"Yes. Pretty much filthy."

"Rich, you mean?"

"That's what I said."

"From restoring brownstones?"

Lily laughs.

"So it's Father then. Doctors make that much?"

"No."

I see her hesitate. The car idles at the stop sign. She sighs like she is giving up something precious and I had better appreciate it. "He started his own biotech company and sold it four years ago. That's where he made his money. He developed Bio Gel. It changed everything as far as transplants were concerned. Instead of just a few hours, organs could be shelved indefinitely waiting for the right recipient. He was on the news and made a big splash. Anything else?"

"If he sold his company, where does he work now?"

"Same place."

I don't understand, but Lily isn't offering any further explanation and I am tired of prying information out of her. I change the subject and gesture back to the street we have just exited. "Do you know the neighbors?" I ask.

"Not yet," Lily answers. Again, she doesn't elaborate. I know she'd rather enjoy the silence. I don't think that will happen.

"You've been here for over a year. Why haven't you met them?"

" What makes you think we've been here that long?"

"Mother said we moved here because — "

"We've been here two and a half weeks."

"That's impossible," I say. "That's almost exactly how long I've been awake. We move here one day and I wake up the next? What are the chances ..."

I don't say any more. Neither does Lily. I remember Mr. Bender's comment about us only being here for two weeks, too. It's true. How could Mother and Father have known? After I spent over a year in a coma, how could they have predicted exactly when I would wake up and then move to California precisely at that time? Was it only coincidence? Or did they decide when I would wake up? Why would they keep me in a coma for so long? Why would they steal a year and a half of my life? What kind of parents are they?

Careful, Jenna.

I was wrong. Lily gets to enjoy her silence.

Agreement

I never asked about the accident. Something told me not to.

Maybe it was the shine of Mother's eyes.

Maybe it was Father's smile that tried too hard.

Maybe it was something deeper inside me that I still can't

name.

The Accident.

Like a title. A stop sign. A wall.

It separates me from who I was and who I will be.

I can't ask and they don't offer.

It's a hushed agreement.

Perhaps the only thing we have ever agreed upon.

Inside

"We're here."

Lily's voice is soft. Different. The landscape I warned to memorize has ribboned away behind me, and I now find myself sitting in a parking lot that I don't remember driving to.

"Jenna."

That voice again. The soft one of Lily's I barely recognize. How long have we been driving? How long have I been staring our the window and seeing nothing? It sinks in, like sharp teeth in my skin, just how much I still need to know. My fingers grip the seat. I need a word. Curious. Lost. Angry. Which one? Sick? Is that it? I grasp for a word that isn't there.

"Jenna."

Scared The softness of Lily's voice makes it surface. I am scared.

I turn my head to look at her face, wondering at this change in her. "Why do you hare me?" I ask.

She doesn't answer. She studies my face. Her chest rises, and her head tilts slightly. "I don't hate you, Jenna," she finally says. "I simply don't have room for you." Harsh words, but her voice is tender and the contradiction is a stony reminder that I am missing something vital. I know the old Jenna Fox would have understood. But the timbre of Lily's voice calms me just the same. I nod, like I understand.

"Come in with me," she says gently, and she gathers packages from the back seat. I follow her across an empty graveled lot.

A tall whitewashed building, blinding bright against a cold blue sky, appears to be our destination. My eyes ache from the glare. "What is this?" I ask.

"The mission. San Luis Rey. I've been in contact with Father Rico for years. We finally get to meet." We enter through a heavy wooden door in a long white wall. The entrance leads to a shady enclosed cemetery. "This way," Lily says, like she has been here before and knows the way. I look at wilted flowers, notes, and stuffed animals that lie on graves and tombstones and feel a brief moment of envy at the remembrances. I see one marker that dates back to 1823, the numbers almost weathered away. Over two hundred years later and still remembered.

I wonder how Lily knows a priest in an ancient mission so far from Boston. We reach the end of the cemetery and come to the great wall of the church which borders it. Lily pulls open yet another large wooden door, and this time we slip into cool blackness and the sweet smell of burning candles, mustiness, and age. My eyes adjust and I see a domed painted ceiling, and then a gilded crucified figure. Christ. Yes, Christ. I remember. Lily bends a knee as she crosses in front of the altar and lifts her hand to her forehead, her heart, and then each shoulder with movement that is so swift and natural it is over as soon as it begins. This I don't remember.

I stop and stare at the gilded figure. My eyes travel to the altar and then the baptismal font. There should be a feeling, I think. The room itself demands it, but no feeling is in me. I close my eyes. I'm instantly caught up in a scene playing behind my lids, and I feel cool drops of water on my forehead. Lily's unlined face looms, years younger, and then a man, smiling. He takes my whole body into his hands and kisses my cheek. I see my own hand wave before my face, as small as a butterfly, an infant's hand. I open my eyes. My baptism. I remember it. How is that possible?