Gina Chovi sat up straight, startled out of sleep by the insistent knocking on the front door. She glanced at the clock. Ugh, it wasn't even seven yet. What psycho knocks on a door this early? Some kid. That must be it. Some stupid kid thought it would be amusing to disturb her sleep.

Smashing a pillow over her ear, she tried to ignore the knocking. Wait a minute; it was the middle of summer. What self-respecting kid would be up at this hour of the morning?

"Bloody hell," she muttered, getting out of bed. She grabbed her robe and headed down the stairs.

The sun shining through the windows gave everything a golden glow. It was that perfect moment just after sunrise, when the world frolics in the new day. The birds sang, greeting the fresh morning. The knocking provided a counterpoint to the birds' melody, the two weaving together in a natural music, totally wasted on the cranky Gina.

"I'm coming!" she yelled, pulling her robe's belt tighter. "Stop knocking, I'm here!"

Gina opened the door and immediately shut her eyes, blinded by the rising sun. Stupid Eastern door. She had the impression of two or three figures standing on her porch.

"Gina Chovi?" a deep voice asked.

"Yeah?"

"Is your husband Oliver home?"

"He's never home. What do you want?" Gina tried squinting at the doorway. There, she could just make out a tall figure. He was the one talking. This wouldn't do.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside.

The two figures came inside, shutting the door behind them. Gina's eyes, which were just adapting to the bright light, were blinded again by the sudden darkness.

"Sign here."

Gina dimly saw a black clipboard heading towards her hands. She grabbed it and squinted. There was a form of some sort. Gina found a pen placed in her hand and, seeing the pointing finger, signed the indicated line.

"And here."

She signed another page.

"And here. Thank you."

The clipboard was taken from her hands.

Gina got her first good look at the visitors. There were two of them, a man and a girl. The man was tall, wearing sunglasses in the morning light. From his neat hair to his shiny shoes, his looks were unremarkable. His clothes were of the dark suit variety; trousers, coat and tie all the same shade. His shirt was white, as was his skin, a white used to dwelling in shadows. He had an air of anonymity, and any witnesses would be hard pressed to describe in words other than "tall".

He was holding a girl by the arm, despite the kid's best efforts. She was of the pre-teen variety, the age where she'd resent being called "kid." Brown hair, bespectacled brown eyes, and a head too large for her body…she looked oddly familiar. Gina leaned in for a closer look.

"Jan? What are you doing here?"

The man tugged on the girl's arm as she tried to get away. "The kid isn't your niece Janet; she's your daughter Annabelle."

Gina put a hand to her head, closing her eyes. She could feel a migraine coming. It was too early for this.

"I don't have a daughter," she said. "Who are you?"

"Agent Smith, Child Services," he said, flashing a badge. "Ow! No biting, kid!"

Annabelle smiled at him. Well, all her teeth were showing.

"Um, do you want some coffee?" Gina asked.

Everything would make more sense after her morning shot of caffeine. Without waiting for Agent Smith's response, Gina led the way to the kitchen, sometimes stumbling over empty floor.

The kitchen was a mess of color and light, an entire wall and part of the ceiling completely glass. Plants hung down from the atrium, surrounding the simple round table. A counter ran around the walls, breaking for the stove and refrigerator. Gina made a beeline for the coffeemaker.

She pushed a few buttons and moments later, a heavenly aroma filled the room.

"Have a seat," she said, taking a gallon of milk from the fridge. She poured a glass and gave it to Annabelle. The girl took a sip and smiled.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Agent Smith remained standing but plunked Annabelle down in one of the chairs at the table. Silence thundered into the kitchen, broken only by the steady drip of the coffeemaker. Agent Smith's head never stayed in one place, darting to look at Gina, then Annabelle, to the windows and back again, almost like he was trying to memorize everything about the moment.

The coffeemaker beeped, startling Gina. She poured two cups of coffee and took a seat at the table across from the girl, underneath a blooming bleeding heart. A gulp later, half of Gina's coffee disappeared.

"So..." she said, "what's this about a daughter?"

Agent Smith took the clipboard out of his jacket. Consulting it, he said, "On June 18, 1982, thirteen years ago today, you gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. On December 25, 1987, Jonah Correlli, your husband's brother-in-law, in an attempt to kill Oliver Chovi, killed the boy Adrian. You subsequently sent Annabelle to boarding schools and summer camps, never letting her come home. Child Services was contacted when your daughter was found wandering the woods near Camp Wannaweep, a victim of amnesia from an unknown source. The best place for her is at home, in familiar surroundings, to help regain her memory. However, she may never fully recover."

