Clare went home and got busy in the kitchen making Jason’s favorite meal—homemade macaroni and cheese and chocolate cake. When he was finished with dinner and had the chocolate cake in front of him, she said, “Jase, I have something to tell you. It won’t come as a surprise, but it still might be hard to hear. Tomorrow your aunt Maggie is serving your dad with divorce papers.”

He slowly looked up from his cake. “Why would that be hard to hear?” he asked her.

She ignored that. Instead she said, “You know, an old friend of mine taught me a lesson I wish I’d learned years and years ago. About how to remember the things that are really important. Your dad hasn’t lived with us for a long time now, Jase. And from now on we’re going to be friends, not husband and wife.”

“Fine by me. But I don’t want to—”

“Okay, stop. Just listen to me for a second. The marriage is over, but the family isn’t. Whether you love him or hate him, he’s your dad and he was my husband. There were times he came through for me in such a huge way, I don’t know what I would have done without him. When your grandma died, I was devastated. Totally wrecked. I cried and cried and cried till I was so pick-in’ sick of crying I’d want to die, and then I’d cry some more. If the roles had been reversed, I’m not sure how much patience I’d have had—but your dad just held me and said, ‘there, there, I know it hurts.’ For days. For weeks. Maybe months.

“He was there when you were born and he cried, he was so happy. Remember how he loved to take you skiing? And he was the one who insisted you have a chance to learn to ride that sinful four-wheeler I hated, and he bought the snowboard, not me. I don’t think he ever missed a soccer game. And even though I have plenty of complaints about the kind of husband he was, he never missed my birthday or anniversary—he gave me beautiful presents. Wonderful cards. He took you shopping for Mother’s Day. And since the day we separated, he has paid all the bills and sent money. Do you know how many men leave their marriages and their children and have to be chased down by the courts to support their families?”

“So what are you getting at?”

“I have plenty of negative things to think about, to remember, if I want to. But I’ve decided I’m not going there. There are things I treasure that I wouldn’t have without your dad—starting with you. So from now on, I’m going to work on remembering the positive things. The good things. I don’t want the last sixteen years to have been a waste of time.”

He stared at his cake for a minute. Then he said, “Well, good luck.” He picked up his plate and took it to his room.

Well, that little speech wouldn’t have worked on me six months ago, either, she thought.

It was ten-thirty and she was in bed with a book when she heard Jason’s bedroom door open. He tapped gently at her half-open door and she waved him in. He stood at the foot of her bed and she could see that his eyes were red rimmed from crying. She wished he hadn’t cried alone, but boys his age are so stoic, so isolated. “He used to dress up like Santa,” he said. “Like I couldn’t tell who it was.”

“He did,” she said. “Come here,” she invited, patting the bed beside her.

He was already taller than she was, but he sat on the bed beside her, then up came his long legs as he curled up on the bed, his back to her. His head on her pillow, his shoulders shook just slightly as he cried.

“It’s going to be all right now, honey,” she said. “We’re going to be fine. All of us.”

 

Sarah couldn’t remember when she had wanted something so badly that she’d be willing to risk so much. She took a hard look at herself in the mirror and made a conscious decision—she was going to make changes. Major changes. She couldn’t expect any man to look at her the way she was. Her natural beauty, and there was some, was buried beneath this veneer of neglect she had adopted. It had not been as deliberate as it appeared—it had been born out of her complete absorption in her work. That, and her need to change that tawdry, cheap persona her poor mother had so despised.

Clare and Maggie used to try to coax her back into beauty and style. “How about a better haircut,” one would say. “Or highlights. Blond streaks would light up your face.” She had heard things like, “If you must wear the glasses instead of contacts, let’s at least get you some more fashionable specs,” and “Honestly, Sarah, you have such a perfect figure, why not dress in clothes that show it off.” She tried to remind them that when she had tried showing off her assets, it upset everyone, especially their mother, but they were quick to point out that there was a happy medium.

Her sisters had long since given up as Sarah appeared to be committed to plainness.

