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I study Calista’s face. The petty anger. The stubbornness. It’s easy to see she wants love without consequence. And maybe she wants to take her mother’s affection back from me.

I want to consider Calista my sister. There will be animosity sometimes, but it’s nothing we can’t work through.

“Okay, I’ll talk to her. I’ll fix everything, I promise.” I sigh. “Honestly, it’s your dad I’m more worried about. He was so angry.”

Calista rolls her eyes. “Please stop calling him that.”

I pause. “Calling him what?”

“My dad.” She says it with disgust that catches me off guard. “He’s my stepdad, if you want to put a label on it.”

My brain tries to make sense of what she’s saying.

“What?”

Calista sighs as if I’m slow. “Frank is my stepdad. He doesn’t want anyone to know, but I’m tired of people thinking I’m related to him by blood. He’s weird and controlling, always acting like he knows what’s best for me because he got his little certificate that says he’s a reverend.”

The complaint feels like my own. We’re both rolling our eyes at our smothering parents.

Then the word sinks in.

Stepdad.

Not her real father.

I have to take a moment to process it.

“So you’re not a Bolton?”

She scoffs. “He’s not a Bolton. He took my mom’s last name when they married right before we moved here. He said it would be better for us as a family. I think he was just ashamed of his own.”

S. Francis Bolton. The name I saw in Frank’s office comes to mind.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He was raised by his grandparents, grew up poor. That sort of thing. I mean, who cares? Not like I love being associated with my puritanical mom, but I’m not crying about it.”

Thoughts bounce around in my head, trying to connect. Unease gathers in my chest.

“What was his last name before?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. L something?”

Dread closes in.

“Lyle?” I ask, barely getting the word out.

Her eyes narrow. “Yeah. How did you know?”

The music doesn’t stop, but it might as well. Everything inside me goes quiet except for one screaming warning.

Slowly, I turn my head and search through the crowd until I find Edwin. He stands across the room, surrounded by men talking without his attention, his eyes already fixed on me.

He reads it in me before I say a word. Something is wrong.

Simon F. Lyle. S. Francis Bolton.

Which means…