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"Hello," I said. "This is Leigh."

"Miss VanVoreen. My name is Chester Goodman. I work for your father and he has asked me to call you."

"Yes?" I said, impatient with the formalities. I didn't care what his name was. All I wanted were the details.

"He sends his regrets. He won't be able to see you today."

What?" I felt the color drain from my face. My chest felt so cold and empty, I was sure my heart herd stopped beating. "Why? I must see him. I must!" I insisted. "Please, tell him, put him on the phone. I demand to speak with him."

"I'm sorry, Miss VanVoreen, but he is no longer here. One of the VanVoreen ocean liners has broken down in the Pacific. There is a rescue operation on the way and he had to fly out to the coast on an

emergency."

"Oh, no!

"He said to tell you he will phone you the first chance he gets. Miss VanVoreen?"

I didn't reply. I cradled the receiver and sat back in the chair by the telephone, dazed. Didn't Daddy hear the desperation in my voice? Why couldn't he see to it that he met with rue first somehow, or why hadn't he simply taken me along with him? We could have talked on the airplane. Why was his business more important than his daughter?

A frightening thought suddenly occurred to me. Maybe he knew; maybe he had always known that I wasn't really his daughter and maybe that was why he didn't put me at the top of his list of most important things.

I buried my face in my hands.

"Leigh?"

It was Troy, standing in the doorway.

"Are you coming back out now?"

I looked up at him,

"No," I said. "I'm not feeling well. I've got to go up and lie down awhile."

His face drooped. "Will you come out later?"

"I don't know, Troy. I'm sorry," I said and walked to the stairway. I didn't look back. I couldn't stand the sight of any more sadness.

It seemed to take me forever to go up the stairway. I was walking in such a stupor, I didn't realize I had reached my suite. Suddenly, I found myself standing in the bedroom. I went to my bed and lay back on the pillow. My head had begun to ache and my stomach felt funny. It felt as if there were a dozen butterflies in it, all trying to find a way out. Their wings tickled as they flapped about frantical

ly.

I felt just as trapped. How could I ever feel any worse than this? I thought.

But I did, and as soon as the next morning. I hadn't gotten my eyes open a few seconds before it came over me: this wave of nausea. Wave after wave came, building and building until I had to get up quickly and run to the bathroom to vomit. I felt so sick I thought I was going to die. Finally, it subsided and I made my way back to bed to rest until I felt strong enough to get up again.

What was it? Something I had eaten? Why would it come and go like that anyway? I wondered.

And then something struck me. I had forgotten all about it because I had been so occupied with other things this past month and a half.

My period was overdue.

And now morning sickness! Oh no, I thought. I'm pregnant!

I waited three more days before telling my mother, hoping and praying what I feared wasn't true, but the nausea greeted me each morning and even recurred sometimes during the afternoon. There was no mistaking the calendar either. No matter how hard or long I looked at the dates, I confronted the same fact: my period was long overdue and I had never been irregular before.

Finally, I realized I could avoid it no longer. Oddly enough, when I envisioned telling Momma, my first thought was that this would now confirm what she had refused to believe: Tony had raped me. I couldn't have gotten pregnant myself. Of course, I would have rather she went on doubting me than having this proof, but since it had happened, there was no point in not using it to drive home the truth, once and for all.

She was getting ready for a charity cocktail party she was hosting here at Farthy in the afternoon. I found her seated at her vanity table, studying a new way to wear her hair. She didn't acknowledge me when I entered, nor did she hear me when I called to her.