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pulled a wee cookie from her little purse and handed it to Jon.
    Jon took the tiny white cookie, about the size of a quarter and the color of the island’s sand under a summer sun, freckled in white. “What is it?” he asked.
    “It’s called a Hamilton Island Biscuit. Mrs. Rasmussen makes them, but only on New Year’s, the first day of summer, and on special occasions. It was Mommy’s favorite cookie.”
    Jon smiled and blinked, his eyes getting wet. “Oh, wow. I remember these,” he said, turning the cookie over in his hand. Then, mostly to himself, he added, “How old is Mrs. Rasmussen now? She was like seventy when I was a kid.”
    “I don’t know,” Emma shook her head. “I asked her one time if she was 100 and she laughed and said no, but she didn’t tell me how old she was.”
    Emma looked closer at Jon, as if seeing him for the first time. “Did you live on the island when you were little?”
    “I did.”
    Emma glanced at her shuffling feet, then back up at Jon. “Did you know my mom?”
    Jon nodded. “I did.”
    “Do you think I look just like her?”
    Of course Jon did, but the oddness of the question put a crack in what little voice he had to answer. “Yes … yes, you do.”
    “That’s what everybody says, but I think we look different.”
    Jon said, “That’s only because you didn’t know her when she was your age.” He smiled. “But your mom and I were great friends when we were your young, and I do think you look just like her.”
    “Maybe,” she said, and made a face, a sideways sort of smile, which sent a chill through Jon. It was the exact same kind of face he made, a face he used to make Sarah laugh.
    As Jon looked into her eyes, a growing realization crept over him. Yes, she looked a lot like her mother as a child, but she also looked like someone else… him.
    He began to pick through the dates in his mind, trying to figure out if it were possible that he was actually Emma’s father. Had Sarah lied to him? And then another horrible realization.
    Is that why she broke up with me?
    Jon felt as if someone had pulled the world out from under him.
    “What’s your name?” the girl asked, looking at him sideways.
    “Jon,” he said, barely finding the word.
    She reached out to shake his hand.
    “I’m Emma, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, smiling her best despite her sadness.
    He shook her hand, so tiny and frail in his, and felt a growing certainty that his suspicions were right.
    And then Vivian appeared from nowhere, with her arm suddenly around her granddaughter. “We’ve got to go,” she said, turning to Emma. “Please tell Mr. Conway to have a nice day.”
    Emma’s eyes went wide, then she turned to Jon. “Wait, are you the guy in the movies?”
    He laughed, still kneeling. “Yes.”
    “Oh my God! You knew my mom?”
    Vivian sliced the exchange to nothing, shot Jon a sour look, then led Emma past the dessert table, and to the bright light outside. Jon stood boiling, his hands twitching.
    He turned to leave, then crashed into Cassidy, standing behind him.
    “Sorry about my mom,” she said. “You know, old wounds and all.”
    Jon shook his head. “I understand. He held her eyes. I’m sorry about Sarah, Cassidy.” He held his arms open and Cassidy accepted, allowing him to pull her into an embrace. She cried softly against his chest for a minute, then pulled away.
    “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I didn’t know if you would.”
    He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
    After an awkward silence, Cassidy said, “Thank you. She would have wanted you here.”
    Jon swallowed, trying to work up the courage to ask the question on his mind.
    Cassidy looked back where her mother and niece went to, and said, “I should probably get going.”
    “Okay,” he said, saying goodbye with an awkward hug.
    He felt as if he were hugging a ghost.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Milo Anderson

    Wednesday
    September 6
    1:17 p.m.

    Milo sat in his bedroom,