Page 25 of The Unmaking of June Farrow

“So, it’snotthe same woman.” He looked up at me.

I said nothing, silently hoping he was about to offer some kind of explanation I hadn’t yet thought of.

“Then they just look alike. But why would Margaret mail this to you?”

“I have no idea. So, I started digging, trying to figure out who Nathaniel Rutherford was married to.” I paused. “Mason, her name was Susanna Farrow.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me.

“She has the same birth date as my mother, except for the year, obviously. And she had a daughter named June.”

I couldn’t read the look on his face now. It was as misplaced as I felt.

“Her daughter was born around the same day and month as the birthday you chose for me. And she died the exact same day and month I was found in Jasper—October 2nd.”

“June…”

“I mean, isn’t that weird?” I was looking for reassurance now.

“Yeah. It’s weird.”

“But…I don’t know. There’s also somethingwrongabout it.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s her,” he said.

I bit down on my lip, pulse skipping.

“Wait.” He set his elbows on the table, his face turning serious again. “You actually think it’sher?”

I raked my hands through my hair. “I don’t know what to think. I mean, tell me how this is possible. What are the odds?”

“I can’t explain it to you. It was more than a hundred years ago. Things get lost over that much time.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his hand lifted between us, stopping me. “June, you’re throwing a lot at me right now. You just told me my best friend in the entire world is sick and she’s not going to get better. And now you’re telling me she thinks her mother…what? Went back in time?”

“I know it’s crazy.”

“Yeah.” He nearly laughed again, but now it sounded like a panicked thing. Like he was just beginning to reckon with the fact that I was really, truly broken.

We sat there for a long moment before he set a hand on my arm, squeezing gently. “Look,this…” His eyes dropped to the photos that sat between us. “This isn’t what’s important right now.”

I let out a breath, giving up. His eyes stared into mine, as if he were waiting to be convinced that I’d drop it. When I nodded, he finally let me go. I should have called him that night a year ago, like I’d promised. Maybe then I wouldn’t have ended up here, caught in the labyrinth of Nathaniel Rutherford and my mother and a child that had barely existed.

“When does Birdie get back?” he asked.

I could hear the real question behind the words.When will there be someone here to keep an eye on you?

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m going to stay over tonight.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’m not asking.”

He reached for the whiskey, refilling my glass before he filled his again.

The prick behind my eyes didn’t fully give way to tears until more than an hour later, as I was lying in the dark of my room, the sound of Mason’s deep sleeping breaths drifting up the stairs. And even then, I swallowed them down before they could fall.