"You did did do it!" Cory said. She flopped down on the sofa, head in her hands. "I am such a loser," she said. do it!" Cory said. She flopped down on the sofa, head in her hands. "I am such a loser," she said.

"Stop it, Cory. You are not and you know it."

"My father was a loser and I got the loser genes."

"He wasn't a loser," Eve said. "He was very smart. He just made some bad choices when he was young."

Cory looked at the piece of paper in her hand. "Do I have grandparents I don't know?" she asked. "Aunts and uncles and cousins?"

Eve sighed as she sat down next to her. "I don't know, honey," she said.

"Well, I want want to know," Cory said. She looked squarely at Eve, tears in her eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am, Mom," she said. to know," Cory said. She looked squarely at Eve, tears in her eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am, Mom," she said.

"Oh, Cory." Eve pulled her into her arms, her own voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

"Would you find my relatives for me, Mom?" Cory asked, her head resting on Eve's shoulder. "Please?"

"I think you should do it," Jack said, when she told him about the conversation with Cory. "She has a right to know her relatives."

There are no relatives, she thought. How did you find someone who didn't exist? she thought. How did you find someone who didn't exist?

"I never met any of them," she said. "How am I going to find Patrick Smith's family in Portland when I don't know anything more than their very common surname?"

"I don't know, Evie," Jack said, "but I think you should try."

The next day, she went to the university library, which had stacks and stacks of phone books for major cities throughout the country. She found the phone book for Portland, Oregon, and copied the two pages of Smiths. That evening, in front of Cory, she began making phone calls as she tried to find the nonexistent relatives of a nonexistent man. She hated the charade, hated that she was setting her daughter up for disappointment after disappointment. There were moments during that week of phone calls that she even hated herself.

"I think I've reached a dead end, honey," she told Cory as she sat on the edge of her bed that Friday night. She was sick of phone numbers, of pushing b.u.t.tons, of asking questions of kind people named Smith who tried to help her do the impossible. "It could be that he didn't even have a family," she suggested. "Maybe he was an only child and his parents are dead."

In the light from the tiny night-light, Cory's face was hard to read. "Did you call every single one?" she asked.

"Yes," Eve said truthfully. Their phone bill for this month would be horrendous.

Cory's chin trembled. "I had a dream last night that I met a girl who was related to him," she said. "I think she was, like, my cousin or something. She looked just like me and she was so nice. I was so happy to meet her. When I woke up, I..." She started to cry, and Eve took her hand, holding it between hers. "I realized she wasn't real," Cory said. "I just wanted her to be real, Mom."

"It's hard to wake up from a good dream sometimes," Eve said.

"I mean, I love you and Dad and Dru and everything..." Cory let out a sob that shook her whole body. "I just wanted to feel...whole."

"I know, honey. And I'm sorry." This week of phone calls had been a mistake, Eve thought. She never should have given Cory hope. She should have said she knew there were no relatives and been done with it.

Cory drew in a long breath, pulling herself together. "Maybe when I'm older, I can go to Portland and look for people who knew him or something," she said.

Eve nodded, brushing a tear from her daughter's cheek with her fingertip. "Maybe," she said, but she hoped Cory would find better things to do by then. Otherwise, she'd be looking for a long, long time.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

1993.

Again she sat in her doctor's office, waiting to hear that the pain in her feet-and now occasionally in her hands-was her imagination. This time, though, her doctor looked more concerned as he examined her feet. They were swollen now, particularly her right foot, and her ankles were hot and puffy.

"Well," he said, resting his palm on the top of her foot as if checking its temperature. "Your blood work's back and we finally have an answer. Your rheumatoid factor is elevated."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"You have rheumatoid arthritis," he said. He studied her face.

She was thinking, I deserve this. It's punishment. I deserve this. It's punishment. She'd always felt as though, somehow, someday, she would have to pay for what she'd done. She'd always felt as though, somehow, someday, she would have to pay for what she'd done.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked.

"Well...I know what arthritis is. Joint inflammation." The pain in her feet had gotten much worse over the past two years. Sometimes, after sitting at her desk for a while, she could barely put any weight on them at all, and her fingers and wrists ached when she typed. Plus, she was exhausted. She scheduled her counseling clients so that she could come home midday and just sleep.

"Rheumatoid arthritis is an autoimmune disease," he said. "It can affect your whole body, not just your joints. That's why you're so tired. I'm going to refer you to a rheumatologist."

"Is there a cure?"

He shook his head. "But there's treatment, and the sooner you get started on it, the better."

The first two medications failed her. As the months pa.s.sed, she began to walk with a limp and her wrists swelled and looked lumpy and misshapened. The worst, though, was her feet, especially her right foot. In bed at night, she cried with the pain. Even when she held her foot perfectly still, it felt as if it was trapped in a vise.

"How can I help?" Jack lay next to her, wiping tears from her cheeks with a tissue.

"You can't," she said.

"What does it feel like?" Even a headache was a rarity for Jack.

"It's like...you know if you step into the ocean in May and it's freezing cold?"

"And your feet go numb."

"Yes, but before they go numb, there's this intense pain?"

"Uh-huh. That's what it feels like?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Evie, let me rub your foot for you," he said. "Let me ma.s.sage it."

"No." Eve cringed at the thought. "Please don't even touch it." She knew how helpless Jack felt, but there was nothing he-or anyone-could do.

Her daughters had different reactions to her illness. Dru seemed oblivious to Eve's pain, but Cory was worried.

"Can you die from this disease?" she asked as she sat on the edge of Eve and Jack's bed. Darby had closed early that day, and Cory was surprised to find Eve not only home on her long lunch break, but in bed as well.