It was time, she reckoned. And it might not work at all, might not pay off, but she had to give it a chance. Sam would never glance her way as she was—and why should he? More than beauty was required, of course, but looking as if you just don’t give a damn was no way to get a man’s attention.

Every time she thought about him, she trembled. This was what Clare was talking about. Tossing and turning, feeling your pulse race, your cheeks suddenly brightening from the sheer heat of a fantasy. According to Clare, that wasn’t happening to her. But it was sure as hell happening to Sarah.

This would take time, she decided. She meant to effect her superficial changes quickly, the rest would come later. It was imperative to sit quietly and watch, to be sure that Clare had no lingering interest in Sam. If it appeared that Clare was waffling, Sarah would do nothing. Her sister’s love was everything to her and it was finders-keepers. But if it was truly over between them, after a respectable amount of time, she was going to hunt him down and see if she had a chance. Was two weeks respectable? Oh, God, she hoped she could wait even that long.

There was a little voice in her head that said, You might be very, very disappointed. He might not have the slightest interest in you, even prettied up. Or he might do to you what Clare refused to do to him. Toy with your feelings; break your heart.

So I’ll cry, she told the voice. So I’ll feel a little sorry for myself. There is no guarantee, but you never know unless you try.

There was a time, in her young years, when she would sleep with anyone. Then in later years, no one. Since she’d turned twenty-one, there had been exactly two men in her life, and neither of them had caused her heart to pound the way the mere thought of Sam did.

She put up a sign in the shop—Closed For The Day. She went to the beauty shop without an appointment. Bonnie, the beautician she and her sisters had been seeing for years, was usually instructed to trim an inch or two off the bottom of Sarah’s light brown hair. But when Sarah was in the chair she said, “I’d like to do something different today, if you’re up to it.”

“Well, hallelujah!” Bonnie said.

“Do you think you can make it…I don’t know…pretty?”

“Girl, I can make it beautiful.”

Bonnie got to work, cutting, coloring and perming. Sarah was in the chair so long she was about to call Maggie and tell her to pay the ransom. Three hours later Sarah looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. Her long, straight, lank hair was now cut in a layered shape, streaked with soft blond, curling around her face and onto her shoulders. It was fluffy and soft. Full and thick.

“You want my advice?” Bonnie asked. But before Sarah could answer she said, “Let’s wax your brows into a nicer shape. Say goodbye to that monobrow.”

“Sure,” she said, taking off her glasses.

It only took minutes and when she looked in the mirror again, even though her new brows were surrounded by pink skin from the hot wax, it made all the difference in the world.

“Girl, look at those eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. You and your sisters—you green-eyed hussies. You have to get rid of those glasses. Any reason you can’t wear contacts?”

“I…ah…I stopped wearing the contacts because my eyes would get so dry and scratchy from long hours of painting. Weaving.”

Bonnie twirled the chair around so that Sarah faced her. “Let me just say something. You have your work on display here and there. From time to time…”

“Exhibitions,” Sarah supplied.

“I would think it would be better, help you sell your stuff, if you spruced up a bit. I’m not saying glamorous. Just, you know—”

“Professional?”

“There you go.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

Sarah hadn’t needed Bonnie’s advice. Only thing was, she wasn’t doing this to be more professional looking. She wanted a man. She had everything else.

 

On Monday Clare was able to blame her distraction and nervousness on the fact that Roger was being served with the divorce papers. That fine fellow took it better than she expected. Of course he called her at once. In a watery voice, he asked her to reconsider. But he didn’t make her endure too much of that before he said, “If you ever change your mind, even for a second…”

“I won’t,” she said firmly. “But Roger, we need to get back on track with Jason. I want us all to get along.”

“I want that, too, Clare. I promise you.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” she relented. “He needs you in his life.”

“Even if you don’t?” he asked.

“I need you to be my son’s father.”

A couple more hours dragged by, and then it was time. Sam picked her up at the hardware store at noon. She had wanted to take her own car and meet him somewhere, but he insisted.

When they were in Sam’s car, he asked, “How’d it go with Roger?”