Gina downed the rest of the coffee and reached for the second cup. Did she have a daughter? How could she forget? She remembered that Christmas, with Jonah yelling and Oliver yelling and then the gun, booming. Then Adrian screaming, and Jonah screaming, being dragged outside by the Chovi men. And then Gina crying and Sarah crying, shrieking she had nothing to do with Jonah's evil plot. The rest of the day, the rest of the year, faded, lost in an alcoholic haze. Was there a quiet little girl somewhere, lost in the shuffle?

"Um, okay," Gina said, finishing off the coffee.

"I'll be back in a week," Agent Smith said, "to check on things."

He left the kitchen and, with the slamming front door, the house. Gina and Annabelle sat looking at each other, neither blinking. Gina looked away first.

"So, Annabelle," Gina started. "What do you remember?"

The girl, her daughter, took another sip of milk. "I don't think that's my name."

"But Agent Smith said-"

"Listen to it," the girl continued. "Annabelle. It sounds like a cow's name. Moo, moo, I'm Annabelle."

"What should I call you?"

"Do you know if I have another name, like a nickname or something?" the girl who was not Annabelle asked.

Gina thought a moment.

"Anna?" she suggested.

"That doesn't seem right."

"Belle?"

"Definitely not."

"Annie?"

"Blasphemy!"

Gina paused. How many more nicknames could "Annabelle" have?

"Ann?"

"No…wait. That sounds familiar."

"Ann," Gina repeated.

"Yes! That's it!"

"Ann Chovi," Gina said. Well, it certainly had a ring to it.

The day passed, Gina getting to know the daughter she never knew she had, Ann learning about the home she didn't remember. They combed through old photo albums, Gina giving names to relatives in the pictures. When night fell, she set Ann up in the guest room.

The next afternoon saw a taxicab pull up to the Chovi house. A blonde girl of thirteen got out and looked at the house. It hadn't changed at all from last year. Same yellow siding, same white trim, same fierce garden gnomes lining the brick walkway to the same white porch. She came here every summer a week before the big family reunion. Her brothers were sent to two different sets of aunts and uncles.

Karkaider, her little brother, didn't eat for a whole day before leaving for Aunt Sarah's. She and her kids always prepared a huge feast for the boy. Her big brother Ryan always went to California and Uncle Joe and Aunt Daisy. He said the girls and the beaches more than made up for having to spend a week with their cousin Weatherby.

Secretly, Jan thought she had the best deal. Aunt Gina and Uncle Oliver didn't have any kids of their own, so she was treated like a princess her entire stay. She got the guest room all to herself, and sometimes Aunt Gina gave her breakfast in bed. When Uncle Oliver was home, he always said how pretty Jan was, and Aunt Gina always talked about how she wanted a daughter just like Jan. They went shopping and to the park, and Aunt Gina even let her use real make-up and jewelry for dress-up. It was great.

Jan dragged her suitcase down the brick path and up the porch stairs. Clunk, clunk, clunk. It was the first time her parents let her come here all by herself. She had a blast bossing around the stewardesses on the plane and giving directions to the cab driver.

Strange, no one was here to greet her. Jan knocked. She peeked through the window. No one. She slowly opened the door. Ryan told her this would happen, that they'd forget she was coming and leave for somewhere else. She thought Ryan was just trying to scare her, but now she wasn't so sure.

"Hello?" Jan said, dragging her suitcase inside.

A scream of laughter drifted through the house from the back yard. Dropping her bag, Jan followed the sound, through the living room, through the kitchen, out the back door.

Gina was out there, laughing over a photo album with another kid. A kid that, except for the brown hair, looked just like Jan.

Jan cleared her throat. "Hi Aunt Gina!"

"Jan! I forgot you were coming today!" Gina beaconed her niece over. "Ann and I were trying to decide if this picture was you or her. What do you think?"

Jan stood still, watching the other girl play with her hair.

She stole my eyes! Jan thought. And look at that giant head; it's mine!

The girl pushed her glasses up her nose.

That's my glasses and my pushing-them-up-my-nose thing! She stole everything!

"Oh, this is my daughter, Ann," Gina said, gesturing towards the thief. Ann stepped forward. "And this is my niece Jan, your Aunt Mae and Uncle Ben's daughter. She's here for the week."

