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"Uh, huh," he said quickly. "What about your new family? Are they going come to visit you?"

"They say they are. Jimmy . . ."

"Yes, Dawn?"

"You're still my real family," I said. He was silent on the other end for a long moment.

"I've got to hang up, Dawn. I've got to pack and do some things yet."

"Be careful, Jimmy. And write me. Please!" I begged.

"Of course, I'll write you. Just don't become a big star too fast and forget me," he teased.

"I'll never do that, Jimmy. I promise."

"Bye, Dawn."

"Bye."

"Dawn!" he cried.

"Yes, Jimmy?"

"I love you," he said quickly.

I knew how hard it was for him to say it, to put into words feelings we had believed sinful.

"I love you, too, Jimmy," I said and then I heard the phone click dead. I was about to cradle my receiver when I thought I heard another click. Had Agnes Morris been listening? Maybe Grandmother Cutler had employed her as a spy.

It wasn't until I cradled my receiver and stood up that I realized tears were streaming down my cheeks. They dropped off my chin. I scrubbed my cheeks with my palms and walked slowly out of the sitting room and up the stairs.

Trisha was in bed, reading a magazine when I entered. She dropped the magazine quickly and looked at me with eyes full of questions.

"Who's Jimmy?" she asked.

"The boy I believed was my brother for years and years and years," I said. Her lips gaped open.

"You thought was your brother?" she asked. I nodded.

"A boy who you thought was your brother? A grandmother who writes nasty letters about you? What kind of a family do you come from anyway?"

I could see it was time to tell her some of my story. If I was going to have a friend, a true friend, I couldn't keep too many deep, dark secrets from her. I had to trust her, take my chances and trust her with my tale. I could only hope and pray she wouldn't betray me and spread my story all over the school, a story that would make me seem like something freakish to the others, especially people who didn't know me.

"Will you promise not to tell anyone what I tell you?" I asked her.

"Of course," she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "Cross my heart and hope to die," she said, drawing an X over her breasts. I nodded and sat down on my bed. She went to her knees and sat back on her legs, tossing her hair over her shoulder and folding her hands on her lap. She looked like she was holding her breath.

My thoughts took wing to Jimmy and I recalled the way we would lie awake for hours and hours talking, lying beside each other in our pull-out sofa and whispering deep into the night. I lay back and looked up at the ceiling.

"Shortly after I was born, I was kidnapped," I began and told her my story.

For the longest time, Trisha didn't ask a question, didn't say a word. After a while she lay back in bed and folded her arms across her chest and listened. I think she was afraid to interrupt because she thought I might stop talking. After I told her all about Momma and Daddy Longchamp, Fern and Jimmy, and described how life was for us, I quickly skipped to my return to Cutler's Cove. I was too ashamed to tell her about my short romance with Philip when I was attending Emerson Peabody in Richmond and what had happened between us at the hotel afterward.

"Clara Sue sounds horrible," Trisha finally said. "What a mean thing to do to Jimmy."

"If I never see her again, it will be too soon," I replied. Trisha was quiet for a long moment and then she sat up and turned to me.

"When you came out of the bathroom after Arthur had walked in on you, you said it had brought back bad memories. What bad memories? Something else at the hotel?" she asked perceptively.