“What about severance?”

  Charlie considered that. “Four weeks’ pay, maybe. That'd be a compromise.”

  Chris wasn't sure she would go for it, but that took him to the next step. “She'll fight me. Will you make the call?”

  “Oh-ho no, my boy,” Charlie said, pushing off from the wall as the nurse left Robin's room. “This one's all yours.”

  AT home, Kathryn sat on her bed with her laptop. She was wearing her robe, its pockets filled with tissues she had used, crying as she read Robin's files. She was glad she was alone. She couldn't be strong, just couldn't. To be able to cry, to sob, to shriek without anyone hearing was a luxury.

  Molly was right. If these files were to be believed, Robin wanted to meet Peter; but there were other wants that Kathryn hadn't imagined, either. Reading about these made her look twice at the mother she had been, and what she saw didn't please her. Her heart might have been in the right place, but she had missed the core of who Robin was. She had chosen to see a Robin who was made in her own mold, rather than one shaped by Peter, Charlie, even Molly. This other Robin was a revelation.

  That was why, at last, she was drawn to Who Am I? Craving the answer, she opened the file.

  I'm a fraud, Robin began but caught herself. Maybe that's an overstatement. Let's say I'm an actor. I play the part of the star, and I do a convincing job. Do I love giving speeches? No. And cutting ribbons is boring as hell.

  The part about running is real. I couldn't fake that. But I have my mother to thank. She gave me the motivation when I had none myself.

  So I'm a RUNNER. Who else am I?

  I'd say I'm a DAUGHTER, only I don't do much for my parents. They're the ones doing things for me. Same with being a SISTER. Molly does more for me in a day than I do for her in a month. And the bitch of it is, I now know that I'm not even completely a SNOW.

  So who am I?

  In order to BE someone, you have to be passionate. Molly is passionate. She LOVES her greenhouse and LOVES her cats. She LOVES the house, even when I criticize it for every little fault that I see. She LOVES being the traveller, which may not be obvious to her, because she also LOVES being home. But when she's with me on the road, we actually SEE the city we're in. When I'm alone, I'm in and out. Could be Dallas, could be Tampa, could be Salt Lake City. I barely notice.

  I have lots of friends. So I'm a FRIEND. But they're not here in the middle of the night, and besides, they're more like an entourage than a group of friends. If I stopped running, we wouldn't have much in common.

  Who do I WANT to be? I want to be all of the above, only I don't have the time. OK, I don't MAKE the time. Because I'm too busy being an actor playing the part of a runner who is so busy racking up wins that she doesn't HAVE a clue about who she wants to be.

  Nana used to slow me down when I was little. She'd catch me there in her arms and hold me without saying much at all. When I squirmed to escape, she said, “Just be, little Robin. Just be.”

  I think that if I could do that, I would be able to decide who I am.

  I'd like to JUST BE, for a little while at least. Nana doesn't say those words anymore, but they're coming to me now. Must be her sprite.

  Kathryn was sobbing again, loudly and unrestrained—this time for Marjorie. She missed her mother. Marjorie would have had something down-to-earth and sensible to say about what had happened to Robin. Or she might have simply called it the work of sprites. But hadn't Charlie, too, said that things happened for a reason?

  Struggling to make sense of it all, Kathryn set aside the laptop and went downstairs. The kitchen looked like a party waiting to happen, with covered casseroles on the counter, dropped off only that morning. Others filled the freezer. Moreover, there were flowers in every room, not a one brought back from the hospital.

  Preparation for a wake? No. Kathryn was past the point of cynicism. These gifts were to sustain her through this horrendous time.

  She had friends, though she hadn't done much to earn their loyalty. She had a successful business, though its success was truly the work of a larger team. She had a mother she had deserted and a family she didn't hear. And Robin called herself a fraud?

  With their lives in such flux, Kathryn had no idea who she was herself. Nor could she see the future.

