"No, you don't. What you do have to do is put this out of your mind. And cover yourself up."

I had let the blanket slip to my waist, on purpose, I suppose. I wanted to see that look come into his face again, that look of love and longing, but I guess now I'll never see it again. I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. "We can get married," I said. "It's legal for cousins in Virginia."

He bent down to tie his shoe. "You've never called me your cousin in your life," he said.

I stood up then, holding the blanket to me. I tried to reach for him, but he brushed me aside.

"This never happened, Kate, do you understand?" And then he left, disappearing into the blackness outside my cave.

I am so angry with him, not for last night, but for this morning. I cannot believe his coldness to me as he left, the way he wouldn't look at me. I will never again be able to touch myself without imagining my hands are his. I will never again be able to lie on my mattress in the cave without hearing him whisper, "I love you, Kate," like he did when he was inside me. I'll never be able to get his words from my head: "You'll end up like Mama."

Eden turned the notebook facedown on her knees. Outside her bedroom window the air was black and still. She could hear no sound other than the dull thumping of her heartbeat. She remembered Kyle's words: "Your father was Kate's first and only lover." She raised her hands and counted on her fingers. October, November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June. Her hands trembled as she lifted the notebook and turned to the next page.

November 2, 1954 I am pregnant. There it is in writing. It was no shock to me when I missed my period. I knew within days of Kyle's departure that a new life had found its home in my body.

I have written eight letters to Kyle and received just three in return. His letters are cool, as though I am an acquaintance. He writes of the weather, his apartment, his classes. I read between the lines and see guilt, which I understand, and regret, which I loathe. He's learning so much, he says. He and Latterly are planning to go to South America in June. And he's met a woman who lives in the Greenwich Village area of New York. Her name is Louise and "She's an artist-very special and different from the rest." Does he know how those words hurt me? Would he still write them if he knew? For the first time in my life, I am unsure of Kyle's love. It's difficult for me to regret that night in the cavern but if it has cost me his love I will rue it 'til I die.

I am afraid to tell him about the baby because he will say I must get rid of it. He'll say it could be sickly or slow, like Ellie Miller, from us being so closely related. But I can just feel that this baby is all right. I think of little Ellie, who is seven years old now. She has a slow, shuffling walk, a constant smile because she is unable to learn that, for some, life bears more pain than joy. She has those little hands where her arms ought to be. The truth is, I would love this baby even if it came out with two heads and five feet. It would still be my baby. Mine and Kyle's.

I know I can't keep being pregnant from him, but I can't write about it in a letter. I will have to go to New York, although the thought overwhelms me. I can't go for a while yet, anyway. I've heard you're not supposed to travel by train in the first three months, and I'm not about to take any chances with my baby.

January 4, 1955 Maybe my mistake was not telling Kyle I was coming. He was unprepared to see me and that's why he acted as he did. Or am I fooling myself?

I got sick on the train. I always thought pregnant women got sick in the first few months. The early months of my pregnancy were glorious, but in the last week or so I've felt woozy much of the time.

New York was too much for me. I started feeling faint and having trouble breathing the moment I stepped out of the train station. I managed to get a cab and gave the driver Kyle's address. "That's in the Village," the driver said. "Your brother an artist or musician or something?"

I didn't understand what one thing had to do with the other. He started commenting on my accent and was being friendly, but I felt too sick to talk to him much.

The building was overheated and Kyle's apartment was up six flights of stairs. By the time I'd dragged myself and my suitcase up, I was sweating and out of breath and right close to retching again. I knocked on the door and a woman answered. She was tall with black hair and she was wearing a tight black sweater, black pants, and black boots. She held a cigarette in a carved ivory cigarette holder.

"I must have the wrong apartment," I said.

The woman smiled. "No, I think you've got the right one, judging by your accent. You must be a friend of Kyle's."

I knew immediately this was Louise. I was shocked. She looked far too old for Kyle. I had never seen anyone quite like her.

"I'm his sister."

"Kate?" The woman grinned and stepped back so I could walk into the room. "Come in. Kyle's just gone to the store. He's going to be so happy to see you."

Kyle's apartment is just one room with a little kitchen off to the side. In the main room, there's one of those couches that pulls out into a bed. It was open, made up with yellow sheets. I could see dents in both the pillows and I knew this skinny black-clad woman had slept there with my brother the night before.

Louise made me a cup of strong coffee and we sat in the tiny kitchen. I have to say she was very nice to me, talking about the train ride and all but I couldn't think of anything to say. I wanted to hate her. I looked at her skinny body in its black wrapping which left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and I could picture Kyle touching her as he had touched me, setting his mouth between her legs, and I went into the bathroom to get sick.

When I came out Kyle was in the kitchen talking to Louise. He hugged me quickly. "You should have told me you were coming," he scolded. There wasn't even the slightest smile on his face.

"I need to talk to you," I said. "Alone."

