Norah sat on the edge of her bed, numb. She replayed the scene in Ted’s room over and over, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand where she had gone wrong. And every time she went through it, she got to a point where her thinking hit a dull black wall that led her back to the beginning. As confused as she was, Norah knew that if she could penetrate that blackness, it would all start to make sense.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Dorothy Parker asked. “Or are we going to play charades?”

“He wouldn’t betray me,” Norah said softly.

“What did he do, dear?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“I presume that he did. Now take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

Norah looked up at her and realized the room was spinning. “I’m dizzy,” she said.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Parker said. “You simply need a stiff drink.”

Norah lay down on the bed. “I just don’t understand.”

Dorothy Parker sat down next to her and took her hand. “Let’s go through this, shall we? You brought the manuscripts to his room. What happened next?”

“Happened?”

“Yes, dear. You went up there with two manuscripts and came back with one. What happened to the other one?”

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

Norah closed her eyes and saw the white birds flying through the night sky. “Everywhere.”

“Concentrate, Norah. Where is the other manuscript?”

“Out the window.”

“Ted threw it out the window?”

Oh, God, Norah thought. He really did it. “It’s gone,” she whispered, and realized tears were spilling down her face into the pillow. “The contracts, too.”

Dorothy Parker stood and paced the room. “Lousy son of a bitch,” she said.

Norah propped herself on her elbows. “How could he do that? We connected. He liked me—it felt so real.”

“You knew he was a horse’s ass. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised, can you?”

“We had dinner. We were friends.”

“No, my dear. You were never friends. It was all a ploy.”

Norah thought back to that day at her mother’s funeral, when she had made the decision to be strong. She never regretted it until this moment. Now she wished she could be like Audrey—a delicate flower who drew heroes and rescuers like an open bloom.

“Ted tricked me,” Norah said. It was as if she had been sliced by a blade so sharp she didn’t even feel it at first. But now she was starting to bleed and there was no way to stop it.

Mrs. Parker sat on the bed again. “I’m afraid so.”

Norah looked into the writer’s soft, dark eyes. She had never noticed how sad they were.

“I trusted him.”

“That’s the part I don’t quite understand,” Dorothy Parker said. “You’re an intelligent woman. You know exactly what kind of man he is. What made you let your guard down so completely?”

“I had to,” Norah said. “I just had to believe he wouldn’t betray me.”

“But why?”

Norah sat up, feeling feverish. Her face burned hot and she reached for the water glass at her bedside. There was almost nothing in it. She spilled the last two drops on her tongue and stared into the empty glass. The dream was gone forever, and suddenly, after all these years, her secret felt hollow.

Norah coughed into her hand and looked up at Dorothy Parker.

“Because he’s my father,” she said.