  At this moment of sheer exhaustion, the idea of just…being… sounded nice. Except that her firstborn was on life support pending a devastating choice, Charlie was deferring, Molly was arguing, Chris was silent, Marjorie was absent, and Peter was coming.

  Focus, she told herself. But on what?

  OLLY WORE A SUNDRESS ON SATURDAY MORNing. As Robin's emissary, she wanted to look good. In order to recognize Peter when he arrived, she pulled up pictures of him before she left home.

  The airport was small and the plane a private one. He emerged from the terminal alone, with a single bag on his shoulder, and looked exactly like his photographs—same lean build, same polo shirt and chinos, same tanned face.

  Recognizing him was the easy part. The hard part was knowing what to say. She did fine with the greetings—How was your flight? Do you have any other bags? Have you been to this area before? Once they were in the car, though, she found herself unsure of what he expected, of what she expected, of what Robin expected.

  “Excuse the ride,” she said when he shifted his legs in what looked like an attempt to get comfortable. “We don't have a limo.”

  “This is fine. The company Jeep?” he asked in a nice-enough way.

  “My Jeep. The logo is good advertising.”

  “Is advertising your field?”

  “No. I do plants.”

  “Do?” he asked with either mockery or simple curiosity.

  Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she said, “I run the greenhouse. Plants are reliable. Once you know them, you know them. No surprises.”

  He was quick; he got it in one. “Surprises like me?”

  “And Robin and my mother. They both knew and never told.”

  He was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “I didn't know Robin Snow was my daughter until I went lookin’. I haven't been in touch with your mother. I never even knew if the baby was a boy or a girl.”

  Molly resented that on Robin's behalf. “Weren't you curious?”

  “I didn't want to know. Didn't want to feel anything.”

  “But didn't you feel anyway?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Once in a while.”

  She shot him a look. He seemed serious. “How many kids do you have in all?”

  “Back home? Three. One loves me; two hate me. That's not a great track record. Robin was better off with your dad.”

  Stopped at a traffic light, Molly studied him. “I don't see any of Robin in you.”

  “She's fortunate then.”

  “Actually, she's not,” Molly said with mild annoyance. “I'd rather she inherited your looks than your heart.” The light changed. She drove on.

  “You were the one who asked me to come,” he reminded her gently.

  Duly chastised, she softened. “I'm sorry. This is weird.”

  “Does your mother know I'm here?”

  “She does. Does your wife?”

  He made a derisive sound. “Which one? Wife number one, two, or three?”

  “There are three?”

  “Four, actually—only the last took off with our financial adviser, so she has no idea where I am. For what it's worth, neither do the other three.”

  “Why not?”

  “I respect Robin's privacy. Did she tell you about me?”

  “No.”

  “Enough said.”

  Molly smiled wryly. “That's something my brother would say. He's an accountant.”

  “Then he's no friend of mine,” Peter said, but with humor. “Does he know about me?”

  “My father told him last night.”

  “So your father does know.”

  “Oh, he has all along. For the record,” she said, needing to stress this because she was feeling like something of a Judas, betraying the family by bringing Peter here, “he's been the best father Robin could want. He adores her. Please do not go in there talking about wishing you'd been a father to her. She's had a wonderful father.”

  “Hey,” he reminded her again, this time chidingly, “you were the one who invited me here.”

  She forced herself to take a breath. “You're right. I'm just worried. It's been an awful week. I don't want to make things worse, but I want Robin to know that you've come.”

  He might have remarked that Robin wouldn't know it. When he didn't, her regard for him rose a notch. She said, “Your sister is a runner. Does she know about Robin?”

  “She doesn't know Robin is my daughter. None of my kids know either. Again, for Robin's sake.”

  “Robin's or yours?”

  He winced. “How old did you say you were?”

  “Twenty-seven. And this is just my personality. If Robin were sitting behind me, she'd be kicking the back of my seat.” She paused. “If she were here, though, she'd be asking these questions herself.”

