Page 101 of Mirror Image

I pause and scan the length of the lakeside path. Save for a few dedicated joggers, the park has mostly emptied with the waning light and waxing mosquitoes. It takes me only a moment to spot her sitting on one of the metal benches facing the water. The hospital loungewear has been replaced by jeans and a hoodie that must be roasting in this warm, sticky air. A Marlins cap is pulled low over her now-brown hair—a soft, warm shade that makes her blue eyes stand out even in the dimming light. Just enough of a transformation that someone could glance right over her without a second thought. Hidden in plain sight.

When she clocks me approaching, her posture changes—shoulders lifting, head jerking slightly as her eyes dart to either side, like she’s checking whether I’ve arrived with backup.

“You left without saying anything,” I say when I reach the bench.

“Yeah, well, I’m not one for the big emotional goodbyes, you know? Never was.”

“You sure about that, Mary?”

She goes very still. “You mean Sam.”

I ignore the correction and take a seat beside her. “Did you really think no one would figure it out?”

“Figure what out?”

“Who you are. Who you really are.”

“You were in that meeting this morning,” she fires back. “Pretty sure we all agreed I’m Sam.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you wanted us to agree.”

She scowls. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It was pretty brilliant, actually. You pretended to be Sam—pretending to be Mary.”

She barks a disbelieving laugh. “What the fuck are you on about, lady?”

“I wish I knew,” I say honestly. “Because for the life of me, I cannot think of a reasonable explanation.”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“By going to Miami Killian, where your family has connections, you ensured your parents would be called in.”

“Okay, no,” she counters. “I woke up there. I didn’t ask to go.”

It’s a fair point, but the momentum has already built.

“And the meat thing was genius,” I say. “Subtle. You were waiting for someone to catch it—that this supposed vegan kept ordering nonvegan lunches. But no one did. What you didn’t plan on was someone noticing you tossed every single one untouched.”

Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t deny it.

“That was my first clue. But when that didn’t work, you leaned harder. This morning? You let the veneer slip. The cursing, the irreverence—the exact things your mother hates most about Sam. You didn’t do that for me. You did it for them.”

She shifts on the bench, agitation rolling off her in waves. “Okay, you know what? This was a mistake. We’re done.”

She keeps glancing toward the footbridge, toward the dark water, as though each direction offers an escape hatch that refuses to open.

“You could’ve declined to see them,” I say. “You didn’t. You wanted them to recognize the wrong twin.”

She snaps her head toward me. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want them to know?”

“Because you’re running from something,” I say plainly. “And you don’t want Doug and Terry to know you’re their daughter. But I don’t understand why. You’re an adult. They can’t make you do anything.”

Her shoulders sag, just barely.

“No,” she says quietly. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me.”