Davey and I spend the next few days at the Monte Carlo in Monaco. All the gambling seems to put him in better mood, just like it always does. He’s taking showers again. His hazel eyes are clearer. His face, clean shaven. And he’s wearing clothes that don’t look like they came out of the dirty hamper. All indications he’s getting over the Vancouver girl. There’s something about playing poker that sparks life back into the guy. Whereas I enjoy the game, Davey lives for it. To me, it’s a means to an end. A fun way to pass time and make money. Sometimes there’s a thrill, which is what initially hooked me. These last few years, since Evie…that thrill is what’s sustained me. But it’s next level for Davey. To him, poker is life. He’s even been to the World Series three years in a row. Those final tables keep eluding him, but every year he gets a little closer.

“You won?” Davey pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, his eyes flaring in disbelief.

“I won,” I say, grinning like an elated idiot. I just finished up my tournament after grinding it out for nine hours straight. I’m tired, but the high from winning is keeping me going.

“Holy shit, bro. You’re twenty grand richer!”

Just like that. One day of work. The highs of poker. Then again, it can go the other way just as fast.

“Fuck, man. I should’ve signed up for your tourney. Why do I always go for the long ones?”

“Because you only have eyes for big pay outs.” The three-day tournament he’s playing enticed him with a grand prize of three hundred thousand dollars. “How’s it going, by the way?”

He shrugs. “I’m down sixty thousand in chips, but I’ll cash out if I can at least make it to one of the final tables.” He looks at his watch. “I better get back. Break’s over.”

“Good luck.”

He leaves, and I scroll through my phone checking my messages and social media accounts. There’s an email from my dad.

Hey Kid,

I tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail. Renzo didn’t know about the adoption. Never in a million years did he expect something like this. It blew his mind. He’s just always assumed his mother’s adoptive family was her biological family. Anyway, it wasn’t uncommon to keep adoption details hush-hush back then. The good news is, he’s got people on it, and they found the birth family. There were four siblings, originally born to Jack and Elaine Hollick in Augusta, Maine. When the state removed the children, they were split up through separate adoptive families. Judy was sent to a family in New York, her younger sisters went to another in Maine, and the youngest brother was sent to Connecticut. The sisters are still living in Maine, and they invited us out to their house for a visit. I offered to drive out there this weekend since Renzo is busy with his Chinese contract. Care to join me for the trip?

Love, Dad

P.S. Your old friend from high school, that stupid one who used to dye his hair green, just passed his bar exam. This was his fourth time taking the damn thing. When are you taking yours?

I snort at the last part. Charlie Landry was the biggest slack off in my graduating class, which is probably why it took him so long to finish law school. But at least he had the drive to see it through. He finished. I didn’t. And my pops made sure he could get that crack in while he had the chance.

Instead of emailing, I text him back, letting him know I’ll take a flight out tonight. I’ll meet him directly in Maine.

Davey is going to be pissed. We just got here yesterday morning, but I have to do this. If there are answers out there, I need to find them.

Junior’s face flashes through my mind. He’s just a memory now.

The three of us, him, Leo, and me, used to play hide and seek in the Serra mansion as kids. We’d climb trees in the backyard. Build blanket forts in the playroom. Sneak into the kitchen to steal candy and soda. Play video games for hours. As far as childhoods go, mine was pretty great.

I was eight when Carly Serra died. It was rumored that Leo found her, but I’d never asked him if it were true. He would have been seven at the time. I can’t imagine the damage it does to a seven-year-old to see shit like that. The horror it imprints on your brain. The scars it leaves you with for life.

With Evie, I didn’t make it home in time. All I remember is her rich auburn hair dangling from the edge of the sofa right before the cops pushed me out the door. It took three of them to push me out, and I was fighting like hell to get back inside. I’m grateful to those cops now. If just the sight of Evie’s hair has the power to haunt me, and still haunts me to this day, I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like if I’d seen everything. To see emptiness where there was once so much life. No, I’d prefer to remember people as they were.

And I really want Amelia to stay as she is. Life brimming in her face. The sun setting in her eyes. All of her, here in the present.

She can’t become just another memory.

She just…can’t.