"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"No, that's not it. But it opened my eyes to how different you and I are."

My heart sank to my feet.

"I love the city," he said. "I love to travel. You love staying home."

"I'm only twenty-five, Seth. I'm not a closed book. I can change."

He smiled and reached over to hold my hand. "Let's not talk about it now," he said. "We have a wonderful night ahead of us and even in pants you are the best-looking woman I've ever laid eyes on."

The lobby was empty when we got to the hotel. I knew Kyle had some errands to run before he'd get there and I was really sorry he was coming at all. It was unnecessary. I felt fine.

Seth's room was beautiful, one of the more expensive rooms in the hotel, I'm sure. The bed was a big four poster with a matching armoire and dresser. There was just one chair, so we sat on the bed to drink champagne and eat caviar on crackers. I'd never tasted caviar before and it was revolting and wonderful all at once. It seemed fitting to eat something new and wicked-tasting on the night I was to be deflowered. I said this out loud and Seth laughed his deep belly laugh. I had eaten quite a bit before I realized I was at ease. Looking back I think it was the champagne. I'll have to remember that. I can probably go places if I get rip-roaring drunk first.

I don't feel like writing much about what happened between us. We kissed a little. He asked me if I wanted the lamp on or off and when I said "On," he told me I was unusual, that most girls like the lights off. "Most girls are modest," he said, and I shrugged and said what I've been saying all my life: "I'm not like most girls."

It would have been good. I felt so at ease and so alive. He had taken my sweater and brassiere off and was kissing my breasts when a knock came at the door.

Seth drew back and looked up at me. "What timing. If that's your overprotective brother, I'll..."

The knock came again and Seth nodded toward the little alcove where I could stand without being seen while he opened the door. It was Warren Davison, one of the sheriff's deputies we've known forever, who had come to give me a message from Kyle. It seems that Kyle had been driving up Main Street toward the hotel when a little boy ran out in front of his car. Kyle hit him, and the boy was badly hurt.

"A lot of busted bones, but the worst is his head," Warren said, his cheeks aflame since I was standing in front of him holding my sweater to my chest. "Kyle says to tell you he's all right, but he wanted to go to the hospital with the boy so he won't be able to be here at the hotel like he said."

After Warren left, Seth asked, "What's that about Kyle coming to the hotel?"

"Nothing," I said.

Seth stared at me a moment before he shrugged and started kissing me again, but now I couldn't concentrate. I kept imagining how terrible Kyle must feel, and Seth's hands were starting to feel like sandpaper on my skin. Finally I stepped away from him.

"I can't do this now, Seth," I said. "I can't get my mind off Kyle."

Seth put his shirt back on. Any other man would have been angry, and maybe he was a little. He didn't say much as he dressed, but then he offered to take me to the hospital.

"No," I said. I knew I couldn't survive two minutes in the hospital. "Please just take me home."

Both of us were quiet on the ride home. I was feeling sorry for myself and for Kyle and for the little boy. I should have insisted Kyle not come to the hotel. There was no need at all.

"I'm sorry, Seth," I said when he stopped the car in front of my house.

"It's all right," he said. "I guess I'd feel the same way."

"I could come back tomorrow," I said.

"I'm leaving for New York tomorrow," he said, and I wanted to grab him and hold him and beg him to stay.

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked.

He nodded and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. "I'll write to you very soon."

The sheriff brought Kyle home around midnight. Kyle headed directly for the outhouse and I forced myself to join him there, to hold his head while he vomited over and over again until there was nothing left to come up. When he could finally talk, he told me that the boy will live, but he is blinded for life and he'll have casts on his legs for a long time.

I heated him some milk and put him in his old bed in my room, but he couldn't sleep. He said he was afraid to go to sleep, that he was afraid he'd have nightmares about the accident. "He came out of nowhere," Kyle said. "He just flew up on the hood of my car. I could hear his bones breaking."

"None of it would have happened if you hadn't been coming to the hotel for me," I said.

Kyle sat up and looked at me directly as though he was noticing me for the first time that night. "How was it?" he asked. "You and Seth?"

"Once Warren told us what happened, I just couldn't go through with it," I said. "I made Seth drive me home."

Kyle sighed and lay down again. "I ruined your special night, Kate."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I can lose my virginity any old time."

October 13, 1952 Kyle visits the little boy-Freddy Jenkins-every day. He reads to him from my books. Kyle is quieter than usual these days. I keep expecting him to cry, but he hasn't shed a tear. It's like something's hardened in him. He is scared and shaky and sick, but he doesn't weep.

