Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Other than just missing him, you mean?”

“Other than that. I mean, sure, she misses him, he’s the greatest kid in the world. But I wonder if she really thinks that transferring out of Nauset senior year is what’s best for Danny. I think she’s up to something.”

Sam sighed, giving me a rather sad smile. “You two…I don’t understand how two sisters could be so different.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Millie. To tell you the truth, I never could tell what Trish wanted, and I sure as hell don’t know now.”

“Would you want her back, Sam?” The question rose unplanned from the depths of wine I had consumed. I had never really entertained such a thought before, wrapped up as I was in the old Get Joe plan. But now that I had asked, it was suddenly very important that he say no. Sam and I stared at each other across the table. He shrugged.

“Do I want her back? No, I guess I don’t.” He tried to refill his wineglass, but the bottle was empty. “Got any more of this?” he asked.

“In the fridge.” I sat back in my chair and listened as Sam uncorked another bottle. Ever the gentleman, he came back in and filled up my glass before pouring himself some more, then sat back down and slumped comfortably in his chair.

“No. I don’t want to be married to Trish again,” he mused, taking a sip of wine. “I wasn’t thinking about divorce, but the truth is we weren’t happy for a long time. I didn’t really want to admit that, but there it is. We had Danny in common, and that was about it. I don’t think she ever got over not having the life she thought we were going to have.”

“What about you, Sam? Were you disappointed, not becoming a football player?”

He laughed. “Not really, to be honest. I would have done it, if I’d been recruited, but it’s not what I wanted to do with my life.”

“And what did you want to do?”

He paused. “Well, pretty much what I’m doing now. I love being a father, love my job. I would have liked to have had more kids, maybe…I don’t know. Trish wanted something different. I think she always felt a little trapped. But I never did. Never felt like we missed out on anything too important.”

“So are you over her?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know about that. I mean, I’ll always love her in a way, because she’s the mother of my son. Hell, she was the first girl I ever kissed. But I’m not in love with her anymore. Haven’t been in a long time, I guess. And yeah, things don’t feel so raw anymore.”

Looking at his soft, gentle eyes, I felt a strange, warm ache in my chest. “I know I’ve said this a million times, Sam,” I said, “but I always thought you were too good for her.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, just looked at me, then smiled. “Well. Thank you, Millie.” He took a deep breath and shifted in his chair. “This was an outstanding dinner.”

“I rented a movie,” I offered. “One of those spy-guy things…Robert Ludlum or Tom Clancy or somebody. Want to stay and watch it?”

“Sure. That would be great. And was that a pie I saw in your cupboard? A Nancy Barnes pie?”

“Good eye, Officer, good eye. Help me clean up, and we can make some coffee, too.”

We tidied up the kitchen, chatting about work and the summer season, then popped in the movie and drank coffee. I allowed myself a tiny slice of my mother’s incredible pie. Sam ate, no exaggeration, a third of it. Men, I thought, smiling fondly at him as Massachusetts hero Matt Damon defeated the bad guys onscreen. At the end of the movie, Sam rose to leave.

“This was really great, Millie,” he said, shrugging into his coat and bending to pet Digger.

“I’m glad you came,” I said truthfully. He stood up and gave me a hug, his chin resting on the top of my head for a beat.

“Thanks again,” he said. He opened the door, started to leave and then turned back.

“Millie?” he said.

“Yes?”

“You look beautiful, by the way.” With a half grin, he bounded off the deck. Digger and I watched him go, the fresh, damp air blowing into the kitchen.

I put the dessert dishes into the sink, shut off the lights and said good-night to my doggy. As I got into bed, my thoughts bounced between Sam and Joe. As always, I was completely dumbfounded that my sister could have left Sam Nickerson. He was so…whatever. He was, and she blew it, and someday she would be sorry.

In the meantime, I had my own problems. What had happened with Joe? What about my plan? What possible reason could there be for him not showing up? I hugged my pillow, swallowed and ordered myself to sleep. I’d think about it tomorrow. Me and Scarlett O’Hara.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I CALLED DR. BALA EARLY the next day and offered to take the daytime shift. He accepted, warned me that the EKG machine had a malfunctioning lead and hung up.

The clinic was hopping. Sunburn with blistering on a middle-aged man’s bald head; jellyfish sting on a ten-year-old boy; the old favorite, poison ivy, resulting from a boisterous bachelor party; and a mom who had slammed her finger in a car door. It was good to be busy. I x-rayed the lady’s finger, splinted it, admired her well-behaved seven-year-old daughter. The jellyfish sting was no problem, just a little itchy, so I gave the kid’s mom some cortisone cream. A prednisone prescription for the hungover bachelor, and some lidocaine cream for the sunburned baldy, with advice on wearing a hat.

Things slowed down in the afternoon, and I called a few patients to check on them, filled out some paperwork, dictated my cases and closed up. On Saturdays, the clinic closed at five. It was a beautiful day, clear and dry after last night’s rain, and Route 6 was packed with tourists. I got home and changed into my running clothes, Digger staring fixedly at my sneakers and wagging maniacally. He knew what sneakers meant. I pulled a T-shirt over my head (Free Your Inner Lance) and headed out for a leisurely run.

