I carry a breakfast tray up to Tiffany in the morning. Instant oatmeal and wheat toast. That's the most complicated breakfast I can make. I tried to make scrambled eggs once, but that didn't work out.

"Are you awake?" I ask, softly, coming into Tiffany's bedroom. I set the tray on a narrow clear spot on the night table, then open the blinds.

Tiffany opens her eyes, part way, and watches me, sleepily. "What time is it?" she groans.

"Ten o' clock," I reply, picking up the tray. "I made you breakfast. Sit up. You need a nice, warm breakfast to help you feel better. You have a long day at work."

Tiffany rubs her eyes and sits up. "I'm calling in sick," she says as I set the tray on her lap. She lifts a piece of toast to her mouth and nibbles the corner. She drops it. "I'm not hungry."

"But you didn't eat last night either," I argue. I hold out the glass of milk to her. "Drink this. And you should go to work. You can't lie around all day. Tyler Austen isn't worth that. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"I don't think you're human," Tiffany tells me, then falls backward onto the bed. She covers her face with her hands.

I move the tray back to the night table. "Maybe you'll change your mind."

"About you not being human?"

"No, about breakfast."

"Breakfast isn't going to solve anything," Tiffany says, rolling onto her side, turning her back on me. "I'm not like you, Shannon. I can't just slide the card back into the envelope and pretend it never happened. I can't pretend my heart's not broken. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone to wallow in my misery."

"I'm going to have some words with Tyler," I inform her.

Tiffany rolls over. "Oh, God, please don't! I don't need my sister verbally assaulting my boyfriend. I'll take care of Tyler on my own." Tiffany flops onto her stomach and folds her arms over her head. "I will punish him. He'll be sorry for how he's hurt me."

In my bedroom, the telephone rings.

"God! That damn phone of yours! Who the hell is calling twenty bazillion times a day? God!"

"Eat your breakfast," I tell her and leave the room, shutting the door behind me.

"Is it too early to call?" Wes asks when I answer the phone.

I lay back on the bed. "No. I don't sleep late. Although, my sister's across the hall complaining about the phone always ringing."

There's a long pause. "Am I calling too much?" Wes asks.

"Of course not," I answer. No one has ever been so interested in where I am or what I'm doing. I wonder if I should call him more.

"Oh, good," Wes says, sounding relieved. "My last girlfriend...well, let's not talk about her. What are you doing? What did you do last night? I missed you."

"I spent the entire night comforting my sister. She broke up with her boyfriend. She's really upset. He told her it didn't matter that she's not smart because he's not dating her for her intelligence. Or something like that. She cried all night and now she won't get out of bed."

"What a jerk. Do you want me to go to his house and rough him up?"

I laugh. "No, because he's sixteen and you don't need to be out assaulting minors," I tell him. Then I bite my lip. Well, that's different. "So, how was the wedding reception?"

Wes groans. "Unbelievably boring. I would have much rather been with you. That's all I thought the entire night, how much I wished you were with me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. And you know what? I told my parents all about you. I decided the time was right since we're getting so serious. They can't wait to meet you. My mom would have you over this afternoon if possible. She wants you to come for Thanksgiving. Are you free?"

I grip the phone tight. His parents want to meet me? Dear Lord. I never considered what would happen when I stopped being a secret. His parents could easily ruin everything. "Um...they want to meet me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't they?"

I twirl the phone cord around my finger, thinking. "Um...Thanksgiving...I don't know..." The last two years, my sisters and I have gone to the Thomas-Brewers. My parents make their own plans. We've already been invited again, but I don't think I can go. I want to stay as far away from Elizabeth as possible. And from that traitor Janet. "Maybe. Can I get back to you?" I ask Wes.

"Sure! It'll just be my parents and I, so don't worry about being overwhelmed or anything. My aunt and cousins are going to other relatives down in Buffalo. I really hope you come, Shannon."

"Thanks," I reply, pleased.

"So, what are you doing today? Do you want to see a movie? A new biopic opened yesterday. It's about Katherine of Aragon."

"Oh, I want to see that!" I exclaim. "But I can't. Remember, my friend Anna's coming into town today? She's having a bad time and I have to be with her. Maybe tomorrow night."

"Oh, that's right," Wes says, sounding very disappointed. "I don't know if I can go three days without seeing you though."

He's so sweet. "I'm sorry. I miss you, too," I tell him. "I should probably get off the phone though. I have so much homework."

"Oh, well, I understand," Wes replies, although he still sounds disappointed. I hate that I'm the one to disappoint him. "I'll call you later."

After we hang up, I check on Tiffany, who has her pillow over her head. She still hasn't touched her breakfast. I don't say anything and quietly shut the door. Then I wake Maria and go downstairs with my homework. Mom's already gone, even though she didn't creep in until three o' clock in the morning. I was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. Mom pretended not to see me.

I set my textbooks on the dining room table. I can see the Stevenson's house from here. Anna didn't say when she'd arrive. I'll watch for her while working on my homework. All I finished last night was my calculus. I still have World lit, Italian, and geology. Plus, I have to revise my Catherine the Great paper. Ms. Allen didn't appreciate my turning in the same paper twice.