Louise hopped to her feet. "See you at my place later, Ky." She kissed Kyle on the cheek and after she left I saw the discomfort in Kyle's eyes at being alone with me. He poured us both more coffee.

"I can't believe you came up here," he said.

"That woman is wrong for you."

Kyle laughed. "You don't even know her."

"She's too old for you."

"She's only thirty-two."

"I think you're only with her to forget about me."

Kyle shook his head. "I'm with her because I love her."

I couldn't breathe. Didn't the night in my cavern mean anything to him? "Do you make love to her like you made love to me?" I asked.

Kyle looked worried that someone might hear me. He leaned towards me and practically whispered, "You have to forget that night ever happened, Kate. It was very wrong of me to give in to those feelings."

"Can you really forget how good it felt?"

Kyle stood up abruptly. "I don't let myself remember. I feel sick to my stomach when I do."

I knew I had to leave. I wasn't welcome here. Kyle had a new life and a new woman. The thought of me made him sick. I couldn't possibly tell him I was carrying his child.

I thought of New York waiting to swallow me up once I stepped outside his door. I'd have to find a cab, get back to the train station, stand in line. My heart pounded like it would burst just from thinking about it, but I forced myself to stand up.

"I shouldn't have come," I said, reaching for my suitcase.

Kyle looked confused about what to do. "Kate, you can stay. I mean, Lou has room at her place. I don't think you should stay here with me, though."

I left, closing the door on his insulting words. I walked slowly down the stairs, hoping he would come after me, but of course he didn't. He is through with me, through with Lynch Hollow, with his old life.

In a daze, I found a cab and rode back to the station. I wanted to die right then. The one person I could always count on no longer wanted to be a part of my life. I understood my real mama wanting to kill herself. I thought how easy it would be to jump in front of a train, how quickly it would be over. Then I thought of how strong my mama was to wait until after I was born to do herself in. I at least owed that much to my baby.

When my train arrived at the Winchester station, I called Matt and he came to pick me up. I was crying out of control by that time, so he drove me back to his house. He held me to comfort me and pried the story out of me. I told him Kyle and I had made love before he left for New York.

I have never seen Matt even close to anger, so I was shocked when he began storming around the living room, slamming his fist into the walls and kicking the furniture.

"How could he do that to you?"

I explained that I was as much to blame as Kyle, but Matt shook his head. "No, Kyle knows better. You don't have a normal sense of right and wrong."

I suppose I should have been insulted, but I couldn't argue with him. I could see nothing wrong with what Kyle and I had done, even though it's obvious to me now it was a mistake.

Finally Matt sat down on the sofa. His face was still red from his fit of temper. "I'll never forgive him for this," he said. "Never."

"I'm pregnant," I blurted out. It felt wonderful to say those words out loud for once.

Matt was quiet for a full minute. Then he laughed. "Looks like you have no choice but to marry me, Kate."

Well, I told him I wasn't about to marry him, but that he is the finest, sweetest man alive for asking. He said he'll help me any way he can. He offered to go to New York and "talk some sense" into Kyle, but I made him promise not to tell Kyle a thing. I don't want Kyle to be kind to me out of guilt or a sense of responsibility. I just want him to love me like he used to, before New York, and before Louise, and before September 5th, 1954.

January 20, 1955 I got a letter from Kyle today. He apologized for his "confusion" when I visited. He was "surprised" to see me and "not sure what to make of it." "Next time, write first." He hopes I got home all right, he hopes I am happy. He signed it, "Please write soon. Love, Kyle." I stared at the word "love" and tried to see in his handwriting if it is a mere word or something more.

I don't intend to write him. All he wants to hear about is the weather or Daddy's new car or Susanna's bout with bronchitis. He doesn't want to hear that I'm hurt and aching inside. I won't write to him ever again.

35 Eden didn't sleep. She barely shut her eyes the entire night. Sometime around three or four she got up and studied herself in the mirror. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was no longer physically normal, that she was a genetic anomaly, and surely if she stared long enough she would see it in the shape of her face, the lines of her palms. Her features were Kyle's. The blue eyes, the straight nose, the perfect teeth. Features she had always attributed to her mother.

Neither could she shake her sense of disgust. It consumed her, and no amount of logic freed her from its grasp. Her parents were good people, she told herself. Good people who for one moment lost control. But in her gut she was sickened by what she now knew about Kyle, about her mother, about herself.

Kyle had betrayed her all these years. Through cowardice, or trying to spare her feelings, or whatever. His motives didn't matter. She was furious when she thought of him withholding the truth from her. If she had not decided to research her mother's life would he ever have told her? Obvi-ously, Lou knew as well. Both of them were watching her day by day, choreographing her discovery not only of her mother but of herself, and working hard to win her love in the process. Kyle had manipulated this whole charade very well.

She would go to Ben's for a few days to give herself time to think. She'd have to leave Lynch Hollow before sunrise so there would be no chance of seeing either Lou or Kyle. Right now she couldn't face them.

