We wait.

Captain Moeller clears his throat.

I want to jump across the messy desk and rip the words from his voice box.

Finally, he speaks.

"The boy you buried isn't Jonas."

Captain Moeller's words hang in the air; I can almost see them floating there. No one speaks. No one moves. When I can't take the tension anymore, I ask the totally irrelevant question: "Who was it?"

"A Baby Doe, probably from another state. He wasn't in our missing children database."

Finally, sound comes from my mother's mouth in the form of a gasp.

"I know, it's terrible," Captain Moeller says to my mom.

"So what's next?" she asks through the fingers over her mouth.

"We reopen the search for Jonas," Captain Moeller says.

My mom looks a little like she's in shock. She doesn't reply, so the captain keeps going.

"I took the liberty of having the team use the aging software on the old photo we had of Jonas. We can put that image out over the wire and get people in the area on lookout."

"What if he's not in the area?" I ask.

"We'll distribute it nationally, too," he says to me.

"Can I see it?" I ask.

"Of course," he says. The captain rifles around on his desk for a bit and unearths a thick, worn file. I wonder how many times it's been opened over the past decade.

Captain Moeller pages through the file and pulls out an eight-by-ten photo.

"Here you go," he says, sliding it across the desk. My mom leans in to see but doesn't touch. Tears silently flow down her cheeks; she's so quiet I barely know she's there.

Captain Moeller hands her a tissue and leaves us alone. When he's gone, I pick up the photo for a closer look.

For some reason, a strange calm washes over me at the sight of him: my brother. My shoulders loosen and I exhale slowly.

It feels right.

He seems familiar.

"Do you remember him? From the future?" my mom asks in a voice so weak it's like she's a mouse.

Excited for a moment, I rack my brain for a memory of my brother-any memory other than the horrific one of him being taken.

"No, Mom, I don't," I say. It causes her tears to flow faster. Instead of comforting her, I continue to stare.

There's nothing there, and yet...

There's something.

Like that punch line of a joke you forget by the end, there's something.

And to me, right now, something is just fine.

47.

Luke parks directly in front of a NO TRESPASSING sign on the barbed-wire fence that keeps us from driving off the incline. He kills the engine and the headlights along with it.

The town twinkles below, and I inhale the warm evening through the open windows.

"Did you bring me here to kill me?" I tease.

"Not tonight," he says warmly. "This is a do-over."

"Of what?"

"Of our first date," he says, staring into my eyes. "We fell asleep; you forgot to write it down. I've told you about it. You've probably read about the morning after..."

My cheeks flush.

"... but you didn't experience it. So I'm doing it again."

"You're awesome," I say, without thinking too much about it. Luke grins sheepishly and heads to the back of the van to get some pizza.

After dinner and a movie, Luke suggests stargazing and I wholeheartedly agree. He rolls up the windows, since the night air is growing chilly, and we lie together under the blanket Luke thought to bring, staring up through the moonroof to the universe above.

"We should talk about it," Luke says, face to the stars.

"About what?" I ask, but I think I know what he's referring to.

"About you suggesting we break up."

I scoot closer to him, if that's possible.

"It's not that I want to break up, I just said that it might be better. For you. It might change the future so that you don't get killed." I say the words without conviction.

"Being without you would never be better for me," Luke says, facing me. His tone is serious. "Do you understand that?"

"Yes," I say, because I do. Maybe I'm selfish, but I give in a little too easily. I don't really want to let him go. Maybe deep down I have more faith in my ability to change things than I'm willing to admit.

"Then let's forget all about it," Luke says as he grabs my hand.

"Agreed," I whisper, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"So did you remember this night already?" he asks.

"Probably, but I guess I didn't want to spoil it," I say truthfully. "I didn't include it in my notes."

"And you remember the summer?" he asks.

"Yes," I say quietly.

"That's not fair," he teases.

"Poor baby!" I say. "But you have things that I don't. You remember when we met; I'll never know what that felt like."

Luke turns and kisses me gently and then a little more forcefully before we settle back to look at the stars. I snuggle close to the boy I don't ever want to lose, hoping that somehow I'll save him.

The memory of his death is still there, but so is hope. Right now, in Luke's arms, I feel confident and capable. I will save this boy. I will know the man.

Luke and I stay nestled together until he nudges me.

"We'd better get going," he says gently. I guess I dozed off. "I'm not letting you fall asleep without a note again."

"Why not?" I ask, stretching. I kiss him on the cheek and add, with a sly smile, "You don't have to worry, Luke. I'll remember you in the morning."

48.

6/15 (Wed.) Outfit: -Navy shorts and spotty tank -Red two-piece -White flip-flops (lost one at the lake) IMPORTANT:.

Police found Jonas's kidnappers (they are "cooperating," whatever that means). Mom already told Dad. She's emotional but that's understandable. So am I. I stared at an age-progressed picture of Jonas for an hour, trying to remember him. Didn't work, but there's something there... not sure what it is.

Other stuff: -Spent all day with Luke... floated on inner tubes at the lake. Made out a little in the water... and in the van... and in my room until Mom came home.

-Jamie's in L.A. until next week -Call Dad Nerves rage through me as I slowly, carefully dial.

This is our third phone call-the third of what I know will be many more. I woke up this morning remembering bits of him, but I know from notes those memories are new.

I hit the last number, and feel like I might throw up at the sound of the first tinny ring. Another sound, and I check the door to make sure it's shut. A third, and I wonder if he forgot.

Then he's there.

"Hello?" says a deep, gravelly voice that makes me both happy and sad at the same time. We're rebuilding our relationship, both in real time and in my memories, but I can't help but feel his underlying heartache.

"Hi, Dad. How are you?"

"I'm just fine, Pumpkin. What's new with you?"

He does that, I've noticed: diverts the conversation to me. He doesn't talk about himself; not yet, at least.

But he will.

I rub my fingers over the delicate beetle brooch that was my grandmother's. A note from last week said that it arrived in the mail shortly after our last phone call. Apparently he wanted me to have something of hers.

He could have just saved it and brought it with him when he visits at the end of the summer. It will be brief, but he'll come.

He doesn't know that yet, but I do.

"Not a lot is new on my end," I say breezily. "Just hanging out. Enjoying the summer."

"That's good," he says.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Pumpkin?"

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," he says quickly, as if fathers can't be upset. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that my note today said Mom called you... about Jonas's kidnappers." I feel funny talking about Mom; I know by the way Dad will look at her at my graduation that he still loves her deeply.

"Your note said that, huh?" Dad asks with a strange tone to his voice. My condition is still weird for him. He hasn't lived with it for all these years.

"Yes," I say quietly. "Anyway, I was just wondering how you're feeling about that."

"Well, I guess I'm feeling a mixture of things, London," he begins. "Probably like you and your mom are."

I'm silent, so he continues.

"Your mother said that the kidnappers are giving out names and addresses of the people who bought the babies, so that's encouraging."

"But they haven't heard anything about Jonas specifically?" I ask.

"No," Dad answers, adding, "your note didn't tell you that part?"

"No."