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“We’d never say you’re crazy.” She paused, as if considering something. “Not to your face, anyway.”
    â€œAnd even if you are crazy,” Callie assured me, “that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. We can totally visit you in the asylum.” She was smiling, which made me smile, too.
    â€œAlways good to know I’ll have company on visitor’s day.” I slapped my hands on my jeans to prepare myself. “Because what I’m about to tell you is pretty much the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”
    I explained about the list I’d found on Thornhill’s computer, naming all the people I thought I’d seen on it. Nia looked pale when I told her about her parents, and Callie’s mouth opened into a wide O at the news that her mother’s name had been on it. “There must have been, I don’t know, a hundred names,” I finished. “Maybe two hundred.” Thinking of the difference between how many names I’d seen and how few I actually remembered made me sick.
    â€œAnd you’re sure Amanda’s name wasn’t there?” Nia asked.
    I shook my head and corrected her. “I’m sure I didn’t see her name on it.” I put my thumb and index finger a centimeter apart and held my hand in front of my face. “The font was this big. Plus, I’m pretty sure there were other pages I didn’t get a chance to look at. Maybe I even saw it, only I didn’t recognize it because I still thought Amanda Valentino was her real name.”
    Callie and Nia looked at each other, and Nia must have asked Callie a silent question because Callie just shrugged and shook her head.
    Was this how people acted right before they call the men in little white coats to come and take you away?
    I opened my mouth to defend my sanity, but before I could say anything, someone else spoke.
    â€œYou kids find the box?” I turned around. Behind me, Louise was standing on a ladder fishing what looked like a thousand pieces of yarn out of a white plastic bag jammed onto a shelf. She shook the yarn out in front of her and it revealed itself to be a vest.
    â€œCool,” Nia observed.
    â€œ1965,” Louise said, her appreciation for Nia’s appreciation evident in her voice.
    â€œUm, did you say something about a box?” Nia asked, and I wondered if she’d really liked the yarn-vest or if she’d been buttering up Louise.
    â€œI might have,” Louise acknowledged. “And if I were you, I’d likely look for it over there.” She gestured just beyond the coatrack, which might have been helpful if the small area that she’d pointed to hadn’t been crammed with about a thousand items piled together.
    Nia headed toward it, pausing at an old-fashioned vanity table to lift a beautiful silver mirror from it. As she did, her face took on such a strange expression that I asked if she was okay.
    â€œWhat?” She shook her head, almost as if she were emerging from a dream.
    â€œI said, are you okay?”
    â€œI just . . .” Her voice was soft and thoughtful. Extremely un-Nia. “There’s so much sadness in this gift.” She was still staring off into the distance, the mirror pressed to her chest.
    Callie came up to Nia from around the other side of the coatrack. “What’s that?” She reached for the mirror and took it from Nia, examining it closely. As soon as the mirror was out of her hand, Nia’s face lost its dreamy look and went back to its more familiar semi-scowl.
    â€œâ€˜To my dearest Fran on our wedding day—I will love you forever. George. October 4, 1917.’” Callie looked up, confused. “That’s not sad, it’s happy.”
    Nia rolled her eyes, then turned away from us and pushed her way deeper in the direction Louise had indicated we were to go. “Whatever,” she mumbled.
    â€œWhy did you say it was