In the privacy of her head, Jan hissed. She stole my Aunt Gina, too! I don't like you, thief! Here and now, I declare my vendetta against you!

"Pleased to meet you," Jan said.

"Likewise," replied Ann.

"It looks like you two are going to be great friends," Gina said, getting up. Heading to the house, she brushed off her pants. "I'm going to fix some dinner. You two get to know each other!"

The door slammed, leaving the girls alone.

"Why haven't I seen you before?" demanded Jan.

"Why haven't I seen you before?" retorted Ann. "I've been gone, I guess at summer camp or boarding school. Maybe you don't remember. I certainly don't."

"What does that mean?"

"I have amnesia," Ann said. "I can't remember anything farther than a month ago."

"That's boring." Jan tossed her hair over her shoulder. "You don't know anything fun; I'm going inside."

"Wait!" Ann said. She snapped her mouth she and glanced around quickly. "I know something cool."

Despite herself, Jan was intrigued. "Yeah?"

"It's a secret," Ann whispered. "You can't tell anyone."

"I promise," Jan whispered back.

Ann stood up, holding a purple backpack. "Follow me."

Jan followed Ann around the hammock. She joined Ann crawling under the kitchen windows. They did commando rolls down a little hill, arriving at the picket fence.

It wasn't pretty, as fences go. White paint peeled of the boards in long curls. Splinters stuck out at crazy angles. It was there for a single purpose: to keep Mrs. Figg's cats out of the Chovi yard.

Ann rummaged around in her backpack before pulling out two sticks. Placing one at the base of a fencepost, she rubbed the other against it. Slowly, a curl of smoke arose from the wood. Jan watched, fascinated, as Ann first blew on a spark then fed it dead grass. Soon it turned into a small blaze. A cat, curious, walked from his place under the kitchen window and plopped down next to Jan.

"Here comes the best part," Ann said, taking two more sticks from her pack. These were sharpened at one end. Following the pointy sticks, a bag of marshmallows emerged. Ann tore open the bag and impaled a marshmallow on a stick. She did the same for the second stick.

"Here," she said, handing Jan one of the marshmallowed sticks. "You put it over the fire and roast it."

They roasted marshmallows, eating when they turned brown enough or, more usually, after they burst into flames. The cat shared in the gooey marshmallows, enthusiastically licking his chops after every bite. The fire continued burning up the fence post.

"Do you hear that?" Jan asked after her fifth marshmallow.

"Hear what?" Ann wiped marshmallow goo off her face.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY FENCE YOU DAMN KIDS!!!"

"Mrs. Figg!"

"Run!"

On the other side of the fence, an old woman stumbled toward the fence, waving her cane.

"JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET YOU!" she yelled, her voice surprisingly loud for such a frail looking lady.

By the time she got to the fence, the girls were gone, the only evidence of their crime the half-burned fence post and the marshmallowy cat.

***

The fourth noon after Jan's arrival, the girls sat on the floor of the living room, feeding a cat leftover fish sticks. He was an enormous animal, black and white splotched fur stretched all over his body. From a distance, he looked like a miniature cow. Lying down, as he did now, his mass pooled around him, making him look like a furry spotted puddle with whiskers. His name was Wumpkins.

Jan placed a fish stick on the floor just out of the cat's reach. Wumpkins stretched his neck out, trying to reach the food, and when he couldn't grab it with his teeth, he stretched out his paws to get it. Jan moved the fish stick farther away.

"Wumpkins!" a voice outside shouted. "Kitty Wumpkins, where are you?"

The cat looked up at the voice, but when it didn't say any interesting words like "fish" or "milk" or "lollipop," he returned to stretching after the fish stick.

"Mrs. Figg looks pretty upset," Ann said, looking out the window.

"How long has she been calling?"

"A half hour."

Jan opened the window. "Go home, Wumpkins!"

Throwing his weight back and forth, Wumpkins staggered to his feet. He padded over to the fish stick and plopped down to eat it.

"He's not going anywhere," Ann pointed out helpfully.

"We could pick him up and throw him out," Jan suggested.

The girls watched the fat cat try to lick his tail. After a few moments he gave up and stretched in a sunbeam. He plopped down and started snoring. It would take a forklift to move him.

"Or we could just leave him here," Ann said quickly.

"That works for me."

The front door opened and a rumbley voice yelled, "I'm home!"