At quarter to five she showered and dressed. She packed a few changes of clothing in her smaller suitcase, and started to close up the word processor to take with her but stopped herself. What was the point? She couldn't possibly put what she now knew about her mother into the screenplay.

She slipped the notebook into her purse and walked quietly down the stairs. The smell of coffee was strong, and she knew that she was already too late to escape. Lou was in the kitchen, sitting in her wheelchair at the table, reading yesterday's newspaper. She wore a pink robe and her hair looked as though it had been hurriedly gathered into place at the back of her neck. She looked up when Eden stepped into the room.

"You read the journal," she said.

Eden didn't answer her. She reached for her car keys hanging on the rack by the door.

"Where are you going?" Lou asked.

"I'm going to Ben's for a few days."

"Have a cup of coffee with me before you take off."

"No."

"Running away might have worked when you were nineteen, Eden, but it's not going to work now. Kyle wants to talk to you. He needs to talk to you."

Eden opened the door but turned to face Lou. "He's had my entire life to talk to me about this. And you did too." She closed the door behind her and walked across the dark yard to her car.

She knocked several times before Ben switched on the porch light and opened his cabin door. He'd pulled the sheet around his waist and he was sleepy-eyed. He looked at his watch.

"It's five-thirty in the morning," he said.

"Go back to bed," she said. "Just let me get in with you."

She fell asleep quickly. When she woke up, the smell of coffee greeted her for the second time that morning. He must have gotten up to make it, but he was still in bed with her, behind her and inside her. His arm was wrapped tightly below her breasts, his lips on her neck. He was moving slowly, gently. Cobwebby thoughts sifted through her mind. His daughter had awakened to find Daddy behind her, rubbing against her. She swept the image from her mind and began moving with him. He came quickly, and she wondered how long he'd been inside her while she slept. They lay still for a moment. She felt her pulse beating in her temple, her throat, low in her belly. Ben pulled out of her and leaned over her, spreading her legs with his hands. His unshaven cheek scratched softly against the inside of her thigh as he lowered his mouth to her. She thought of her mother and Kyle and tugged at his shoulder.

"I can't, Ben."

He lifted the sheet over her although she was drenched with perspiration and lay down again, his head next to hers on the pillow. "What is it?" he asked.

She got out of bed and handed him the notebook. Then she dressed and poured herself a cup of coffee and went outside. She sat on the wooden bench on the front porch, waiting.

Ben took a long time, longer than it would take to read the notebook. She finished her coffee, set the mug on the splintery wooden floor of the porch.

He finally came outside. He handed her the notebook and bent down to kiss her forehead, holding his cheek to her temple for a few seconds before letting go. "Wow," he said quietly.

"I feel so betrayed. He's known all these years and never told me."

Ben sat down next to her. "It would be a hard thing to tell."

She looked at him. "Aren't you completely disgusted?"

"Shocked, yes. Disgusted, no. I feel sorry for Kyle."

"Sorry for him?"

"You were his only child. At least I'm assuming you were. I'm sure he would have liked to have had a normal father-daughter relationship with you, and that was impossible."

"My heart bleeds for him."

"Would you rather he'd never told you? Or do you wish he'd told you years ago?"

"I wish he'd had a little self-control in the first place."

"Well, then you wouldn't be here to wish anything at all."

"He should have told me when I was eighteen." She remembered herself at eighteen, already slipping away from Lou and Kyle. If Kyle had told her then, she would have fled even more quickly than she had. He must have known that.

"He should have told me when I got married. This could have affected Cassie genetically, couldn't it? What gave him the right to keep that information from me?"

Ben had a faraway look in his eyes, and she knew that this revelation had a different meaning for him than it did for her. "So," he said. "Kyle Swift's not perfect after all. He screws up just like the rest of us. I always wondered."

She looked down at her hands. "He left me," she said. "He left me with Susanna and my grandfather. He left me to be sent away to the orphanage." She began to cry, like a child who'd had too much all at once and needed a nap.

Ben took her hand. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

She shook her head.

"Why don't you go back to bed?"

The thought of sleep was seductive. Ben walked her into the cabin and watched her crawl into his bed. He leaned over to kiss her. "Stick with me," he said. "I know all the tricks for escaping your emotions."

She woke up off and on during the morning, and each time she opened her eyes, Ben would leave the dollhouse and come over to sit next to her. He didn't say much, just held her hand until she lost herself in sleep again.

At noon he made her a cup of tomato soup, although it was at least eighty degrees in the cabin, and a grilled cheese sandwich. She sat up to eat, propping the one long pillow against the wall.

"I'm going to call Nina and tell her to forget about the screenplay," she said. "I can't write it. You don't make a biographical film and leave out a fact like this, something that shaped her life. But I can't put it in either."

He sat on the edge of the bed, balancing his own sandwich on his thigh. "I don't think you should do anything impulsive."

"I can't write this, Ben."