  “She's lucky to have a sister like you.”

  “I'm the lucky one. She's been an awesome role model. Talk about determination and self-discipline. I could never do what she does.”

  “Did she ever try to convert you?”

  “Of course. Runners are missionaries. She just never succeeded.”

  “What else did she do besides run?”

  “Ate yogurt and drank herb tea,” Molly said fondly. “And gave speeches. She inspired girls who wanted to run competitively. She helped raise millions of dollars for charity. You have my mom to thank for that. She taught Robin good values.”

  He seemed pensive. Then he looked at her. “Tell me about your mom.”

  “She is deeply in love with my dad,” Molly said, just so he'd know.

  “She's been happy, then?”

  “Very. Until now. This has thrown her.”

  “Will I see her?”

  Molly shot him a look and, for an instant, they were conspirators. “That's anyone's guess. We'll know soon. Almost there.”

  KATHRYN had no desire to see Peter. If there was physical fault to be found in what had happened to Robin, he bore it. But Robin had collapsed on her watch. That was a mark against her, and it went beyond pride. Facing Peter meant facing her guilt for missing signs that had to have been there.

  The alternative, though, was letting him visit Robin alone. Oh, one of the others could sit in, but it wasn't the same. Kathryn had shepherded Robin through everything else in her life. She couldn't quit now.

  That thought made for another night of sporadic sleep. She awoke groggy, and even a long shower and three cups of coffee barely helped.

  Arriving early at the hospital, she put Robin's arms and legs through range-of-motion exercises—not caring that the doctors had stopped suggesting it—but her eyes kept returning to her daughter's face. Robin had always had beautiful skin, and that hadn't changed in four days. Kathryn wondered if it would after a week. She wondered if it would after a year. Other things would definitely change, such as muscle tone. She couldn't remember a time when Robin hadn't been lean and strong. Watching her run was like watching a thoroughbred.

  Her heart ached at the paradox—the same sport that had made Robin the picture of health had been her undoing.

  The door opened, and despite twelve hours of dread, she thought at first that Peter was just another hospital employee. Robin might have seen recent pictures, but Kathryn had not. Thirty-two years later, he looked different.

  She must have been staring blankly, because he gave her a wry smile. “Were you expecting someone else?” he asked. His voice, with its seductive West Texas drawl, compressed the years.

  She rose. “No. It's just that the hospital sends so many people in here.”

  He closed the door. “Have I changed that much?”

  His body hadn't. He was as tall and lean-muscled as he had been when they first met, and exuded the same athleticism. He'd had few wrinkles on his face then but there were plenty now. Conversely, he'd had plenty of hair then but little now.

  “I pictured you the way you were,” she said.

  “You haven't seen me since?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me. I'm still in the news sometimes, and my face is all over my Web site.”

  But Kathryn was at a loss. The last time she had seen Peter Santorum, he had been stark naked. They had just had sex, and she was dressing to leave. She tried to think of what else they had said or done during their twenty-four hours together. But sex was all she could recall.

  Focus, she thought, and turned to Robin. “You wanted to see him, so he's come,” she said softly, then to Peter, “Isn't she beautiful?” So beautiful. So still. The tragedy of it made her emotions raw.

  He hadn't moved from the door. “I could see it from her pictures. She takes after her mom. You look good, Kathryn.”

  “I can't. It's been a week from hell. I've barely slept.”

  “Still you look good. The years have been kind to you.”

  Angry, because this wasn't a party and flattery was absurd, she said, “I'd give up every one of those kind years if I could turn back the clock. I'd sell my soul to the devil if it would spark Robin's brain back to life.”

  His eyes did shift to Robin then, but they seemed tentative, as if they might skitter away at the slightest provocation. It struck her that he was frightened. Oddly, that made him less of a threat.

  “You can come closer,” she dared.

  Cautiously, he came to Robin's side. “This is not how I imagined meeting my daughter.”

