She stopped and turned; she was away from the light now and her face was in shadow, the whites of her eyes shining. “Yes, I understand, but I can’t fix it. It kills me, but I can’t. Maybe then I could have—I don’t even know that. But how can I fill all that . . . hunger in you? It’s always been that way with you.”

“But you did fill it.”

“I can’t now. I can’t.” She walked faster and he jogged up behind her.

“Amy.”

“Please, stop. Please.”

He closed his eyes. “Okay.”

She turned now and reached into her purse, pasted one of those shaky smiles on her face. “Here, call Revvy. Tell him what you found.” She pulled out a cell phone. “Go ahead. You do it. You’re the hero here.”

“Do you know his number?”

“I have it back at the dorm. Call information.”

Two minutes later, the good news had been conveyed, and Revvy said he would call Norah and Brenton and arrange a meeting for the following week.

They arrived at the edge of the Savannah River on a walkway overlooking the water. The sound of clinking glasses, laughter and humming conversation spilled from a café behind them.

“Let’s sit out here.” He motioned toward the café. “Get that glass of wine and oysters.”

He touched her sweater-covered arm, steered her through the café’s wrought-iron gate and pointed to an empty table in the far corner.

“I’ll get us drinks. Be right back.”

Amy maneuvered her way through the crowd, sat at the round iron table. Nick turned from her to the bar, ordered two glasses of Merlot.

He carried the wine to the table. “I forgot to ask you what you wanted. Is Merlot okay?”

“Perfect.”

“Tell me about Phil, about meeting him . . . about marrying him.” He sat down and pulled his chair closer to her; their knees brushed.

“You don’t want to hear all this.”

“Oh, yes, I do.” He clinked his glass with hers. “Go for it.”

“Well, the semester you didn’t return . . . I dropped out of school. I was failing anyway—never attended class. Mom maneuvered a doctor’s slip . . . family doc and all that. So I was able to take a semester off without any effect on my oh-so-perfect grade point average.”

“Wouldn’t want to mess that up now, would we?”

“No, Mom and Dad were insistent about that. Anyway, Phil and I were friends with all the same people—you know, in school and at home. He was at the local community college, working full-time for an accountant and . . . well, he was there the semester I came home, which also happened to be spring quarter. So then it was summer break and . . . and six months into being home. . . .”