I was now a proficient runner in that I didn’t have to stop every thirty yards to vomit, wheeze or collapse. Granted, I would never be a natural athlete, and my stride was short and slow, but I had actually come to enjoy running, the fresh, salty air, the time with my dog, and, best of all, the smugness I felt when I was done. Today, the breeze rushed overhead, the sun beat down in bright, cheerful beams. I could hear the song of the beach as I ran down Ocean View, the cries of the gulls and shrieks of children mixing with the roar of the waves, waxing and waning with the breeze.

Now that I had no distractions, my thoughts of Joe, kept energetically at bay for the past twelve hours, returned with a sodden thump. Now what was I going to do the next time we saw each other? Pretend nothing had happened? That would be tough. I loved him, for God’s sake. I had sunk a lot of time, money and effort into getting him to notice me. And he had! So what the hell had gone wrong?

I finished my run and went inside, sweaty and irritable. I sat grumpily in my living room, not even feeling motivated to shower. Katie would be working. Curtis had put up with me enough last night. Maybe I would drop in on my parents…but then my mom would want to know how dinner had gone, and I’d have to tell her that I’d been stood up. Perhaps a drive into Boston to see Janette? Nah. Traffic was too heavy, and I lacked the energy. Clearly, I needed more friends. Maybe Sam would want to catch a movie.

Digger leaped up as if shot, barking maniacally as he jumped against the back door. I heaved myself out of my chair, running a hand through my sweaty hair. It was probably my dad, dropping by to see if I needed any man-things done around the house.

Joe Carpenter stood on my back porch.

All coherent thought drained from my head. I opened the door mechanically, and Digger launched himself at Joe, still barking. Joe bent and patted his head, grinning at me, and Digger quieted.

“Hi, Millie,” he said with a chuckle.

“Joe,” I breathed.

“You forgot, didn’t you? Wow, I can’t believe it.” He straightened up and shook his head. “Millie, Millie, Millie. You invited me for dinner, remember?” He wagged a finger at me. “Bad girl.”

“But…but…” I stammered. My brain refused to accept the horror that was dawning: Joe here. Me, sweaty and flushed. Joe here. Wrong day. Of course, he had gotten the day wrong…but he was here. And oh, God, I looked…

“Can I come in?” Joe asked, his dimples flashing again.

“Oh! Of course, sure.” I backed up and let him in. Digger followed, his nose glued to Joe’s work boots, sniffing with religious fervor.

“Joe, it was—you actually—” I said. A light flared in my brain. “God, I did forget. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he replied amiably. “Can I stay?”

“Yes! Sure! Uh, just let me, you know, I just got back from a run…” I cringed mentally, knowing how I looked—and smelled.

“Sure. Take your time.” He looked around the kitchen. “So nothing’s cooking, huh?”

“Um, no. But I can whip us up something after I jump in the shower.” Again I winced, knowing that the most elaborate thing I’d ever whipped up was toast. Thanks to Sam last night, there were no leftovers, either.

“Sure, whatever. Got any beer?” I nodded and Joe opened the fridge and helped himself to a Corona.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be quick,” I said, trying to back out of the kitchen in a dignified manner. I bumped into the door frame, then turned and fled to the bathroom.

In a frenzied manner, I peeled off my T-shirt, sports bra, shorts, shoes and socks. I avoided the mirror. Shit! But thank God! He hadn’t blown me off; he’d just had the wrong night. All that money and time, down the drain—or, more accurately, down Sam’s esophagus. Don’t worry about it, Millie. He’s here.

I leaped into the shower without waiting for the water to heat up and doused my damp head. Furiously lathering shampoo into my hair, I mentally went over what to wear, what to do with my hair, how much makeup I could put on without taking forever. Joe had turned on the stereo and had one of the Cape’s classic rock stations tuned in—Black Sabbath blared over the speakers, a far cry from last night’s carefully chosen CDs. Frantically, I toweled off my hair. Blowing it dry would not work…didn’t want to give Joe the impression that I was a high-maintenance kind of woman.

I slapped on some moisturizer, mascara and lipstick, yanked on my robe and leaped across the hall to my bedroom. From the closet, I pulled on some cropped jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt, brushed my hair out and slapped on a hair band. Thank God for hair bands. Was I ready? No. Shoes. I grabbed some sandals and stuffed my feet into them. Looking in the mirror on the back of my door, I took a few fortifying breaths.

Your man is here, Millie, I told myself. Nothing has changed. Calm down. This is a big night. Not what you had planned, but still. Joe Carpenter is out there waiting for you.

At least my house was clean. And there were still flowers on the table, making it seem like I always had flowers on the table. Joe smiled as I came into the kitchen. He was standing at the stove, stirring. His jeans looked soft with age, slightly torn at each knee, and he wore a blue T-shirt. I had never seen a more beautiful male in my entire life.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yup,” I said, getting a beer out of the fridge.

“I found this in the cupboard. I love this stuff,” Joe said. He was stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese, the really orange kind that comes in a box, which I kept on hand for Katie’s boys.

“Oh,” I said, the grocery bill from last night flashing through my mind. “That’s great.” Fattening, salty, pasty…pretty much Cheetos in a less crunchy form. Joe stopped stirring. Taking me by the shoulders, he gave me a quick, soft kiss. My stomach flip-flopped most pleasantly.