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“Have you started your applications?” I asked sweetly.

The daughters looked away. The mothers got a look of grim determination in their eyes.

Then I reached over and grabbed one of the college application kits from Sean Ryan’s rapidly diminishing pile. “Here you go,” I said. “I’ll even save you from having to go over and stand in that long line over there. Just write down your e-mail address and zip code for the nice man over there. You’ll breeze right through your college applications with this.”

“Did your kids use it?” one of the mothers asked.

“Absolutely,” I said. “All five of them loved it.” When she walked away, I thought about Lizzie. I wondered if I should call her to say I was waiting for her father to call. I wondered if Craig would actually call. I wondered if there was a way to get out of talking to Craig that would still let me get Lizzie back into my life.

It was a long, grueling couple of hours, but Sean Ryan and I managed to survive the entire fair, which felt like a cross between a circus and a root canal without the drugs. I got up and stretched, then started counting my used makeup sponges.

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“So, once again, we missed the sumo wrestling,” Sean Ryan said. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am.” He walked around to the front of my end of the table and pointed at a guy in white diapers coming out of the men’s room.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why did he need the men’s room if he’s wearing a diaper? It’s redundant.” I put the sponges back on the table again. “Damn, now you made me forget what number I was on.” I started picking up sponges again as I counted.

“Why are you counting used sponges?” I threw the sponges back on the table. “If you must know, I’m trying to see how much I suffered, and you’re certainly not making it any easier.”

I looked up so I could glare at him. He smiled. “Did anybody ever tell you what a sunny disposition you have?”

“Yeah,” I said. “All the time.”

“Great,” he said. “Maybe it’ll turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.” Precious jumped up on the table, and Sean Ryan picked her up. “Listen, just in case it’s helpful, you might want to compare the ratio of the number of makeup applications you did to the number of kits you sold.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “As if I was going to do their makeup if they didn’t buy a kit.”

• 16 •

WE DIDN’T KNOW OF ANY DOG-FRIENDLY RESTAURANTS

in Rhode Island, so we decided to get the drive out of the way and then pick up fish and chips in Marshbury to eat at the beach. I counted my cash while Sean Ryan drove the Prius north on 95. I had well over a thousand dollars in my hot little hands.

“You can order whatever you want,” I said. I arranged all the bills from smallest to largest, and made sure all the dead presidents’ heads were facing the same way. I always did this with my tips, too. There’s nothing more soothing than a well-organized pile of cash.

Sean Ryan smiled. “Be careful,” he said. “I’m liable to order the french fries
and
the onion rings.”

“They’re your arteries.”

“Good strategy. Maybe I’ll just watch you eat.” I folded over the wad of bills, wrapped a hair elastic around it, and buried it in the bottom of my shoulder bag. “So,” I said,

“you’re not really test marketing the guidance counselor’s kit for free, are you? I mean, don’t you have to make a living?

Even with the gas mileage you get on your Prius?” Sean Ryan looked over briefly, then put his eyes right back on the road. He was a good driver, steady and confident without being show-offy. “Don’t worry, I have some other things going on. I have lots of irons in the fire, different projects at various stages.”

“So, what, you’re an entrepreneur?”

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“Yeah, essentially. I think the dictionary definition is a risk-taking businessman who sets up and finances new commercial enterprises to make a profit.” He put on his blinker and moved into the passing lane. “I like to start things, and then I like to get rid of them before they get boring.”

“How many times did you say you’ve been married again?” Sean Ryan laughed that big laugh of his again. “Just once.

But I have to tell you my wife hated it when I left my corporate marketing job and went out on my own. I felt free as a bird, but she was terrified of the risk. And she missed the pension plan. I started a SEP-IR A, but it just wasn’t the same for her.” He looked over at me again. “A joke,” he said.

“Cute,” I said. “So what other kinds of projects are you involved in?”

“A small brewery that’s working on making a beer with as many antioxidants as red wine.”

“Is that possible?”

“Sure. Right now a nice high-end beer contains more than twice the antioxidants of white wine, and half that of red. But there’s some evidence that the large antioxidant molecules found in red wine may be less readily absorbed by the body than the smaller molecules found in beer. So, if we can up the antioxidant level at the same time we buzz the absorption issue . . .”

I looked at him. “Buzz the absorption issue?” He shrugged. “You asked. Also, I invest in property development, mostly waterfront condos.”

“My father would call you a barracuda,” I said.

“Yeah, well, the way I look at it, they’re going to happen with or without me, and I can help keep them green and aesthetically pleasing. Anyway, I’m also involved in a couple of Summer Blowout

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microfinance projects in developing countries. You know, a group gets together to help create and consolidate local finan-cial structures to manage loans and savings—”

“Oh, that,” I said. “I was just talking to some friends about getting one of those together.” I looked over at him. “A joke,” I said.