"I'm going to hang out with David Michael Thomas," Maria announces, walking into the dining room.

I look up from my geology notes. "You're over there too much," I tell her.

"I am not!" Maria protests. "Nannie's making chili for lunch and she invited me. You're invited, too. Elizabeth really wants to speak to you. She told me to tell you."

"I'm busy."

"You're always busy."

"I have a lot on my plate. You know that, Maria," I reply. I tap my pen against the front of my teeth, thinking. There's always so much to do. Everyone needs something from me. "Why don't we go out to dinner tonight? We can go to Bellair's afterward and I'll buy you something."

Maria perks up. "Can David Michael Thomas come?" she asks.

"Um...we'll see."

"All right! I'll be home by dinnertime," Maria tells me, then rushes out the front door.

I return to my homework. I finish my geology review questions, then begin organizing my notes for my analysis paper for World lit. I have a special color coding system using highlighters and index cards. It's very efficient. I work diligently for the next hour, occasionally glancing up to look out at the Stevenson's house. The house appears as dark and uninhabited as usual. What if Mrs. Stevenson isn't there? Did Anna even warn her mother that she's coming into town? If Mrs. Stevenson stands Anna up that will only make things so much worse. Anna may never return home again.

Our regular A&P delivery arrives at twelve-thirty. I'm in the kitchen putting away the groceries when the doorbell rings. I drop the ham I'm holding and race into the foyer, throwing the front door open. Anna's on the porch, dressed in old jeans and a gray zip-up sweatshirt, holding a suitcase in one hand. There are dark circles underneath her eyes. She looks terrible.

"Anna!" I cry and throw my arms around her neck. "I'm so happy you're here." I release her so she can come inside.

Anna sets her suitcase down in the foyer. "I had my friends drop me off outside your house," she tells me. "They're on their way into New York. They'll pick me up tomorrow. I may stay here tonight. I haven't decided." She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt and walks into the living room and sinks down onto the couch.

"Is...is your mother home?" I ask, hesitantly, sitting across from her in an armchair.

Anna shrugs.

"She knows you're coming, right?"

Anna nods. "She knows. I told her that we have to discuss something very important. She's supposed to be home. I asked her to make sure Abby's somewhere else. I don't want Abby to hear. She doesn't need to know. Not yet." Anna stares down at her knees, hands still in her pockets.

I fold my hands in my lap and watch her for a moment. "Would you like something to eat or drink?" I ask, not knowing what else to say. I had planned to tell her about my parents and what I've learned about them. I thought maybe it would help. But now isn't the time. I can see that.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Anna tells me.

"Do you want to lie down? I'll get you some water."

Anna shakes her head. "No. I want to talk to my mother. Now."

"Okay," I say, standing up. "Just give me a minute." I hurry back into the kitchen and toss the rest of the groceries into the refrigerator and freezer. Then I run upstairs to tell Tiffany where I'll be. She's pretending to be asleep. I pull on a sweater and grab my messenger bag, then go back downstairs to Anna. She's still sitting o the couch, still staring at her knees.

I hold my hand out to her. "I'm ready if you are," I say.

Anna looks up and takes my hand. She squeezes it so tight as we cross the street, I fear all the bones may shatter. The Stevenson's front door is locked and Anna forgot her keys, so we ring the bell. Then we wait. It's a few minutes before we hear someone on the stairs, then crossing the foyer, heels clicking on the tile. Mrs. Stevenson.

"Why are you ringing the bell?" she asks with a laugh when she opens the door.

Anna shrugs.

Mrs. Stevenson's smile falters. But she opens her arms and wraps them around Anna. Anna doesn't release my hand from her bone-crushing grip and she doesn't hug her mother back either. "Oh, Anna," Mrs. Stevenson says in this sigh of a voice. "I want you to stop being so angry with me. I'm so glad you're home."

You won't be so glad in a few minutes, I think.

Mrs. Stevenson releases Anna and smiles at us. "Come in, girls. There's fresh coffee in the kitchen and I picked up some of Anna's favorite pastries at the bakery this morning." Mrs. Stevenson steps aside so Anna and I may enter. "Abby left about half an hour ago with Kristy and Mary Anne. They're working on some big project. She'll be home later. She's dying to see you, Anna."

Anna leads me into the living room, where we sit together on the couch, as close as possible. I think Anna would sit in my lap if I allowed her. Mrs. Stevenson comes out of the kitchen a few minutes later, carrying a tray with three cups and a plate of cheese and apple danish. Mrs. Stevenson sets two of the cups on the table in front of Anna and I then sips her own. I almost ask for sugar. Mrs. Stevenson doesn't know that's the only way I'll drink coffee. With lots and lots of sugar. But I don't ask. Just as I don't reach for an apple danish, even though I've not eaten since breakfast and am suddenly starving.

"So, Anna, what is this important thing you need to discuss with me?" Mrs. Stevenson asks. She's still smiling, but it's straining at the corners. Her eyes flick to me and then away. She's wondering why I'm here.