“Better than I expected. It was Jason who surprised me with a few tears. I take that as a good sign. He might be softening up.” It might be better to just tell him in the car, she thought. Before we get to some restaurant where we’d have no privacy. She cleared her throat. “Where are we going?”

“Look in the backseat,” he said, smiling.

She turned to see a picnic basket and carefully folded blanket. Oh, God, she thought. We’re going to be alone, probably isolated, and I’m going to rip his heart out. This is going to be horrible.

“The leaves are getting awesome,” he said. “It’s such a beautiful day, why be cooped up in a restaurant? Is this okay with you?”

“Sure,” she said, her voice small.

“You okay?”

“I might be a little moody,” she answered. “It’s kind of a strange day.”

“You don’t have second thoughts about Roger, do you?”

“No. But even knowing you have to end something doesn’t make it easy.” She stole a guilty look at his strong profile. “Especially something that’s been going on for…a long time.”

He reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “You’ll get through it, Clare. God, your hand’s like ice.”

“Maybe a little sunshine will warm me up. We aren’t going far, are we? I don’t have to rush, but I do have to get back to work.”

“Not to worry,” he said. “It’s not far.”

She was quiet the rest of the way, but it wasn’t long before Sam turned off the road and down a dirt drive at the end of which was a small park. A very private place. He got out, taking the basket and blanket from the car. She followed more slowly. There were two picnic tables, but he spread the blanket on the grass under a large tree that had begun to display its fall colors. By the time she reached it, he was kneeling, picnic basket open. A bottle of wine appeared and he popped the cork.

Clare sat on the blanket, cross-legged, and Sam handed her a glass of red wine. The wine was probably a good idea, she thought. But she doubted they would get to the rest of the basket. He lifted his glass in a silent toast; she touched his glass with hers, but knew her eyes told too much. She knew she couldn’t put it off, but it was he who said, “What is it, Clare?”

“Sam, you will never know how hard this is for me.” She dropped her gaze, unable to look into his eyes. “Sam, I have to end whatever this is between us.”

A moment of silence drew out. He took a sip from his glass. “What brought this on?”

“There’s no way I can make this easy. You’re great, and you’ve been wonderful to me. I’m very fond of you. But my feelings for you are just not as strong as yours are for me, and I think it would be best if we let this go now. Before it gets more complicated.”

He stared at her, his lips parted slightly. Then he smiled a small smile. “That’s not what your body says.”

“I know, that’s why I’m stopping it here and now. My feelings just don’t match.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. It was never my intention to lead you on.”

“Okay,” he said, shaking it off. “I admit I was moving a little fast. You’re right—we’ll slow way down. I’m not going to pressure you. I’ve got all the time in the—”

“No, Sam, you weren’t moving fast. You’ve been extremely patient, and it’s been months. It’s just not growing for me. I don’t have…” She cleared her throat. “I just don’t have it.”

“Clare, I don’t care,” he said. “I haven’t asked you for anything. I haven’t asked you to make me promises. I know better than that.”

“You have to listen to me. I’m not asking you to slow down—I’m saying we’re going to end this here and now, before it drags out any longer. What started as a friendship has clearly grown more serious for you. But it hasn’t for me. I don’t want this to get any more involved, only to have it end bitterly.”

Sam reached out a hand, touching her knee. “Clare,” he said softly, earnestly. “You responded to me. When I put my hands on you, you come alive.”

She shook her head sadly, laughing without humor. “Only a dead woman wouldn’t respond to you, Sam. I think you might be the sexiest man I’ve ever known. And having you want me has been fun. Flattering.” She shrugged again. “But I don’t want to lead you on. I’m not in love with you.”

“Clare,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice, “shouldn’t we just give it a chance? We’ve had a good time together, I couldn’t have mistaken that. Neither of us has any other commitments, so there’s no harm in—”

“But there is harm in it, Sam. You’re not the kind of guy who can just have a fling and walk away unscathed. It would hurt. And I’m really not that kind of woman, either. I can’t go any further. I’m sorry.”

“When did you decide this, Clare? Because Friday night we were close to consummating this relationship. I wanted to, you wanted to—”

“And it would have been a terrible mistake.”