Sean Ryan cleared his throat. “We also facilitate access to technical advice to improve local income-generating activities, things like agriculture, livestock, and fishery produc-tion. It’s really interesting stuff. And it’s nice to feel like you’re helping people who need it.”

“Is that how you pick your projects?”

“Sometimes. And sometimes I pick them so I can eat.”

“Or so a guidance counselor with a dream can eat?” Sean Ryan shrugged. “I’ll take the kits to a college fair in Atlanta next weekend, then I’ll help him pull all the feedback together.”

“Did you just say you’re going to be in Atlanta next weekend?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Me, too. My nephew’s getting married at the Margaret Mitchell House.”

“Will you get to watch
Gone With the Wind
?”

“Not very original.” I shook my head. “You know, I’ve never been to a Southern wedding, but I’m a little bit afraid they’re going to serve okra.”

“Okraphobic, huh? Well, get ready, it’s in season from May through October. Actually, it’s not bad. And it’s high in fiber, calcium, and folic acid.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said.

Sean Ryan smiled. “Anyway, if you feel like fitting in a

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college fair first, feel free to use half of my table again. But I call the right side this time.”

“Sure,” I said. A few hours at a college fair would pay for my whole weekend, including hotel and airfare. But what I was really thinking about was how much easier it would be to handle a wedding that my half sister would most likely be attend-ing with my ex-husband if I had a date. Not a date date, of course. Just someone to make me look a little less conspicuously single. “I know,” I said. “How about I go to the college fair with you, and then you can come to my nephew’s wedding with me?”

Sean Ryan grinned. “Why, Bella Shaughnessy, you’re not asking me out on a date, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I just want you there to eat my okra.”

IT WAS A PERFECT LATE SUMMER
night to sit on the beach and eat fish and chips. I’d packed a little can of dog food for Precious, since I didn’t know how long we’d be gone. I pulled off the flip top and set it down on the sand, and she began eating daintily from the can. I could tell she would have preferred a nice bowl, but she was being a good sport about it.

“Well,” Sean Ryan said. “One week later and here we are again. You know, I’m starting to think of this as our beach.” I opened my mouth, then closed it again when I saw he was smiling. “Cute,” I said.

A seagull flew just overhead, assessing its chances for a french fry. “Don’t even think about it,” I yelled. The seagull turned and headed out over the ocean.

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Sean Ryan raised an eyebrow. “So, what, now you’re talking back to seagulls?”

“It worked, didn’t it? If the tourists would just stop feeding them and turning them into beach pigeons . . .”

“Beach pigeons,” he said. “I like that. It has a nice ring to it.” He stabbed at his fish with a plastic fork, and the fork snapped in half.

I laughed.

“Thanks,” he said. He reached for the fish with his fingers and broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. “It tastes better like this anyway.”

I ditched my fork, too, and ate a piece of fish with my fingers. “You’re right,” I said.

“That’s a first,” he said. “Not that I’m counting. Okay, let’s talk about the dog. I think the first thing you need to do is look into the laws about lost-and-found pets.” Precious had finished her meal and was whipping a piece of seaweed around down by the water. “I disagree,” I said. “I think the first thing we need to do is disguise her.”

“Okay,” he said. “And how might
we
do that?” I took another bite of fish, then closed the Styrofoam take-out container. “Come on,” I said. “We can finish these at Salon de Paolo.”

SEAN RYAN WAS USING THE SALON
computer to search the Internet, and I was mixing up some Aveda Full Spectrum Protective Permanent Crème Hair Color. It was the darkest color they made, Level 1, which was a blue black, what I thought of as coal black. Far too many older women picked a 122

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dark, shoe polishy color like this, hoping to return to the deep color of their youth, and they never even noticed it was so harsh it washed out their coloring and called attention to each and every wrinkle. Women’s hair color should always go lighter as they age.

But Level 1 was a great color for a dog, and this particular product was 97 percent natural and fairly gentle for a permanent color. I was a little bit concerned about using it so soon after those highlights, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

I screwed the top on the applicator bottle and started shaking it. I loved being in the salon after hours. It reminded me of when we were little kids, and we’d get to hang out with my father while my mother cooked a big Sunday dinner, and he caught up on work. He’d pull out some bins filled to the brim with pink rollers and silver hair clips for us, and Angela, Mario, and I would go to town on our dolls.

We’d start by washing their hair in the sinks. I had a Tressy doll. She had a tiny key that was attached to a white belt wrapped around her waist. You inserted the key in her back, very
Stepford Wives
in hindsight, and I remembered wondering if it hurt her. You twisted the key to make her hair shorter, but before I washed Tressy, I’d push the button in her tummy and yank on the hair to make it as long as it would go.