Page 98 of Lorenzo

“Numbers. Addresses. Things Rachel gave me over the years in case I needed to reach her.”

I open it.

Most entries have been crossed out. Several addresses belong to places she left long ago. Phone numbers change every few months.

Near the back is a post office box and a date from three months ago.

I copy it.

Then I turn the page.

A motel name is written beneath it.

No city or date.

Just a name.

“Did Rachel stay here?”

Elaine leans closer.

“I don’t remember.”

“Why is it in the notebook?”

“She must have given it to me.”

“Do you know when?” I ask, though I'm afraid I know the answer.

“I don’t know.”

I show it to Lorenzo.

His eyes meet mine.

It is not much. Rachel left almost nothing.

A motel name is enough to start.

I photograph every page in the notebook, then the letter, the adoption records, and the few photographs of Rachel as an adult.

One picture is recent enough to be familiar. Her hair is the same shade as Genevieve’s, cut shorter, but the resemblance remains striking.

I take a picture.

“Would Rachel know how to get into a locked apartment?”

Elaine looks at me for a long moment. “Yes.”

“How?”

“She was always good with locks. She used to sneak out and back in.”

That does not surprise me.

“What else was she good at?”

“Watching people. Remembering things.” Elaine’s voice breaks slightly. “Becoming whatever she needed to be.”