I told Matt about Seth. He was real quiet at first and then he asked me if I planned to see him again. I told him I have no plans, which is unfortunately true. I want to see Seth so much. He said he'd write, but he's certainly taking his time about it. I've thought of calling Waverly Books to try to get his number. I never thought I would feel this way, like a typical female, pathetically pining for a man.

October 20, 1952 Today I received a big envelope from Waverly Books. In it was the photograph they're going to use on my book jackets. It's one that Seth took of me in the pits, with my hair braided over my shoulder. I look pretty and happy. I look like I'm falling in love with the photographer.

There was a letter from Seth, just one side of a page. He told me I am a special person. He will "always cherish" the time we had together, but it's just as well we didn't "finish what we started" that night because then I might have taken our relationship too seriously. "Our differences are insurmountable," he wrote. He said he smiled when he developed the pictures; he will always think of me fondly. He hopes Kyle is all right, and that the little boy in the accident is recovering. And that is the sum total of what Seth Gallagher had to say to me.

I won't cry over this although the tears are begging to come out. I still think of calling him, pleading with him to give me a chance to prove I can be different. But the truth is, I doubt it myself.

Kyle asked to hear Seth's letter and I finally read it to him. Kyle is so delicate these days, so full of hurt and guilt. He listened to the letter, put his arms around me, and did my crying for me.

32 "Whatever happened to that little boy you hit, Kyle?" Eden asked her uncle at lunch the next day. Lou was out once again with her painting friend from Georgia, and Eden was beginning to suspect that Lou's absences were designed to give her time alone with Kyle.

Kyle scooped a spoonful of potato salad onto his plate. "You've met him," he said.

"I have?"

"Fred Jenkins. He's head of the Children's Fund in Richmond."

Eden stared at her uncle, openmouthed. She had not made the connection between the victim of Kyle's accident and the dynamic blind director of the Children's Fund she'd had lunch with in Richmond. It sent a chill up her spine to see the course Kyle had set for this man so long ago. "God, that's ironic. He never mentioned a thing about it."

"No, he wouldn't."

She stood up and carried her plate to the sink, then leaned over to give Kyle a hug from behind, resting her cheek against his temple and, she knew, surprising him. "You had some terrible experiences, Kyle," she said.

He reached up to squeeze her hand. "I don't have much to complain about," he said.

She straightened up and faced him. "I'm ready for the next notebook," she said optimistically, but Kyle's eyes held the same reluctance she'd seen in them the night of her arrival.

"Soon," he said. "You can have it soon."

"All right. But after reading this notebook, there's one thing I have to know now. Did my mother ever take a lover before my father?"

Kyle looked surprised and then he smiled. "No, honey. Your father was Kate's first and only lover."

Ben drove into Coolbrook to pick up groceries for dinner. He was going to make pizza for himself and Eden tonight because it would be cheap. The trip to New York had nearly depleted his funds, but it had been worth it. Except for that mishap in the restaurant the last night, it had been a perfect trip. And that incident was a blessing in disguise because it led Eden to tell him everything she'd been holding inside half her life. She was lighter now. Freed up. And the bond between them was stronger because of what they knew about one another.

He bought mushrooms and green peppers in the little store on Main Street. He picked up a pepperoni at the last minute-an extravagance, but it matched his mood. He wondered how the pizza would turn out in his old oven. It didn't matter. He knew Eden would eat without complaint anything he made.

He stopped in the post office to check his mailbox. It was nearly always empty, so he was surprised to find a notice telling him he had a package. He turned the note over to the woman behind the counter and waited, wondering who could be sending him something. When he saw the package his heart sank. It was the box he'd sent to Kim Parrish, the dollhouse furniture. It had not been opened, the seal unbroken. Alex and Leslie's address had been crossed out with a red arrow pointing toward Ben's return address, along with the words Return to Sender. Damn!

There was a blue BMW in the dusty clearing in front of his cabin. Ben parked his pickup next to it just as a man stepped out of the car. Blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses. Sam.

Ben smiled as he jumped out of the pickup. "Sam!" He pulled his brother to him, felt Sam's damp cheek against his own.

"I was just about to leave you a note," Sam said. "I was afraid I was going to miss you."

Ben grinned at his brother. "New car?" He nodded toward the BMW.

"Yeah." Sam set a hand on the hood, casually, as if the car meant little to him. "Runs nice."

Ben couldn't stop grinning. "It's great to see you. What are you doing here?"

"I'm on my way to a conference in Charlottesville and I thought I'd stop in and see how you're getting along." Sam reached inside the car door and brought out his briefcase and a large tin which he handed to Ben. "Jen's macaroons. Your favorite. She made them for you last night. What's in the package?"

