You Look Different in Real Life

lock for a moment, serious. “But this is something I need to do on my own.”
    Keira glances at Felix and me. We don’t get the naughty-puppy look. With us, it’s more like, It would be so nice if you weren’t here right now .
    “Did you see her?” asks Nate.
    “No,” says Keira. “She wasn’t home. I decided to walk a five-block square around her street five times and then try again later. I know that’s weird. But it’s calming me down.”
    “Do you want us to stay with you?”
    She looks at Felix and me again, then away. “No. It’s actually been . . . kind of nice, being alone.”
    Nate nods slowly at her, relieved, and I’m getting the sense that this is it. The end of our adventure here. No reason not to head home to Mountain Ridge and let whatever will be, be.
    “Want some nachos?” asks Felix, a completely brilliant comment to insert into the moment. Keira smiles. She visibly relaxes. For her this means standing up straighter, pointing her chin higher. She steps toward the table and Nate pulls the fourth chair out for her.
    I hold up the camera. “Do you mind?” I ask her. “I’ve sort of been documenting this whole outing.” Keira gives Nate a questioning glance and he nods, then she nods. I would hate their little unspoken connection if it didn’t make life easier for me at crucial moments. I press record as she sits down.
    “So,” says Nate. “Do you want to hear the details of theshit hitting the fan after we all woke up and found you gone?”
    “Yes, please,” says Keira, smiling now. She raises her head and reaches out for a chip, and then suddenly, loudly, sucks in her breath like she’s been punched. Like something came out of nowhere and knocked the middle out of her.
    She’s staring into the near distance. Felix and Nate follow her gaze and I do the same, but with the camera. It takes me a few moments to land on them, but there they are:
    Crossing the street toward us is a man and a woman. The man is pushing an empty stroller and the woman is holding hands with a little girl, maybe two years old.
    The woman is Keira’s mother.
    I recognize her instantly, although she looks very different than I remember. She’s wearing a long plaid shirt over black leggings, and white Keds that match the ones on the girl. Her hair, which was always super long, is just to her shoulders now.
    The four of us watch them reach the curb, then turn to walk up the block right past us. I keep the camera on them the whole time. They say anything can happen in New York, and now anything is.
    I glance at Keira. She’s not blinking. There is no expression on her face and I can’t tell what she’s feeling. Maybe at a moment like this, you feel every emotion at once andthey cancel one another out, like how white light is not actually white but many colors of light blended together.
    As they pass us, almost on cue, Mrs. Jones picks up the toddler and rests her on her hip. It’s such a fluid, natural motion. Devastating.
    “Keira,” whispers Nate. “Aren’t you going to call her name?”
    Keira doesn’t speak. She only moves. She moves away from us and toward the trio, following behind.
    “Shit,” says Nate, digging into his pocket and pulling out the rest of his cash. He counts out what should be enough, then throws it on the table before starting off after them. Felix and I exchange a look.
    “Whatever happens,” he says, “you keep that camera rolling. Yes?”
    I nod, and now we’re following too. I speed up so that I’m alongside Nate. He doesn’t even notice me; he’s got his sights locked on Keira.
    We round the corner as the tail end of this extremely strange parade, and just as we do, the little girl drops a stuffed thing she’s holding. It’s like a small blanket with a cat’s head. She cries out.
    Mrs. Jones and the guy stop abruptly, and Mrs. Jones sets the girl on the ground so she can pick up the blanket. Keira stops. She’s only a few feet behind them. Mrs. Jones must sense someone there because now she turns around, casually, probably expecting to get a dirty look from someother pedestrian who has to get around them.
    She sees Keira, smiles in an apologetic way, then turns back. Keira does not move or speak.
    Now Mrs. Jones turns around again, and really looks at Keira. Her daughter.
    “Oh my God,” she says.
    I move silently to the side and take some steps away, so I can get a better shot of what’s happening. At any moment, they will notice me and react to