"No," Eve said. It was possible, but unlikely, and Cory looked so distressed that Eve saw no need to go into RA's grimmer statistics. She smiled at her daughter and took her hand, holding it next to her on the mattress. "You don't need to worry about that."

Cory looked toward the window, where Eve had pulled the shades for her afternoon nap. She was sixteen now, prettier than ever, and still a loner. Boys asked her out, but she wouldn't even go out in a group with the kids from Darby, much less on a date. Some of them drove, and she was afraid of being in a car with them, terrified of accidents. Although Eve wanted her to have a normal social life, she shared the same fears for her, and didn't push Cory to partic.i.p.ate.

"You've changed so much." Cory returned her attention to her mother's face.

"What do you mean?" Eve asked.

"You're really, like, unhappy all the time. You're always frowning."

"I am?" Eve asked, taken aback. "I must be a lot of fun to be around."

"No, I didn't mean it that way, Mom. I just meant...I don't want you to be sick."

"I know, honey. And I thank you. I'm working on getting better."

When Cory left the room, Eve thought about her mother, who died before her thirtieth birthday. And Genevieve, who died at thirty-two. Here she was, still alive at thirty-three. Every year was a gift, she thought. A gift she didn't appreciate enough. Medical science didn't have answers for her physical pain and the destruction of her joints. She had no control over that, but she did did have control over how she dealt with it. She vowed to think of her mother and Genevieve every day, to remember what they'd lost and what she still had. have control over how she dealt with it. She vowed to think of her mother and Genevieve every day, to remember what they'd lost and what she still had.

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

1995.

No one was surprised when Cory balked at the idea of going away to college.

"I want to go to UVA and live at home," she said.

Cory, Jack and Eve were sitting in the counselor's office at Darby discussing Cory's options for college. She had two, and only because her counselor, a clean-cut young man barely out of college himself, had coerced her into applying to a second school back in January so that she'd have options. Eve had been horrified to learn Cory's second choice was the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, the memories of her life in that university town coming back to her in a rush. Cory had been accepted by both schools, and now it was time to make a decision.

"My mother's ill and really needs me at home," Cory said to the counselor. Now a stunning seventeen-year-old with long, vibrant red hair, Cory had the young man mesmerized.

"Don't use me as a reason for choosing a college," Eve said. She didn't need need Cory to stay home. As a matter of fact, it was more tiring for her to have another person around the house to clean up after. But she did Cory to stay home. As a matter of fact, it was more tiring for her to have another person around the house to clean up after. But she did want want Cory to stay home at least another year. She wasn't ready to be out on her own. Plus, the thought of her living in Chapel Hill, a place charged with memories of foolish decisions and one dangerous, seductive man, was impossible to imagine. She was on the losing end of the debate, though. Both Jack and the counselor felt it was time for Cory to move away. Cory to stay home at least another year. She wasn't ready to be out on her own. Plus, the thought of her living in Chapel Hill, a place charged with memories of foolish decisions and one dangerous, seductive man, was impossible to imagine. She was on the losing end of the debate, though. Both Jack and the counselor felt it was time for Cory to move away.

"She's had seventeen years of being afraid to be separated from you," Jack had said in the car on their way to the school. "It's time, Eve. You know that, don't you?"

She did, which was why she was staying out of the debate as much as possible as Jack and the counselor tried to persuade Cory that going away was a good idea.

"All right, I'll go," Cory said, finally giving in. She looked from Eve to Jack and back again. "I never knew how much you wanted to get rid of me."

She sounded as if she were joking. At least Eve hoped she was.

She met Jack at the University Diner for lunch the following afternoon. She arrived first, parking her motorized scooter outside and limping to a booth. She'd started using the scooter a year earlier to get around town, and she had a love/hate relationship with it. It gave her back her freedom, while taking away her hope that she would one day walk pain-free again. She'd gotten used to the stares and the questions and knew she was the envy of some of her colleagues, who struggled to walk around the grounds every day because of their own sore feet or bad hips.

Today in the diner, though, she felt old. The waitresses were so young and energetic. She was only thirty-five and she felt-and worried that she looked-more like seventy-five.

She saw Jack walk in, tanned and slender, and for the first time wondered if he still found her attractive. He seemed so much younger and more alive than she felt.

"Hi, Evie." He gave her a kiss before sitting down across from her. "How's the day going?"

"Good." She tried to smile brightly. "Yours?"

"Crazy, as usual," he said, putting his napkin on his lap. "Did you hear they picked a new president for next year?"

"Is it anyone we've heard of?" she asked. A number of candidates' names had been floating around the grounds during the past couple of months.

"None of the usual suspects," Jack said. "It's a guy named Irving Russell. He used to be the governor of North Carolina."

Eve couldn't speak. Their young waitress, who called them both "honey," appeared, and she managed to order a salad.

"Is it for certain?" she asked once the waitress had left their table.

"Sounds like it, and I don't know enough about him to say whether it's a good choice or not. Do you know who he is?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"He was in the news a lot in the seventies when he was a governor, but you were probably in Portland or Charleston then. His wife was kidnapped. It was a huge story. These two guys took her to try to get Russell to let their sister out of prison."

How would someone respond who knew nothing of that situation?

"And did he let her out?" she asked.

Jack shook his head. "No, she was executed. They never found Russell's wife."

"I vaguely remember that," she said. "How awful." For the first time, she was relieved that Cory had agreed to go to Carolina. She shouldn't be at the University when Russell was president.

And neither should she.