Ben thought of making something up. He hated Sam to know just how bad things were for him. But instead he shrugged. "A gift for Kim Parrish. I sent it to her but it came back unopened."

"Postal service is doing a great job these days, huh? I can take it-" Sam stopped in midsentence and looked Ben in the eye. "You mean Alex and Leslie sent it back to you?"

"Afraid so." Ben opened the cabin door and the stuffy hot air hit their faces. He set the package on his bed and walked across the room to turn on the fan.

Sam shook his head. "God, I can't believe they'd do that."

"No big deal. So. Did you have trouble finding this place?"

"It wasn't easy." Sam looked around the tiny cabin and Ben's cheeks reddened. He wouldn't be able to kid Sam into thinking he was living comfortably after today. He moved some pieces of dollhouse furniture from the sofa to the coffee table.

"Have a seat. Want some iced tea? Beer?"

"Beer," said Sam. "It's hot out there."

"It's hot in here, too. Sorry."

"You're making another dollhouse?"

"Yeah," Ben said from the kitchen. "For Eden's little girl."

"I hope our baby's a girl so we can get a dollhouse out of you."

"How are the adoption plans coming?"

"Great. January or February. We've got the nursery wallpapered and we're picking out a crib next weekend."

Ben handed Sam his beer and sat down on the other side of the coffee table, grinning again. "You look good," he said. Sam was one of those men whose looks only improved with age. He had their mother's coloring-blond hair, green eyes-while Ben favored their father. His mustache was fastidiously trimmed, his hairline just beginning to recede. The glasses brightened his eyes and gave him some credibility as a psychiatrist.

They had often been lumped together as kids. The Alexander boys. Sam had been a straight-A student in high school and a hard act to follow, but he never held his accomplishments over Ben. Ben was nearly as old, nearly as bright, nearly as handsome as Sam, but not quite. And though the rivalry was slight it was there nonetheless, so that when Sam announced he was going to major in premed in college Ben knew that was one major he could rule out for himself imme-diately.

The only thing Ben had ever beaten Sam at was fatherhood. The fertility tests had found Sam's low sperm count to be the cause of Jen's not getting pregnant, and he made it no secret to Ben that he'd trade in all his success for the chance to be a father. Ben took no pleasure in the fact that he'd finally done something better than his brother. He'd encouraged this adoption from the start.

"Have you seen this?" Sam opened his briefcase and pulled out a newspaper, the type you'd see in the grocery store checkout. On the cover was a picture of Ben and Eden.

The caption read: EDEN RILEY AND MYSTERY MAN PAINT BIG APPLE RED.

"Oh, shit." Ben held the paper on his knees. He looked up at Sam. "We went to New York with Kyle and Lou, and when we were leaving a restaurant some jerk sprang out of nowhere and took this picture."

"Well, I never would have recognized you, except for the fact that I knew you were seeing her, so I gave the picture a second look. No one will know it's you without your beard. And the article doesn't say much. They don't have a clue who you are."

It was true that the picture didn't look like him. The angle of the camera threw his features off, made him look thinner, heavy-lidded. He shook his head. "She doesn't need this, though. She worries about her reputation."

Sam laughed. "So she takes up with you? She doesn't sound too bright."

"She is bright. And beautiful. And ambitious. A little screwed up, but who am I to talk?"

"Does she know?"

"Everything. And she believes me. She really does, Sam."

Sam smiled. "You've got it bad."

"Feels good to me."

Sam shook his head. "What happens when it's time for her to go back to Tinseltown?"

"We're not thinking that far ahead."

"You can tell her from me that if she does a number on you, I'll boycott her next movie."

"Sam. Chill out." Ben smiled, both amused and touched by his brother's concern.

Sam reached into his briefcase again. "Here's another journal article for you. And Winston will testify, if we can ever get a court date. I'd like to get some guys from the Accused Group to help us."

"No way," Ben said. The Accused Group was an organization of men who felt themselves wrongly accused of molesting their sons or daughters. They held workshops to learn ways to discredit their children's accusations, egging each other on. He'd gone to one meeting at Sam's insistence and came away repulsed. "They only care about what this has done to them," he'd said to Sam after the meeting. "Not one of them mentioned what their kids are going through." He'd left that meeting certain he was the only innocent man in the room.

"I really think they could help us, Ben. They have the contacts."

"Forget it."

Sam reached into his shirt pocket and handed a few photographs to Ben. "I brought some pictures of Bliss for you."

Bliss stood under an umbrella watching a fisherman weigh a small bluefish. "Where is this?" Ben asked.

"Saint Michaels. Remember, I told you Jen and I took her there a few weeks ago?"