I know that feeling. I know it so fucking well, in a lot of ways it never leaves. I think about it, about her, about how I hoped and wished and dreamed for over a year, and then when Wendy Peterson finally showed up, we just weren't the same anymore. She's not my sister, but she was as close to that as I've ever had. Closer. We were soulmates. Were being the operative word here. She came here, took one look at me and just knew I wasn't the same person she loved.

I don't say as much, though. None of that shit's what he needs to hear.

"He looks different," I murmur, and it's true, but it's not really what I mean. There's something inherently different about him, even I can see it. "How much time you think there was? Between you two gettin' here, I mean."