He stood up, walked a few feet away and turned his back on her. She watched as he took a few short sips from his glass and let some time pass, sought composure. Clare realized this was so very different from anything she’d ever done in her life. It wasn’t as though they had some crushing disagreement or betrayal, as had happened with Roger. Painful as it was to leave her husband, this somehow hurt more, for Sam had done nothing wrong. He’d been sincere, caring and sensitive. What woman wouldn’t want his vitality and passion for her own?

When he came back to the blanket, kneeling, she could see that his eyes were moist and it tore at her heart. “Are you absolutely sure, Clare? Because I think you know—I’m falling in love with you.”

“I suspected that, and it frightens me. This is hard enough, Sam. I don’t want it to get any harder.”

“But if I can respect your space and give you the time you need—?”

“You would become more invested and I, less. I know what I feel, Sam. And what I don’t.”

He shook his head and gave a huff of rueful laughter, then tossed the rest of his wine on the grass. He put the glass in the basket and looked at her, his hands in fists on his thighs. “It was going to be today, you know. Right here, under this beautiful old tree. I was going to give you a glass of wine and make love to you. I was going to do things for you that no one has ever done. Make you beg for more. I wanted to tell you, finally, that the worst day of your life was the best day of mine. The day I found you and almost lost you, all in just a few minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a woman before.”

She felt the tears on her cheeks and wiped them away. “You are entitled to so much more, Sam. A younger woman, for one thing. Someone who’s as passionate as you are. A woman who could add to your family, if you wanted that.”

“I don’t need that,” he protested. “You’ve had that cheating husband all those years—and I would have given you love you could trust. One that would be true.”

“I never doubted that. But you know I have to share that desire for it to work.”

He swallowed, glanced away, looked back at her. “Tell me one thing, and please don’t lie to me. Is it Pete? Pete Rayburn?”

“What?” she said, confused.

“There was something going on yesterday, when I found you with him at the park. I could sense it.”

“Oh,” she said, letting out her breath. “Yes, there was something going on. We were talking about old times, just as he said. One of the old times was his brother’s death. Mike was Pete’s older brother. We shared a devastating loss.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. It never occurred to me to mention it, but then I didn’t know you two knew each other.” Sam stared at the ground. “I never meant to hurt you, Sam. You must believe that.”

He raised his eyes. “I never meant to fall in love with you. Some things, it seems, are beyond our control.” He stood. “We better get out of here. I don’t think there’s going to be a picnic.” He held out his hand to help her to her feet.

“Will you be all right?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” he said, giving her a wan smile. “Kiss me, Clare. Kiss me goodbye.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good—”

“It’s all I’m asking. When I think about this day, I want to remember one nice thing.” He pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. At that moment she knew she had done absolutely the right thing. She felt his lips, as skilled and passionate as ever; she felt that familiar temptation. But nothing else. Then she felt his tears on her cheeks and her heart was ripped to pieces.

He pulled away and ducked his head, so that she wouldn’t see. He stooped to collect the basket and blanket and as he walked to the car, he swiped impatiently at his eyes. “Let’s go,” he called. “No point in making this any harder.”

She caught up with him and before he could get in the car, she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and turned him toward her. “Sam, there’s someone out there for you. Someone wonderful and devoted whose passion for you will match yours for her. I promise you.”

He gave a dubious little laugh. “That’s the last thing on my mind.”

 

Clare didn’t know where to go. She was in no shape for work and rather than go into the store and tell her dad she was taking off for the day, she just retrieved her car and called him from there. Finally, at a loss for what to do, she went to Maggie’s office, hoping her sister would be there alone.

The minute she got into Maggie’s plush office and closed the door, she burst into tears. “What in the world…?”

“Maggie, it was horrible. I broke his heart.”

For a small, trim woman, Maggie exuded power. It was probably a lawyer thing. She was a rock, and seemed fearless. “Stop crying!” she demanded. But that only made Clare cry harder. Maggie tossed the box of tissue at her and said, “Stop crying and tell me what happened.”

