Hey, you're the one who wanted to crush his head like an egg.

I jerk away and stop walking. "Stop it, Kara. Stop going where you shouldn't."

She smiles. "I don't know what you're talking about, Locke." She grabs my hand and pulls me through the door, her new shoes clicking on the marble as we walk down the hall. She turns at the stairs.

"Not his study?" I ask.

"No, the solarium. I guess he wants a more cheery, casual setting. Does that help put you at ease? Maybe the visitor is a gardener, or an orchid specialist, or something earthy. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, maybe I would. You think that's it? Dr. Gatsbro does love his orchids."

"Absolutely."

The solarium is on the other side of the house, a long walk down two hallways and past several rooms, most of which hold various artifacts that Dr. Gatsbro has collected. One room is full of doorknobs. Glass doorknobs, brass doorknobs, wooden doorknobs, some that look as common as the ones that we had in our house on Francis Street. They are on display in suspended gravity cases so you can see them from all angles. Another room, much more interesting, is filled with books, the real kind that I remember. The kind with paper and bindings. They are in glass cases, not for reading or touching, only for admiring.

We turn the last corner and walk through the double doors that lead into the solarium. Now that I'm here, I find I'm less anxious than I am curious. A visitor. Finally. Their backs are to us when we enter. On hearing our footsteps, Dr. Gatsbro turns around and the visitor follows his lead.

"Ah! There you are! Come in, come in, Kara and Locke! Come meet our special guest." Right away I guess he knows nothing about gardens or orchids. He wears a bright blue tunic that falls past his knees. Beneath that are billowing white pants. Even for someone like me who can barely distinguish one shirt from another it's obvious that his clothes are impeccably tailored from a fine fabric. He holds his hand out to shake ours. He takes Kara's first and lifts it to his lips. He lingers. Kara coyly pulls away.

"A pleasure, Mademoiselle Manning."

"All mine, m'sieur."

He takes my hand next. "And you are Locke Jenkins." He holds my hand, squeezing, not hard, but like he is trying to feel for something beneath my skin--something like bones.

"Yes, I know. I'm Locke. And you are?"

"Forgive me," Dr. Gatsbro says. "Kara and Locke, please meet my friend Mr. Jafari. Let's go sit. Greta's brought us some refreshments."

Kara and I sit together on a wicker settee, and across a low glass table, Dr. Gatsbro and Mr. Jafari sit in large, comfortable wicker chairs.

"Where are you visiting from, Mr. Jafari?" I ask.

He hesitates, glancing over at his host. Dr. Gatsbro nods his okay, and Mr. Jafari turns back to me. "I'm from Tunisar. Are you familiar with my country?"

"We haven't visited there--yet," Kara answers. "But we'd love to. Isn't that right, Locke?"

"Yes, of course," I say. "It was once part of India, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that's right, and also China, but a long time ago."

"What brings you to the States?" I ask.

He offers another sideways glance, and Dr. Gatsbro takes over. "He's heard about some of the work I'm doing, and after visiting my labs in Manchester, he wanted to know more, so I invited him out here to the estate. I've told him a little about you two, but I think he'd like to hear more about your remarkable journey. Kara, dear, would you mind?"

Kara tilts her head and smiles sweetly. "Of course, Dr. Gatsbro." The well-rehearsed song and dance begins. In almost the same word-for-word review as this morning, Kara begins, her hands gesturing at all the right moments, Mr. Jafari, hanging on every word, mesmerized by details, but more than the details, mesmerized by Kara. When she stands for effect and walks to the nearby table of orchids, his eyes never blink as they follow her. Her pauses are near perfection, delicately cupping a butterfly orchid and lowering her thick lashes like she is in deep thought. Mr. Jafari leans forward, literally on the edge of his seat.

"... And finally, after two and a half centuries, the right person came along--someone with the resources, expertise, and vision--to give us a second chance, our very own Dr. Gatsbro."

Mr. Jafari stands and joins her at the table, taking her hand in both of his. "What a remarkable journey, indeed." He reaches out and touches her cheek, his palm resting there. I watch Kara strain to maintain her smile. "Remarkable," he says again.

She steps away. "Why don't you tell him the rest, Locke?"

Mr. Jafari returns to his seat, and the spotlight turns to me. I know my performance won't be as flawless as Kara's, and I am not sure why it matters so much to Dr. Gatsbro anyway. I reach for one of the small lemon cookies Greta has brought us and stuff the whole thing into my mouth.

"Locke?" Dr. Gatsbro prompts.

I nod and wash the cookie down with some tea. I'm on. "Well, as Kara said, after a very long time, Dr. Gatsbro finally came along with the right technology and managed to restore our bodies." Use the word restore, Locke. It sounds more natural than create. "He used photos and videos to achieve perfect likenesses, so every detail of the restoration was an exact match." Except cowlicks. "He even used our retrieved DNA specimens to engineer our tissue so that we have our original unique identity." But we're not who we once were. We've changed. Especially Kara. Was it all those years of being trapped in a six-inch cube that changed us? Or maybe after so long, parts of us simply dissolved away. Could that happen? Or maybe parts of us just gave up, parts like hope and connection. Or maybe after so long it's natural for us to be filled with grief and anger about all that we've lost. We've lost everything but each other. When we woke, Dr. Gatsbro gave us a month to grieve before our lessons began. A month was not nearly enough.