  “No. I wish you'd seen her in action.”

  “I did,” he said to Kathryn's surprise. “A couple months after I called, she ran San Francisco. I watched from the Embarcadero just past Pier 39.” He smiled. “My luck, she was in the first wave of runners. I had to get up at dawn for a four-second glimpse. I'd call that devotion.”

  Kathryn would call it curiosity—cowardly curiosity. Robin had run a personal best that day, placing second among women runners.

  Devotion? Not quite. “Did you never think of her all those years before?” she asked in dismay.

  He didn't flinch. “What would have been the point?”

  “She was your child. How could you not?”

  He held up a hand. “I'm not you, Kathryn. I didn't carry her for nine months. I gave up my parental rights before she was even viable. Besides, would you have wanted me involved?”

  “No.”

  “Enough said.”

  Kathryn made a guttural sound. “You sound like my son.”

  “Molly told me that.”

  “She tends to run at the mouth. What else did she tell you?”

  “That you have a great marriage, that your husband has been a wonderful father to Robin, that you've been happy.”

  “I have. I've been lucky.”

  He waved his hand. “We make our luck. It's about making smart decisions.”

  But Kathryn had learned too much about herself in the last few days to agree. “I don't know if the decisions I made were always smart. When something like this happens, you start second-guessing your life.”

  “What's to second-guess? You raised a wonder with this one. Her sister's pretty sharp too, and I haven't even met your boy.”

  You haven't even met Charlie, Kathryn thought, because at that moment, he seemed a far more stable parent than she. “Molly's heart's in the right place,” she said quietly. “She's hellbent on doing what Robin wants, hence her call to you.”

  Leaving her side, Peter walked around the bed. He put his elbows on the far rail and studied Robin. “Part of me wishes she hadn't. This isn't fun.”

  Kathryn shot him a withering look.

  He got the message. “Y'know,” he said, sounding defensive, “some of us aren't good at the hard stuff. I play tennis. I teach kids. I run schools. I am not good at family. Any one of my wives—excuse me, my ex-wives—can attest to that. So I stick to the light stuff, and maybe that's a character flaw. But my father died when I was a kid. So I knew I could die young, too— even before I learned about my heart. We'll never know for sure whether my father had it, too, but he was a rancher. His work was as physical as any athlete's. But that isn't the point. I can't stress over stuff I'd fail at. I am who I am. I play tennis. That's what I do.”

  Kathryn was pressing her heart. Substitute the word run for play tennis, and he could have been quoting Robin's journal. She had felt a sadness reading that, and now felt the same sadness hearing it from Peter.

  “So I accept the reality of the thing,” he went on. “People have limitations.”

  “But isn't it important to try to expand on them?”

  “Yes. That's why I'm here.”

  She had no retort.

  “But it doesn't change who I am,” he insisted. “If I'd married you back then, sure, I'd have known Robin, but we'd have all been miserable. Instead, look at you. Married to the same guy all these years? Know how special that is?”

  She did. Taking Robin's hand, she held it to her throat.

  “I'm glad Molly called me,” he said, straightening. “Being here is right for me. If I'd learned about it afterward, I'd have felt worse.” He paused, looking from one machine to the next. “Mighty intimidating.”

  “You get used to them. You get used to the whole situation. You go from numbness to tears and back.”

  “What are you gonna do?” he asked with just enough gravity to explain what he meant.

  She shook her head—can't go there—and clung to Robin's hand, her own lifeline. Then she cleared her throat. “So you still love playing tennis?”

  “Yeah. I do it well.”

  “Do you miss the high of competing?” she asked, because Robin had wondered that.

  “I miss winning. I don't miss losing. When you start losing more than you win, you know it's time.”

  “Did you feel like a failure when you quit?”

  “If I let myself think about it, I would have; but I was already starting my school. Surround yourself with kids who think you hung the moon, and you don't feel like a failure.”

  “Did you ever want to do anything else?” He made a whome? face.