“He took me on a picnic in a deserted little park. He had big ideas of what would happen on that blanket—and instead I told him that I couldn’t see him anymore, that I just don’t have those kind of feelings for him.”

Maggie was almost knocked back in her chair and she said, “I don’t know how you could not.”

“Well, what can I say?” Clare sniffed. “It’s true—I responded to him. I had plenty of lust. I just didn’t have love in my heart.”

“Hell, I responded to him. I don’t think that proves anything.”

“He was planning to tell me that the day he met me was the best day of his life.”

“And you couldn’t just…? You didn’t have to make a commitment to him, did you?” Maggie shook her head. “Women. Couldn’t you have enjoyed him for a time? While you’re getting back on your emotional feet?”

“And then, after using him for a while, tell him to hit the road? Oh, Maggie—”

“All right, all right.” Maggie relented. “It was a kind thing you did for him, Clare. He’s twenty-nine. He has lots of time for meaningful relationships.”

“I should have been kinder faster,” she said, and blew her nose heartily.

Maggie got out of her chair and walked around to Clare, leaning a hip on the desk. One of her least favorite things was weeping women. She, herself, never cried. She couldn’t remember the last time. But being a lawyer and handling the occasional divorce put her in the company of tearful women fairly often. “I’m going to say something to you, and you’d better hear me. You did nothing wrong. Women date men. They flirt, respond to flirting, experiment with their emotions to determine whether they have the chemistry to go further. Women and men have sex, often before they know whether there’s enough substance for the relationship to go the distance. There’s no possible way to find the right person without exploring these things. If you don’t take the risk, you chance the other extreme, which is closing yourself off, and that makes less sense than a good old-fashioned cry, when and if it has to be ended. I’m proud of you for doing what you know to be the right thing. So don’t beat yourself up for not doing it sooner.”

“He was shattered. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever seen. Done.”

“Well, who knew? It might’ve worked. It was worth giving it a shot. But generally we say at least six months of autonomy between relationships. That whole rebound thing is not fiction.”

“I just wish there was something I could do to make this easier on him,” Clare said.

“As it happens, there probably is,” Maggie said. “If you’ve made up your mind, which apparently you have, make it a clean break. Don’t play around with this. If he calls or drops by, be kind but firm—it’s time to move on. He’ll be better off. And so will you.”

“He asked me to kiss him goodbye. I could feel the dampness on his cheeks,” she added with a miserable hiccup.

“God, he is such a hunk,” Maggie said. “Not only the big, tough, good-looking guy, but sensitive. How is he single? There must be something wrong with him!”

“It might have to do with being a single father. And living with his mother.”

“He lives with his mother?”

“His mother helps him raise his daughter. It’s probably just a practical thing.”

“Still, that must impact his sex life in a very negative way.”

“You’re sure this wasn’t my fault?”

“Absolutely not. If it doesn’t fly, it doesn’t fly. You can’t force these things.”

“Is it what you would have done?”

“Me?” Maggie asked. “Oh hell no! I would have had tons of meaningless sex!”

 

Maggie called Sarah. “We might have a bit of a problem here. She did it. Clare broke it off with Sam.”

“She did?” Sarah asked, trying to keep the hopefulness from her voice. “Is she okay?”

“She’s pretty messed up, actually. But not because she has regrets. Because she said he was very upset. And last Saturday, none the wiser, I called him and invited him to her surprise birthday party in two weeks.”

“You didn’t tell me you were doing that.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think of it. I asked Jason for some names of friends he thought she’d like to have come and he came up with a few, including Sam. Should I call him, tell him not to come?”

“Well, that would be pretty rude,” she said.

“I advised Clare to make a clean break. This is no way to do that.”

“Maggie, if he’s upset and doesn’t want to see her, he won’t come.”

“And if he does?” Maggie asked.

“Well,” Sarah said, “I trust him to be polite.”

And I want him there, Sarah thought. I want to see how he is, how he looks at Clare. At me. Let’s see what he’s got.

