Chapter 1

The old farmhouse attic smelled like dust and forgotten Thanksgivings. I was up here looking for a missing box of Christmas ornaments, a task Mom had assigned me to keep me busy. I was Emily, late twenties, a city girl back in rural Vermont for the holiday, and already feeling a little out of place. My family was downstairs, the comforting chaos of Thanksgiving prep in full swing.

I pulled open a heavy wooden chest, and inside, nestled among moth-eaten scarves and old yearbooks, was a small stack of Polaroids. One caught my eye. It was me, a much younger me, maybe ten years old, skinny, with a gap-toothed smile. My arm was around a boy I didn’t recognize. He had dark, curly hair and was grinning at the camera. The back of the photo, in faded blue ink, read: "With Cousin Leo, Thanksgiving 2008."

Cousin Leo? I frowned. I had no cousin Leo. I ran through the family tree in my head – Mom’s side, Dad’s side. No Leo. I remembered being ten, vaguely. That was around the time I had that awful fever, the one that nearly cooked my brain and left patches of my memory from that year hazy, like a fogged-up window. But a whole cousin? Surely, I’d remember a cousin.

I took the photo downstairs. Mom was basting the turkey, her face flushed from the oven’s heat. "Mom, who is this?" I held out the Polaroid.

She glanced at it, then back at the turkey. "Who’s that? That’s just you in the photo, honey."

"No, look," I insisted. "The boy. It says 'Cousin Leo'."

Mom took the photo, squinted at it. "Leo? Oh, I don't see anyone else, Em. Just you. You were a cute kid." She handed it back.

I looked at the Polaroid again. My stomach twisted. The boy was gone. It was just me, standing alone in the photo, my arm awkwardly half-raised as if around empty air. The background was the same, the faded colors identical, but the boy had vanished.

"What?" I whispered, my fingers suddenly cold. "He was just there."

Mom chuckled, not unkindly. "You're tired from the drive, sweetie. Go relax."

I stared at the picture, then back at Mom. She was already focused on the turkey again. I felt a chill despite the warm kitchen.

Later, as we were setting the table, Dad walked in, rubbing his hands together. "Smells great in here, Sarah," he said to Mom. Then he turned to me. "So, when is Leo getting in? Hope he can stay longer this year."

I froze, a stack of plates in my hand. "Leo?"

Aunt Carol, Dad’s sister, chimed in from the living room where she was arranging a centerpiece. "Oh, I can’t wait to see Leo! It’s been too long."

Uncle Ben, her husband, nodded. "Always good to have Leo around for Thanksgiving."

My older cousin Jake, Aunt Carol’s son, walked in with a bottle of wine. "Yeah, Lily’s been asking about Uncle Leo all week."

Lily was Jake's daughter, my six-year-old niece.

I looked from one smiling, expectant face to another. They were all talking about Leo. The Leo from the photo. The Leo who wasn’t in the photo anymore. The Leo I didn’t remember. My pragmatic, logical mind reeled. This wasn’t happening.