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Noelle would want the party to go on. “No,” I said. “We’re having the party. It’s three weeks away and Tara’s going to help.” If there was anything that needed to be planned or managed or organized, Tara was the person to do it.

      “Are you sure?” Ted asked. “I think you’re taking on too much.”

      He was probably right and I wanted more time, not less, with my dying grandfather. I could hardly think about him without crying. Jenny and I’d visited him in Jacksonville the day before and he’d looked so emaciated in that big bed at the hospice that I’d barely recognized him. He’d been alert and happy to see us, though. My childhood was filled with memories of him. My father was always traveling and it was Grandpa who taught me to ride a bike and fish and even to cook. Making time to visit him was a priority.

      Nevertheless, I wasn’t giving up this box.

      “I want to keep the box for now,” I said to Ted. “I just want to see what all these women had to say to her.”

      “I wish you’d dump it,” he said. “We don’t have room for all her stuff.”

      “I’m taking it,” I said, feeling stubborn as I folded the top of the carton into place. Maybe, just maybe, something in the box would lead me to her son or her daughter and, in that small way, I could help Noelle live on.

      10

       Noelle

       UNC Wilmington 1988

      She sat in the lounge of the Galloway dormitory with the other Resident Assistants on the last day of their training. The freshmen would arrive the following day and then the lazy calm that had enveloped the Wilmington campus would give way to mayhem. Noelle was looking forward to it. She loved this school.

      Empty pizza boxes and soda cans littered the tables of the lounge. Noelle hadn’t touched the artery-clogging pizza. She’d kicked off her sandals and sat cross-legged on one of the sofas, her long blue skirt pooling around her like the sea, and she ate carrot sticks and almonds from the Baggie she carried with her everywhere. She offered the bag to one of the other trainees, Luanne, who sat next to her on the couch and who helped herself to one of the carrot sticks. Of all the RA trainees in the lounge, Noelle was closest to Luanne, but that wasn’t saying much. Her fellow UNC students liked Noelle and respected her, but she was just a little too different to fit in. It had been that way all her life, and she didn’t really mind. She was used to holding herself a bit apart from her peers. The other girls treated her warmly and even turned to her with their problems, yet there was always a distance, and she never formed those intense, heart-to-heart connections that most women had with other women.

      As for the guys … well, the jocks and frat boys had no idea how to relate to someone like Noelle. There was something weird about her, they’d say dismissively, not sure how to handle the discomfort they felt around her. She was the quirky woman you could see wandering alone around campus after midnight. She was pretty in an unconventional way, but she was too hard to get to know and not worth the effort. It was as if she were covered by a veil that couldn’t be pierced or lifted. She was simply out of their league, and deep down, they knew it.

      Yet she had no dearth of lovers. There were certain guys on campus who were intrigued rather than intimidated by her. They were the cerebral or artsy types who were too shy to talk to the typical coeds, but who recognized in Noelle a kindred spirit. So although she’d had no real boyfriend during her first three years at UNC, she did have relationships that went deeper than friendship, even if those relationships would never lead to anything permanent. That was fine with her. She had one single goal and that was to become a midwife. The rest of her life could sort itself out later.

      This would be her senior year as a nursing student and she was already researching midwifery programs for next year. She’d have no problem getting in wherever she wanted to go; she was at the top of her class. No one ever said as much, but they didn’t need to. She was a hard worker and her professors adored her. She had issues with some of the ridiculous rules she was required to follow in the hospital setting during her clinicals, but she did everything she was told. When she grew frustrated, she called her mother, who was still working for Miss Wilson and who could always calm her down. “Just do what they say and get your degree,” she’d tell her. “Then you’ll be freer to make your own rules. You have to find a way to work with the system, Noelle.”

      Now, sitting with the other RA trainees in the lounge, Noelle focused her attention on the young man leaning against the back of one of the sofas. He was a grad student in psychology and he’d been their trainer for the past couple of days. “So tomorrow’s going to be chaos,” he said. “People will be complaining about their rooms and their roommates within an hour of their arrival. Just expect it and it won’t overwhelm you. If you have any problems, you know how to reach me, right?”

      Everyone murmured a weary response. They were all tired of being cooped up in the lounge, and Noelle was no exception. The day was gorgeous, not too hot for the end of August, and she wanted to be outside. But the trainer was going to hand out their dorm assignments and she couldn’t leave until she’d received hers.

      She’d requested the Galloway dorm, where she was sitting right that moment. It was where she’d spent her freshman year and she remembered the kindness of the RA she’d had back then. She wanted to be that helpful, nonjudgmental sort of RA for a new, green group of students.

      The grad student was sifting through sheets of paper and Noelle knew they were the lists of students on each floor of the various dormitories.

      “Noelle?” he said, holding one of the sheets toward her. “You’ve got Galloway. Third floor.”

      “Excellent.” She stood to take the paper from him, then sat down next to Luanne again.

      The grad student handed Luanne her list.

      “I have Galloway, too,” Luanne said, studying the sheet of paper. “Cool.”

      “What floor?” Noelle asked.

      “Fourth.”

      Noelle bit her lip, surprised when she felt a little seed of longing forming in her chest. “That’s where I lived my freshman year,” she said.

      “Are you sentimental about it?” Luanne smiled at her. “I don’t have any big preference if you want to switch.”

      She realized that she did want to switch. She couldn’t have said why. That year had been so good for her. She’d come into her own—away from home, living in a city for the first time in her life and loving every minute of it. The floors of the Galloway dorm were nearly identical, so it seemed silly to switch, and yet.

      “You wouldn’t mind?” she asked.

      “Uh-uh.” Luanne started to hand her the list of fourth-floor students, but as Noelle reached toward her with her own list, she noticed one of the names near the bottom of the paper and stopped. She looked hard at the name, her eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of what she was reading. She drew the sheet of paper back.

      “I’ll keep the third floor.” She heard the tremor in her voice. “I was just being silly. They’ve got our floors recorded and we’ll mess everything up if we trade.”

      Luanne frowned at her. “I doubt it would be any big deal,” she said.

      “No, this is fine,” Noelle said, and she pressed the list to her chest as if it were a long-buried treasure.

      11

       Tara

       Wilmington, North Carolina 2010

      I knocked on Grace’s door and heard her scramble a little, as though she might be doing something she didn’t want me to know about.

      “Come in,” she said after a moment.

      I opened the door and saw her sitting at her desk, a textbook open in her lap. She’d probably been on Facebook or answering

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