'That girl in the picture, next to Neville. Who is she?'
She smiles up at me, as if sensing that her once-lover is asking me about her. She wants me to give him the answer. I avert my eyes so I can't see hers, so pale and wide and knowing. Did she guess, then, when this picture was taken, that she would become but another casualty in a cruel war with no defined ending and no clear winner? Maybe. I wish I could ask her, but for now, thinking about her dreamy voice hurts too much so I try to push her from my mind.
'Doesn't matter,' I say. 'Forget about her.'
He looks sharply at me as if to say Fuck you, Seamus. I can't even remember her, much less forget her.
I know, Dean. And I'm sorry.
'Her name, is it Luna? Where can I find her?' His voice is desperate and pleading.
In the photograph, the girl yawns lazily and waves at us.
'No,' I manage to say.
'No?'
'Her name wasLuna.'