 

Throughout the week, Clare was often caught completely lost in thought. She missed things said to her at the store and at home in the evenings she would find that while she stared at the TV, she couldn’t remember much of the program she’d been watching.

She had kept her eye on the front door of the hardware store, expecting Sam to walk in for sprinkler heads, but he didn’t. She checked her cell phone for messages, afraid there might be one and all those painful feelings visited on Monday might come rushing back. He didn’t call.

Clare was glad of this, of course. Except that she was worried about him. It was possible he’d shrugged it off and already found himself some young babe, more his type. More likely, he was suffering and hurt. That whole thing about the clean break was hard to commit to—faced with his pain, she would be tempted to take him in her arms, hold him, tell him it would be all right. That it was better this way.

She prayed he wouldn’t put her to the test.

Sam wasn’t the only man who occupied her thoughts. In a far different way, she thought a lot about what Pete had told her. She tried to remember the past in a new way, looking back through the years for a time she might’ve known her buddy, her pal, was harboring this secret crush. She just couldn’t see it.

When Mike had graduated and began taking classes in Reno, Pete and Clare were together constantly. It was like Pete was protecting Mike’s interests. For the first time she wondered why he hadn’t had a girlfriend. He had dates, but nothing seemed to click for him. Why had she never noticed? They talked about everything—why hadn’t they talked about that?

When Mike wasn’t away at school, it was very often the three of them. In fact, the only time Pete wasn’t included was at their make-out sessions. They’d go to ball games, movies, parties, skiing, beaching and hangouts together, then drop Pete off at home and park, steaming up the windows. How that must have tortured Pete, just knowing.

She spent a lot of time wondering how things might have been different. If that night hadn’t happened, Pete and Clare would have remained close in the aftermath of Mike’s death. They might’ve ended up together; Clare had loved him like a brother. That love could have easily been transformed, as she had learned that night in her apartment.

What if Pete had told her while he was making love to her? That he had always loved her, wanted her? Would that have shocked her out of the act like a cold shower? Or would it have made the whole thing seem less sinful?

But probably the most profound question was this—what if Pete had been stronger and smarter than she and had confronted her about their guilty tryst before she met and married Roger?

For the first time since it happened, she realized that Pete’s pain must have exceeded hers. His actions had been both deliberate and wrong. The burden must have been immense. Clare couldn’t decide if she was glad Pete had come clean about that childhood crush, or not. He certainly hadn’t had to—they had worked through the event and got their friendship back on track. Except that the other person who didn’t walk into the store door or call was Pete.

And, inevitably, Roger crossed her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder how he was holding up, now that it was official—she was divorcing him. But even he hadn’t called. It was a long and empty week, full of many questions and no answers.

 

Friday morning when Clare entered the hardware store, she found George at the back counter wearing a very troubled frown. “Something’s going on with your sister and I want you to find out what it is,” he said.

“Maggie?”

“No, Sarah. She’s changing. At first I didn’t notice—I don’t notice things like that.”

“Things like what?”

“Like hair and clothes. Everything is changing.”

“What? I just saw her on Sunday. Nothing was different.”

“It is now,” he said, and then he went back to his office, brooding.

Clare got a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She would never forget Sarah’s transformation.

When they buried their mother, Sarah had cried the hardest. But then she seemed to almost sink out of sight. She couldn’t get out of bed, barely ate. When Dotty came on board, she forced the girl up, shoved her into the shower, nearly spoon-fed her, but her morose mood was a terrible thing.

Maggie and Clare were not in the best shape to be objective, for their grief was terrible, as well, and they had small children who needed them. Ironically it was Roger who came to the fore. “She’s sick, Clare. We have to get her to a doctor. This isn’t just normal grief. She needs help. And fast.”

