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“Joan of Arc,” Lake said without missing a beat. “She believed divine voices guided her. Modern interpretations lean toward auditory or visual hallucinations.” He shifted in his seat. “Most are now understood to be undiagnosed mental health issues, or, with people like Coleridge, drug use.” Lake laid his head back against the seat. “Are we going to knock?”

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “I’m just bracing myself. Hi Mum, hi Dad. I’m back from the dead. Also, you know how you always hated me being gay, here’s my boyfriend. Say hello.”

Lake winced. “I can wait in the car if you prefer.”

“No,” I said immediately. “I really don’t want that.”

I got out slowly, reluctance weighing down my every movement. Lake joined me on the pavement. “I don’t even think they’re home,” I said. “We’ve been here for ages and there’s been zero movement.” Comforted by the thought, I headed up the path. A neighbor opening their door and taking out the rubbish registered vaguely, but I kept my focus on the house ahead.

“Owen! How lovely to see you! It’s been too long. Are you here for a visit?”

I stopped dead, just short of the door. When I turned, the woman who’d spoken frowned and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were…”

“Owen,” I said.

She nodded. “Silly of me. You’re much younger than he is. But with your head down like that.”

“Who’s Owen?” Lake asked sharply.

She glanced back toward her house as a phone began ringing inside. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m expecting an important call from the doctor.” She smiled and hurried back indoors.

“Did you get anything?” Lake asked once the door closed.

I shook my head. “Nothing useful about Owen. She was more concerned about her biopsy results.”

“If your parents aren’t home, we could always knock,” Lake suggested. “She thought you were him, so that must be who we’re looking for.”

“And he’s been here,” I said. Something leaden settled in my gut. That put my parents squarely in the middle of this. Lake knocked before I could overthink it, his thoughts giving away his concern that we might stand here for another ten minutes if he didn’t take control of the situation.

It only gave me a few scant seconds to compose myself before the door swung open. My mother stood there. Older. Thinner. Her face showed lines in a way I didn’t remember. She didn’t have gray in her hair, but I assumed that was courtesy of a bottle rather than time having been generous.

“Hi, Mum,” I said. “Long time no see.”