“You look so much like her,” Claire said, shaking her head.
He tilted his head to the side. “Like who?”
She couldn’t stop staring. She cleared her throat. “Your mother.”
His face contracted, frowning and encircled with lines. “I’m sorry… I thought you were Claire Cooke?”
The cold air blowing in from the front door was too much. She turned around and quickly shut the door.
Marty was still standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He didn’t look threatening at all, with his wet hair and crystal clear green eyes, the exact shade of Rebecca’s.
Really, the exact shade of Claire’s as well, though she never spent much time looking in the mirror. She had, however, spent many hours of her life looking into Rebecca’s eyes, overwhelmed with love or jealousy or exasperation. Until one day, she never got to look into them again.
“Do you want to sit down?” she offered, pointing to the couch. “Are you hungry?”
He slowly approached the couch and sat. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
No,thank you.How polite.
He spoke again. “I’m sorry, but do you know where my mother is? I was hoping to meet her.”
She walked to the kitchen and filled the tea kettle before placing it on the stove. He didn’t move, and Claire felt her muscles relaxing. She set the broom down.
“If your mother is who I think she is,” Claire said slowly, “I’m very sorry, but she’s no longer with us. She passed away years ago.”
Brow again furrowed, Marty looked down. “Oh.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He looked up at her. “How is that possible? She just came up in that system and we were matched and –”
“It was me,” Claire said gently. “I’m Claire Cooke. Your mom, Rebecca, was my twin sister.”
He eyed her warily for a moment. “Twin?”
Claire nodded, rushing into the other room to dig through a pile of unpacked boxes. She pushed two out of the way, letting them fall to the floor with a boom.
Claire didn’t care. She didn’t even remember what was in those boxes. The only one she was interested in was labeled “bedroom closet.” She never traveled far without these precious belongings, one of which was a photo album of her family.
She pulled it triumphantly from its place and placed it in Marty’s hands. “That’s us. On the cover. With our parents and our sister Holly.”
Marty stared at the picture before silently opening the album.
Claire sat across from him and shifted nervously in her seat. Would this make him angry? Rebecca used to have such a temper.
“How did she die?” he asked softly.
Claire clasped her hands awkwardly in her lap. “A plane crash.”
He flipped the pages and reached a section of newspaper clippings about the crash. “Your parents, too?”
Claire nodded. “Yes. And Holly, and her husband.”
He sat back and looked up at her. His lips had faded to a pale pink.
“Can I get you some tea?” she asked, standing up.
He nodded, remaining silent as she futzed around the kitchen.