Wumpkins looked up in terror at the sound of the voice. He tore through the house and out the open front door, a black-and-white cannonball.

"Gah, cat!"

"Wumpkins!" Mrs. Figg tried to pick up her cat and hug him, but after a brief struggle decided just to pet him instead.

"Mr. Chovi," she said, glaring at the man in the doorway. "What was my cat doing in your house?"

Oliver Chovi sneezed. "What was your cat doing in my house? This county has an ordinance, you know. All pets must be kept on a leash!"

"Or in a fence," Mrs. Figg responded. "It's not my fault you keep your side of the fence in such disrepair. Why, the other day I saw two little hooligans burning a hole in it! Look at little Wumpkins. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

The topic of their conversation was currently sniffing a garden gnome, trying to decide if it was edible. Wumpkins couldn't eat it last time he tried, but it was always worth a shot. He bit off the tip of the gnome's red hat.

"That cat is a menace!" Oliver aimed a kick at Wumpkins. The cat glared at him a slowly strode away.

"The hooligans staying in your house are the menaces!" Mrs. Figg responded. "They've been terrorizing my poor, helpless kitties all week! Just yesterday the drugged up my poor Muffy with some wild catnip they found. The poor dear hasn't been the same since! You need to do some thing about them, Oliver Chovi, or I'll have the police on you!"

"I'll see what I can do," he said, shutting the door before Mrs. Figg could say anything more. Once that woman got started, she could go on all day. Next she'd threaten to call the mayor, then the FBI, and finally the President himself! Criminals like him shouldn't be able to terrorize decent citizens like herself. When he and Gina first moved in, Gina spent a whole afternoon listening to the old woman complain. His wife didn't seem to mind, though. She just smiled and nodded and painted a picture of the old bat with her cats. According to Mrs. Figg, Gina could do a lot better than Oliver. In fact, the old woman had a nice nephew who'd be perfect for her. Meddling old biddy.

Oliver set down his suitcase.

"Uncle Oliver!" Jan screeched. Oliver had a few seconds to brace himself before she slammed into him and squeezed. He returned the hug.

"Hello Jan." Oliver held her out at arm's length. "You get prettier every time I see you." He noticed a head poking out from the living room. "Who's your friend?"

Jan looked over her shoulder. "That's, um…Aunt Gina!" she shouted up the stairs. "Uncle Oliver wants to talk to you!"

She ran to her friend and grabbed her by the arm. "We're going to…um…we have to play outside now." She dragged the other girl out the back door.

That child got stranger every year. He'd have to sit down with Ben and Mae at the reunion and discuss their daughter.

"Hello dear," Gina said, descending the stairs. Her hands were paint-spattered and she had a pencil stuck through her ponytail.

"Sweetheart," he said. "Who's Jan's friend?"

"I'm so glad you're back. Do you want some coffee, honey?" Gina started for the kitchen. "No, you must be tired. How about resting a bit?" she tried to lead him upstairs.

"Who is Jan's friend," he asked, raising his voice and lowering his eyebrows, "and why do they look alike?"

Gina looked at her feet. "You and Ben," she started, nervously twisting her hands, spreading the paint around. "You're brothers. So your kids are bound to look alike."

"What are you talking about?"

Gina brushed aside a stray hair, leaving a streak of orange on her face. "Jan's friend is our daughter."

Oliver closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. What had Gina done? "Darling," he said, speaking very slowly, "we don't have a daughter."

"We do!"

Oliver patted her shoulder indulgently. "I think the paint fumes have finally got to your brain. Now who is she really?"

Gina shook his hand away. "I'm not surprised you don't remember her!" She took a step closer to her husband. "You left your mother to raise our children!"

"Because you ran off!" he shouted back. "You had to go and find yourself and paint naked men!"

"It was a life drawing class! And at least I had the courage to follow my dreams instead of letting my mommy tell me what to do!"

"My mother is the only reason you're living here instead of in some cardboard box behind the gas station!"

"You do everything mommy tells you!"

"Not true! She told me not to marry you!"

"And we both know how well that turned out!"

They stood in angry silence, glaring at each other. Gina spoke first.

"Her name is Annabelle," she said. "But she goes by Ann."

Oliver cleared his throat. "How old is she?"

"Thirteen. Her birthday was Saturday."

"But that's the same day-"

"Yeah, she's Adrian's twin."

Oliver thought a moment. "I don't remember Adrian being a twin."

