as well.

“Go out to the front porch,” she ordered. “Stand by the flagpole.”

Monroe opened his mouth to ask why, but Aria was already down the stairs and halfway to the flagpole before he could say anything. She couldn’t blame this person for not wanting to open the door for such a crazy proclamation.

Aria looked at the apartment as the porch door opened and out stepped a young woman in sweatpants and a tattered tank top. Her blond hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, and even from a distance she could tell the girl was rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

“When’s your birthday?” the girl called down.

“October thirteenth,” Aria called back, her hands shaking with fear.

“No,” the girl corrected. “Her birthday was November thirteenth.”

“I only know what my mother told me. What the papers she gave me said,” Aria explained. “I can’t remember him. Anything you ask me, I won’t be able to answer.”

“There have been others,” the girl said with a sigh. “They think they’ll get some kind of money or something. There’s no money.”

“I don’t want money,” Aria said, her voice cracking with emotion.

“What do you want?”

“I have no idea,” Aria admitted. “I know I’m too late. He’s already gone. I don’t know what I want.”

“The birthmark?” the girl asked, as though the idea had just popped in her head. “She has a birthmark.”

“On my shoulder,” Aria said, her eyes welling with tears as she spun around and slipped her shirt down. “Can you see it from there?”

“Yeah,” the girl said, through a little sob. “It does look like Hawaii. That’s what he always said.”

The girl disappeared from the porch and in a few seconds the front door swung open. “It’s you?” she was asking over and over again, half declaration half question. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” Aria answered, accepting the full-body hug as the girl nearly lifted her off the ground. “It’s really me.”

“Johana? Do you go by Johana?”

“No,” she said awkwardly. “My name is Aria. Or that’s what I’ve gone by all these years. This is Monroe.”

“I’m Natalie,” she gulped out as she wiped tears away. “I’m your sister. Well your half-sister. Oh my gosh. I have to call Lennon. Our brother. He’s in school in California. But he’ll come on the first flight.” She patted her sweatpants, looking for her phone. “I don’t have my cell. I need to get it. Don’t move. Don’t leave. I have to call Aunt Gail. You look just like her. It’s actually spooky. That’s Dad’s sister. Did you know he had a sister?”

“No,” Aria said. “I don’t know anything. He had more kids? Two?”

“Yes,” Natalie smiled.

“How old are you? And your brother.”

“We’re twins,” she smiled. “Twenty. We’re twenty.”

“I’m so glad he had more kids,” Aria said, clutching her heart. “I’m so glad he wasn’t alone. He married again?”

“For a while,” Natalie said, for the first time looking somber. “They separated when we were ten.”

“You’ve always known about me?” Aria asked, astonished that she was so welcomed.

“One of my first memories was licking envelopes stuffed with your missing person flyer. My brother was in charge of the stamps. You can’t imagine how much a part of our lives you were. Every Thanksgiving he saved you the wishbone. There was always a seat for you at our table. Every single night. My mother”—she bit at her lip—“was very supportive. She understood the lengths Dad needed to go to keep your memory alive. To keep hope alive. But at some point it just became too much. If she’d have let him, he’d have spent every dime they had trying new ways to find you. He went in debt so many times and it was mostly people taking advantage of him.”

“She left him because of me?” Aria asked, a dagger aimed at her heart until Natalie removed it.

“No,” she said firmly. “They had a complicated marriage outside of the baggage he brought with him. It sounds cold, but I promise you, my mother wanted you found. She prayed for it every night. She’ll be so happy.” Natalie clamped her hands together and gasped as though she still couldn’t believe this was happening. “He went to his deathbed without seeing you again, and it kills me. I’m so sorry you didn’t meet him in time.”

“It’s my fault,” Aria said just above a whisper. “I have to tell you the truth. I knew about my dad years ago. I could have come here sooner, but I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Natalie asked, her eyes wide with shock. “He would have welcomed you with open arms. We all would have.”

“My mother,” Aria said, looking at her shoes. “I was afraid of what would happen to her if I came forward.”

“He knew that,” Natalie comforted, touching her shoulder gently. “Well, he didn’t know for sure, but he understood every single possibility that you might have faced. Maybe she poisoned you against him. Maybe she lost custody of you along the way. Or she remarried and started a new happy life. My father explored every path he thought you might have been on, and he didn’t hold any of it against you. He wouldn’t want you to feel any guilt about it.”

“But now he’s dead,” Aria cried. “I’ll never know him.”

“You’ll never meet him,” Natalie corrected. “But you will know him.”