eighteen Paige S BIRTHDAY FELL ON A THURSDAY. SHE arranged to take the day off from work, and since the cross-country season had ended the weekend before there was no practice to interrupt a lazy day. She planned to spend it at home with Nonny and Sami I see it in patients sometimes," Mara had written few lucky familie5 whPO kennOwirtehctly to Paiges "those together for no other reason than being together. It takes a meshing. It takes the acceptance of one person love that doe5nst demeaSndandi allj It takes the kind of Paige was regarding Nonny and Sami as her family in many of those same regards.

In the wake of the mone house tragedy, she was grateful they were there read the paper She wantbegd tboebkfadt at home, then against the nippy air, take a walk into town, and put Sami in the kiddie swing in the park by the church She wanted to go back home, listen to music and knit tnhe state line to Hanover for a birthday dinneYr aCt thse As it happened, she had barely finished devouring the last of Nonny's Belgian waffles when the first of the year's snow started to fall. By the time she had read the newspaper cover to cover the flakes were coming more steadily. She took Sami from the playpen and joined Nonny at the picture window that looked out from the kitchen onto the backyard.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Nonny asked.

"It is. Look, Sami. Snow." To Nonny she said, "It's her first one.

A milestone."

SeASAi had her little hand flat on the window.

"Can you say snow?" Paige urged. When no sound was forthcoming, she said, "How about Nonny? Non-ny. Come on, give it a try. Non-ny.

No? Then try Ma-ma. Mmma. Mmma."

Nonny arched a brow her way.

"It's generic," Paige assured her.

"It doesn't have to be. You could adopt her."

"Nah. She needs a full-time mother."

"Between you and me, she has one, and before you know it she'll be going off to school, and then you won't even need me. You could do what Angie has done all these years, work while the child is in school and be done in time to pick her up. What do you think Mara was planning?"

"Exactly that," Paige conceded, "but I'm not Mara. She had a thing for being a mother. She was obsessed with that kind of relationship."

The deep connect, she had called it. "I don't have quite that need."

"You're more independent?"

"Self-reliant."

"Poppycock. You need family just like the rest of "Yes, but not as immediately as Mara did. Not as intimately. I was perfectly satisfied with my life as it was before Mara died."

"But you love havinz Sami."

"Um-hmmm. It makes me feel good knowing that I can give her love while the agency searches for permanent parents."

"What if they don't find any?"

"They will. It's just a matter of time."

"And in the meanwhile you're becoming more attached to her. You can't fool me, Paige. I see you creeping up to her room every night long after she's asleep."

"I'm checking to make sure she's all right."

"You're standing over her crib for fifteen, twenty minutes sometimes.

Face it, sweetheart, you're hooked."

Paige brought Sami's hand to her mouth. She kissed it, then shifted the small fingers to her chin. "Mara wrote about being a foster mother in some of her letters. She said that there was always a problem with separation, but that the satisfaction of helping a child made it worth the pain. I've helped Sami. I've given her a good start here. I feel the satisfaction of that."

"And the pain? Will you feel that, too?"

"When the time comes."

Nonny didn't say more, and Paige didn't invite it. This was her birthday, a difficult enough day on its own. She wanted to keep it as upbeat as possible.

So she played with Sami, then took her upstairs and bathed and dressed her, but when she would have gone out for a walk, the snow was falling harder than ever.

Nonny joined her at the front window. "It's mounting up."

"Mmm. What would you say, two inches?"

"Three. You're not wheeling a carriage far in that."

"No. I wish we had a sled. Maybe I can put her in the Snugli and cover her with my parka."

"She won't be able to see anything." ill'll turn it around so that she looks out.

Better still, why don't we get in the car and go to Hanover now. The driving can't be that bad."

The look Nonny gave her said that it certainly could be. Then the look turned sad.

"I know what you're doing, Paige. It's the same thing you've been doing for years and years, modified, perhaps, but the basic serategy is the same. If you arrange to be out of the house, you won't be here when the phone doesn't ring." She looked pained. "They won't call, Paige. They might call in two weeks, or five weeks, but they aren't attuned to remembering your birth day. It's as simple as that."

Paige stared out at the snow. "I've never been able to understand it.

If they had eight kids, okay. Dates can be confused. But I'm their only child. My mother gave birth once in her life, just once. Didn't that day mean anything to her?"

"It did. Just not the same thing it would have meant to me, or to you, if you'd been the one to give birth."

"I'd be anticipating the day for weeks. I'd be planning a party. I'd be thinking of all the things my child most wanted to do, and I'd have them planned without even having to ask her."

"That's because you're you. But Chloe isn't you, and she's not going to change."

Paige thought about that, then sent Nonny a small smile and a shrug.

"Still you hope?" Nonny said.

Paige's smile turned self-mocking. "Maybe one year by some quirk of fate, it'll just hit them." She studied the snow. "But you're right.

We shouldn't go out driving in this.

How about I build a fire and we'll play Scrabble?" That demanded concentration. It would take her mind off the phone.

Nonny scowled. "You always win." ill'll let you make a blank out of one letter per turn."