“No,” I whispered.
“You see it.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
My father, Robert, was maybe ten in it.
“I know.”
“Lots of people look alike.”
“Not that much.”
“Then why did you recognize him?”
Mark tapped the picture. “Your dad kept this exact photo framed in his office. I saw it every Christmas for fifteen years.”
That doesn’t mean anything.
“You really think they look that much alike?”
Mark looked toward the stairs. “Sophie, when Noah looked up at me, for half a second I thought I was standing in your dad’s office again.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know.”
“Dad didn’t have any grandchildren besides Emma.”
I thought I was standing in your dad’s office again.
“I didn’t say he did.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Mark looked back at the photograph. “I’m thinking there’s a reason that kid scared the hell out of me.”
