September 21st, 2047

"Charlotte, please turn the recorder off."

For the two weeks I've been interviewing June, she's never asked me to stop recording until today. I turned it off, but I think you, Rachel, should know what she told me:

"Ashton was right," June said, "as always. I was afraid to believe that I loved anything more than Pippin. It's easier to love something you've already lost than something you can still lose." She stood up and gestured for me to follow her. We entered her room, where she took a large photo album from the top of her dresser. She flipped to one of the pages in the back and pointed to a picture of an old man reading a book. "Papa felt the same way. He didn't contact us because he was afraid that if he did, he'd lose us for good." June turned the page to what I knew immediately was a family photo. I recognized everyone from June's descriptions: Molly had unnaturally blonde hair, but the biggest smile; Andrew, who wasn't looking directly at the camera, towered over everyone else; Ashton's bright blue eyes glistened, even in the dim lighting.

"When was this?" I asked.

"Several years ago. Papa finally reached out and wrote a letter to Mom. He said he didn't have much time left, so we all decided to see him. It was risky, to say the least, for us to go up to Seattle at the same time, but we had to be together just once before it was too late."

I couldn't help but notice that someone was missing from the photo. "June," I asked, "where did Benjamin go, when...?"

"We don't know," she said, "he didn't tell us. We tried to find him, but he hid too well." She looked up from the album at me. "I did tell Papa I'd read the letter about Benjamin. He said it was all true, but he also said that when he was alone, he missed my mother more than anyone." June flipped to an earlier page in the album and found a picture of Benjamin. "He probably went somewhere South. He always liked warm weather."

She turned a few pages and found an old picture of Ashton. He was hanging from monkey bars. A man stood directly below him, arms extended in case he fell. June's father was standing several feet away, watching. "Ash was only ten when Papa had seen him last. When they met for the first time in twenty-something years, Papa said, 'You've already grown up,' and began to cry. Before then, I'd never seen him cry." June gingerly placed the album on her bed. "Most of us had to go home after a few days, but Mom stayed with him until the end." She blinked back tears and sat down beside the album.

I leaned over to look at the picture of Ashton on the monkey bars. "Who's the man standing under him?" I asked.

"That's Robert," June responded. "He and Andrew found Matthew that night, remember?"

I nodded. For some reason, he looked familiar. "I feel like I've seen him before," I said, "but that's not possible."

June shrugged, "It could be. I don't know where he went after Pippin ended." She studied the picture for a minute, and then looked back at me. "Funny, you kind of look like him."

"I do?"

"Yes, let me find a better picture." She flipped through several pages and found another picture of him. She was right; he and I looked alike. We had the same face, save for his nose which, actually, reminded me of yours, Rachel.

It was all a little disturbing, and I began wondering something crazy. "June, there may have been something else I knew about Pippin before we met."

She sat up a little straighter, "What would that be?"

I told her the story, Rachel, the one our father used to tell us. When I was finished, June ran her fingers through her hair, the way she said her Papa used to. "Well, that sounds like Pippin to me," she said, "except for the end. Your father said in the story that life was all about love, Charlotte?"

"He did."

"Very few people who knew Pippin would end the story like that, you know. It would've had to have been someone..."

I interrupted, "...someone who knew what Matthew said that night."

We sat in silence, or shock, perhaps, for what seemed like forever. "Charlotte," June said, her voice barely audible, "what's your father's name?"

It all made sense then, but I wished it hadn't. "His name is Robert."

The interview is over, but it feels incomplete. Our father was in Pippin, Rachel. How are we supposed to feel about that?