Indeed, that was confirmed immediately and Sarah was hospitalized. It was very fortunate for her that medication eased the darkness quickly and she was only in the hospital for two weeks. But change was not over for their family. While Sarah got great comfort from her counselor and her new hobbies of painting and weaving, she stopped caring about her appearance. It would have been obvious it was some sort of defiance if it hadn’t been so gradual. As she slowly replaced her clothing, she chose the plain and dull clothes that hid rather than accentuated her figure and she stopped wearing makeup altogether. Next, the contacts disappeared and the old glasses came out. Her hair, which she used to spend countless hours grooming and teasing into a high hussy mound was left thin and flat. There was a time you wouldn’t know what hair color Sarah would show up with—black, red, white-blond, or some combination. Her natural color, which was not a particularly fetching kind of dirty blond, became her new preference. It was as though she wanted to become invisible.

She would spend hours and hours in front of an easel or at her loom and could barely be coaxed away. But then she decided to go back to school and relief flooded the McCarthy family. From that point on, this new Sarah was what they were going to have. “I only wish I had made a few sensible changes before Mama died,” she said when her sisters voiced their worry over the way she looked.

“Mama wouldn’t want you to stop paying attention to your appearance completely,” they assured her.

To which Sarah said, “I bet she’d prefer this look to the previous one.” And she’d go back to her painting or weaving or art studies.

Well, if those were the only two choices, they’d rather have Sarah at least doing something productive, as long as she was healthy, which her doctor assured them she was. All that loose and wild behavior has a heavy price. A far heavier price than looking plain.

Clare didn’t waste any time in getting over to Sarah’s art shop. Sheer dread accompanied her. She just couldn’t imagine what image Sarah would present next. Had she gone to sackcloth and ashes? Was she sick again? When she opened the door and the little bell tinkled, a young woman she barely recognized came out of the studio in the back. Clare gasped and took a step backward. “Sarah?”

Sarah just smiled, giving her head a little tilt. “Hiya,” she said.

Her hair was highlighted and shaped in a bouncy cut that framed her face and curled at her shoulders, her eyes were an almost mystical green, and she was wearing slimming jeans with a crisp white blouse, tucked in and unbuttoned to almost—but not quite—her cleavage. On her feet—boots! Stylish boots with slim, high heels!

“Sarah!” Clare gasped. “Oh, God!”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think? I think you scared ten years off Dad’s life!”

“Well that’s certainly not what I intended.”

Clare came closer. “What in the world happened to you? Have you been hypnotized or something?”

“No,” she laughed. “It’s actually your doing, Clare.”

“Me? I haven’t said a word!”

“You did something much more significant. When I saw you last Friday night at the restaurant, you looked incredible. Unbelievable. I mean, you always look great, but you usually look great in your jeans. I don’t know where I’ve been—but I haven’t paid much attention to how striking you are all dressed up. That dress…”

“I’ve had that dress for three years!”

“Okay—it was a combination of things. That dress, which by the way is very sexy, but in a very elegant and chic way. Your boobs weren’t hanging out or anything. And you had that good-looking man drooling. And it got me thinking—here is my big sister, not even divorced yet, having a life.”

“Oh, Sarah,” she said, feeling the threat of tears come to her eyes. “Please tell me this is totally sane! You’re not, like, going through some manic thing…?”

“God, I hate that you all think I’m crazy. I had a very bad time when Mom died, but I got help and I’ve been happy since then. I know it seems boring to you—my pieces, my little shop. But this is my world! I just decided I’m going to expand that world. I can sculpt and weave in clothes I don’t look so homely in.”

Clare walked to her sister and touched her pretty hair.

“You know what would be so nice, Clare? If when I met you and Maggie for a glass of wine, a waiter hit on me.”

“Honey…”

“It came to me when I saw you last week—life can be bigger than this. It can be beautiful and fun. I think I’ve been hiding—just afraid to take a chance. Afraid that if I emerge, I’ll be out of control again.”

“Well, promise me you won’t take too many chances.”

“I’m thirty-three, Clare.”

“You’ll always be my little sister.”

“But I’m not made of glass. Have you any idea how taxing an exhibition is? How stressful trying to land a big sale that will keep me in business? I’m not a baby. I’m strong.”

Clare smiled at Sarah. “I guess I just don’t give you enough credit. This is good,” she said, relenting. “Maggie is going to die.”

“Well, I just hope she dies of happiness and doesn’t freak out.”