"Well he was. It's not like you were around enough to notice anything about him!"

"I had a business to run! Someone had to pay for your art school!!"

"Ha! I paid for my own school!"

"What color are her eyes?"

"What has that got to do with anything!?"

"Just answer me!"

"How should I know?"

"Mother of the Year, that's you."

Gina slapped him, leaving a rainbow palm print on his face. He touched the spot lightly with his fingers and stared at the color that came off.

"You deserved it," Gina said softly, looking at her hand like it was a monster.

"If everyone got what they deserved," Oliver commented, "both you and I would be long dead. I'll be upstairs."

"Go and call your mommy," Gina muttered, not loud enough for him to hear.

* * *

Gina inhaled the familiar scents of her studio. Oil paint, linseed oil, wood shavings, printer toner, and just the faintest hint of gasoline. It used to be a garage before Gina took it over. The building still contained echoes of its former life. The giant tool chest in the corner now held brushes, paints, and pencils. The workbenches along the walls easily converted to display areas for her art. A couple coats of white paint transformed the grungy garage into her bright artist's studio.

She was working on a piece for the International Student Support Network. They needed a large painting for their main office. It was boring work, but it helped pay the bills. No need to bother Oliver for cash. She was determined to be financially free of that man. A gentle breeze blew in from the open window and soft classical music played in the background. Gina squeezed a glob of green paint onto the palette. Letting her mind wander, she sketched on the canvas.

In the two hours since her husband came back, the once peaceful house had become a war zone. He was always asking things like "Why is the rolling pin in the bathroom?" and "Did you sell all my clothes while I was gone?" and "How could you forget we had a daughter?" No matter. She'd live in her studio until he left again. All she ever needed was contained in here: her art supplies, a cot in the corner, a tiny bathroom, a fridge, and most important, a phone with the pizza place on speed dial. Let him watch over the girls for a while.

Their little voices drifted in through the window. Gina couldn't tell what they were saying, but it sounded happy.

"I'm bored," Jan announced.

Ann agreed. "Me too."

They were sitting in the back yard in the shade of the big oak, backs resting against the trunk. Jan idly pulled up some grass and threw it at Ann.

"Stop that."

"I'm bored," Jan repeated.

"We could climb the tree," Ann suggested.

"It's too hot," Jan said. "It's hotter than an oven. Hotter than the sun. Hotter than summer in Hell."

"You just said a bad word."

"Did not. Grandma J lives in Hell. We're visiting her tomorrow."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. What do you wanna do?"

"If we had a pool," Ann said, "we could go swimming."

"You know how to swim?"

"I'd better, if I've been going to camp all my life."

"Good point."

The girls lapsed into silence. It was too hot to talk. A fly buzzed by and landed on Jan's nose. She threw a handful of grass at it.

"Ew, there's grass in my mouth." Jan tried to spit it out.

"Good."

"Wh

at?" "I said good." Ann threw a handful of grass at her cousin. "Maybe you'll stop throwing grass at me."

Jan hurled a fistful of grass at Ann. "You stop first!"

"You started it!"

"Yeah, well you should stop it!"

"You first!

"No!"

"Girls!" Gina emerged from her garage studio. Under the tree stood the two girls, making faces at each other. "What is going on out here?"

"She started it!" they said simultaneously.

Gina walked to them. "I don't care who started it, I'm ending it!" She tried to brush some grass off Ann. "You two are filthy! Where's your father?"

"He had a meeting."

Gina sighed irritably. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Take us to the beach!" Ann said.

"Yeah!"

"No. I don't have time to take you to the beach. I know, you can squirt each other with the hose!"

"The hose is too cold!" Jan complained.

"Well you're not coming in my house covered in grass!" Gina looked around, hoping a solution would pop out of the bushes. "There's always the old quarry."

"What's the old quarry?"

"Long ago, back when the town was new, a bunch of people got together and dug a big hole in the ground."

"Why?"

"They wanted the rocks from there. But, as it happened, they ran out of money and had to leave. They left the giant hole in the ground, though. It filled with water and now it's like a deep pond. I used to swim there as a kid. There might even be the old rope swing left."

"How are we supposed to get there?"

"Follow the street," Gina said, gesturing to the road out front, "and when the road ends, look for a path through the trees and follow it to the quarry."

"Let's do it!" Ann yelled, her lethargy forgotten. She and Jan ran to the front.

"Be home before dark!"

"Okay Mom!"