I'm surprised she would ask. Is she testing me? We both know the answer.

Because I always have.

I remember the weekends, taking the train to her house. Planning all the things I would share, all the events, worries, and mistakes I kept from Mother and Father. I saved them for Lily, because she would listen. Sometimes a person gets tired of being fixed all the time. Where every little problem becomes a project. Where every shortcoming needs to be addressed. They eventually have to share with someone. My someone was Lily.

"I seem to remember that you had a high tolerance for listening without melting down over the content." I pull off a last section of tape and stick it to the flap. "It wears on a person, you know, always having to be perfect. You know that one day something will happen, some problem that won't fit into a neat little project. Something that can't be fixed. Then where does that leave you?"

She doesn't hesitate. "You become mortal like the rest of us," she says. She turns away, busying herself with more of the mess I have created. I could almost feel sorry for her. I see the line she is dancing. It is the same one I have danced with ever since I saw blue gel beneath my split flesh.

"You never did tell me," she says. "What were you looking for when you turned into a human tornado?"

It is a casual slip, nothing more. I shouldn't attribute much meaning to it, but still, I notice the word human. I would gladly be a human tornado.

"Something to wear," I answer.

"The fedora is something to wear."

"I was looking for a red skirt I used to have." '.

"It must have been some skirt."

"It was. I bought it when I was shopping with Kara."

"Oh." The meaning of the skirt echoes in the single syllable.

"I wanted a change from all the blue shirts and pants I have now. I thought it might be out here, but I guess Claire left all of my stuff in Boston. More appearances, I suppose."

"Probably something like that."

I begin sweeping scraps into a dustpan and change the subject. "And you never did tell me — how did all these boxes end up here?"

"A detour," she says frowning. "Claire called me. The house situation had become a problem. She was frantic. The place they had originally planned on hadn't worked out at the last minute. But then your father had an old childhood friend, Edward, whom he knew he could trust. Edward told him about a place near him that was perfect — the right climate, out of the way, roomy, a little run-down, but otherwise just what your parents needed. Except they didn't want ownership traced to them or your father's business. They were in a hurry, so I was the quickest solution. Claire and I have never had the same last name, and no one keeps tabs on what I do anyway. So I bought it for them."

"Buying it didn't mean you had to come here."

"She asked. No, correction. She begged. She said she needed me. She was scared. And I figured that no matter what I thought about the whole thing, she is my daughter. My only daughter."

So Lily is under Claire's spell, too. She's not that different from me.

Lily looks up, squints, then shakes her head. "Might as well tell you the rest. I was also drafted as part of the escape plan — if it became necessary."

"What?"

"They needed an escape plan in case the authorities caught up with them. So while your parents provide subterfuge, I am to whisk you to Edward, who in turn will help whisk both of us out of the country. The choice was Italy, since they don't have the same restrictive laws as us and the climate would work well for you."

Whisk me. Like I am a piece of dust deposited in a dustpan, "Why didn't they just whisk me out to begin with?"

"Why do your parents do any of the things they do? They want it all. And if they can get away with it, they will."

I note her take. Getting away with it. "It" being me, and me being illegal. And now against her will, she is caught up in something she doesn't believe in and is against the law. How far will a parent go for a child?

"Well, just where would you be right now if you weren't stuck in this lovely little resort?"

She smiles. "I was on my way to a friend's villa near Montalcino in Tuscany. A nice enough place to drop out. They offered it to me for as long as I wanted. I was even going to try my hand at wine making."

Lily's own little Walden never realized. For this. "So you traded an Italian villa and wine for a crumbling Cotswold and an illegal lab pet. You're not very good at trades, are you, Lily?" She empties a dustpan of broken glass into the trash and looks at me straight on, briefly, then bangs the dustpan against the can to get off all the last particles. "I do okay," she says.

The cleanup is done. There is no busyness to keep us here.

We stand there uncomfortably. Our reason for working together has ended, and I still want so much more from Lily. The oafish out-of-step me surfaces, and I cross the thin line we dance.

"Would I have wanted this, Lily? Would the Jenna you knew have wanted what I am now?" In an instant I am desperately afraid because I have crossed a boundary. A black-and-white, yes-and-no one.

"That depends, Jenna," she says. "What are you now?"

The black-and-white answer I was expecting swirls into murky gray. "I don't know."

"Well, until you can answer my question, I can't answer yours."

Identity

Identity n. 1. The condition of being oneself and not another. 2. The sense of self providing sameness and continuity over time. 3. Exact likeness in nature or qualities. 4. Separate or distinct existence. 5. The qualities of a person that make them different from others.