Anna reaches into her pocket and pulls something out, her fist closed tight around it. She tosses it across the coffee table. The hospital bracelet. It slides across the shiny cherrywood tabletop and hits the plate of danish, where it stops.

Mrs. Stevenson drops her cup. It falls to the floor, splattering dark liquid on the beige rug. Mrs. Stevenson covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God," she gasps.

"I'd like some answers," Anna says, coldly.

Mrs. Stevenson removes her hand from her mouth, still staring at the bracelet. "What were you doing in my safe?" she asks in a quiet, wavering voice.

"It doesn't matter. I found everything. I know about Michael Bergman. I know about it all." Anna reaches in her other pocket and takes out a stack of photos. She tosses them onto the coffee table and they land near the bracelet. Photos of Mrs. Stevenson from long ago, the ones Anna showed me of her in bulky coats and sweaters, hiding her secret pregnancy.

Mrs. Stevenson stares at them and bites her knuckles. "Shannon, I think you should go home," she says.

"Shannon isn't going anywhere," Anna replies. "I'm running the show now, Mother."

Mrs. Stevenson moves her eyes from Anna to me and back again. I shift uncomfortably under her gaze. I fold my hands over my knees and stare at them.

Mrs. Stevenson resigns herself to my presence. "You don't understand," she tells Anna.

"I understand you cheated on my father!" Anna shrieks. And everything she's held in since August explodes. "How could you do that to him? To us? How could you have some other man's baby and throw it away?"

"I didn't throw her away!" Mrs. Stevenson exclaims. "I certainly did not! We found her a wonderful, loving home with parents who wanted her. I couldn't keep her, Anna. Your father didn't want her! I made a choice and I chose you and Abby and Jonathan. It wasn't easy, but I did what I had to do."

"We would have been better off without you," Anna says, venomously. "When you cheated on Dad, you cheated on us all."

"I did not cheat on your father!"

"Yes, you did!" Anna screams and grabs the bracelet off the table. She hurls it at her mother.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Anna!" Mrs. Stevenson cries. She holds her head in her hands and sighs. "I never wanted you or Abby to know. I knew you wouldn't remember. You were too young. Around the time you and Abby turned two years old, Jonathan and I started having problems. He was...dissatisfied with our marriage. Having twins changed things between us. You and Abby were a handful and took up all my time. Jonathan and I didn't have time for each other. Our relationship had changed and you were my focus. Your dad loved you and Abby very much, but...he was unhappy. Shortly after the holidays, he left."

"That's a lie!"

Mrs. Stevenson looks at Anna, sadly. "It's the truth. He moved out and took an apartment in a singles building. And he began dating a woman who lived in the complex. Meanwhile, I was at home, raising you and your sister, all alone. And whenever your father came to see you, he looked so rested and cheerful, and one time, he even brought that woman with him." Mrs. Stevenson says, bitterly, and closes her eyes for a moment. "So, I decided to punish him. I don't know if you remember Michael Bergman - "

"I remember him."

Mrs. Stevenson pauses a moment, then looks down at her hands. "He was a very nice man. He attended our synagogue and worked with your father. I liked him a lot. And I used him to punish your father." Mrs. Stevenson sort of chuckles in this strange way. "And it worked. Your father eventually crawled back to me. It was the end of the summer and we'd been separated almost a year. And I already knew. I already knew I was pregnant. I hadn't told Michael yet. I almost didn't tell him at all. He was so angry when I told him your father and I were reconciling. He thought the marriage was over."

"But he was married," Anna protests.

Mrs. Stevenson looks surprised. "He wasn't married! He married later."

Anna folds her arms, hugging herself. "You're blaming everything on Dad because he's not here to defend himself. You must have loved him very much," she says, nastily.

"Your father wasn't perfect, Anna. And neither am I. We made mistakes. Selfish, spiteful mistakes. And we paid for them. I'm still paying, Anna. I gave up my own child because Jonathan asked me to. It was a hard choice and I won't say I don't regret it. But it's the choice I made and the choice I have to live with every day for the rest of my life."

"So, what? You wish you'd divorced Dad and married Michael Bergman and started a whole new family? Michael Bergman would have just left you, too. I don't blame Dad for leaving. I can't believe he came back!"

Anna bursts into tears and covers her face, rocking back and forth. Mrs. Stevenson leaps up and runs to her, but Anna pushes her mother away. Then Anna stands and shoves Mrs. Stevenson hard. Mrs. Stevenson stumbles backward, but doesn't fall.

"I don't believe you!" Anna screams. "You're just selfish! You ruin everything! I'm never coming back here! Ever, ever again!" Anna turns and runs out of the living room and out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

I sit very still on the couch as Mrs. Stevenson begins to cry. She hides her eyes behind her hand, but I still see. I don't know what to say. Should I comfort her or find Anna?

"Just go, Shannon," Mrs. Stevenson says, reading my mind.

I rise, slowly, from the couch and begin toward the front door. "I won't tell, Mrs. Stevenson. I'll keep your secret," I promise.

"I don't care."

Mrs. Stevenson's sobs are much louder when I shut the front door. I cross the street to my house and slip quietly through the front door. In the foyer, Anna's suitcase is gone.