Author: Kristan Higgins

“Guess what?” I asked in my adorable, merry way.

“What, kiddo?” answered Sam gamely.

“I started running today,” I said. “As in, ‘I will someday run in the Boston Marathon’ running.”

Now Sam, as an ex–Notre Dame football player, had obviously been something of an athlete and was still in good shape. He ran, played softball in the town league and probably did other physical things related to his profession. His interest, however, was muted, and he merely nodded and took another sip of beer.

“Want to hear how far?” I tempted, not above using my own degradation to bring a smile to my brother-in law’s face.

“Sure.”

“One point seven miles.”

This caught his attention. “Really,” he said, looking slightly less tragic. “How long did that take you?”

“Oh, gosh, let’s see now,” I answered. “Um, about twenty-eight minutes.”

His laughter bounced off the walls, and I grinned along with him.

“Christ, Millie, I can crawl faster than that.”

“Ha, ha, gosh, you’re so funny, you stupid jock. I’m just starting, you know.”

Our wings arrived, and I, who had worked so very hard that day, felt that surely I deserved at least eight of them. We slurped our way through the food as old pals can, and I watched him for signs of suicidality or vegetative depression. None so far.

Sam was pretty attractive. Not the masculine perfection that was Joe, who had been the subject of at least three catfights in which the authorities had been called. Sam was averagely clean-cut, American attractive, tall and lean, light brown hair going to gray, beautiful, sad hazel eyes with crinkles at the corners. Gentle voice, nice smile. He was such a kind man, so sweet and hardworking. And yes, I had a master plan to fix his life, bring him happiness and undo some of the misery my sister had wrought. But I had to do this gently, because, after all, the poor guy had only been divorced a few hours.

“How’s your dad?” Sam asked as the waitress cleared our plates.

“Dad’s okay. You know. He’s still furious with, uh, Trish, but uh, you know how much he loves you.” Whoops! I didn’t mean to mention the T word. Sam grunted in response.

“So, Sam, how are you doing?” I asked in my best compassionate-doctor voice. He smiled sadly, tragically. I clenched my teeth hard for a minute.

“I’m okay, I guess.” He took a deep breath and another swig of beer, then rubbed his palms on his jeans. “It’s just that…well, I keep wondering what I did wrong. I never saw it coming.”

“Really?”

“Well, I mean, I knew she wasn’t happy. Neither of us was, but we weren’t exactly miserable, either.”

“Why wasn’t she happy?” I asked curiously.

“I don’t know! Don’t you guys talk about stuff like that? Ask her. She’s your sister.” Sam shot me an irritated glance, then began picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“Well, Trish and I aren’t exactly close,” I murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you, big guy. It’s just…I don’t know, a marriage doesn’t fall apart just like that, does it?”

Sam sighed. “Probably not. She complained about me working too much, but, well, we had lots of bills. And she was happy to spend whatever I brought in.”

True enough. My sister liked nice things, a term she used to describe her spending habits. Others might use foolish or irresponsible.

“And…I don’t know, Millie. We got to a point where we knew things weren’t really working, but we didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t anything concrete, just this sense of things not being…right. I didn’t know how to fix it, so I basically just ignored it until the boyfriend came along.”

That was probably the longest paragraph I’d ever heard Sam utter, and he seemed to regret saying it. He took a long pull from his beer, then said, “It’s weird not to be married anymore. I’ve always been married, you know?”

“Sure,” I said. “It’ll take some time.” Six months and counting, I added silently. “And as for Trish, well, she’s just…she’s always wanted so much,” I finished lamely. “She’s kidding herself if she thinks she’s going to be happy with Mr. New Jersey.”

“Right,” Sam said tersely. I winced and made a mental note to avoid mentioning Trish’s lover.

“Guess what?” I said. “I’m getting a dog.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup. I think I’ll name him Sam.”

He smiled. “It’s good to have you back on the Cape, Millie.”

I smiled back, and we chewed our celery sticks without further discussion, listening to the music and watching a game of darts. Then Sam glanced up. “Oh, hey, Joe,” he said casually.

My heart froze, my face froze, my mind—yes, you guessed it—froze. I looked up. And there he was.

It was like a play, when the spotlight shines only on the leading man. Joe Carpenter stood at our table, smiling down at us, dimples flirting, white teeth gleaming. Lust and panic flooded my veins in equal measure.

“Hey, Joe,” I said, my heart suddenly pounding, mouth dry.

“Hey, guys. Mind if I sit down a sec?” Joe asked, pulling a chair around and straddling it. He wore faded blue jeans, a flannel shirt and work boots, and I swear to you, he was the most desirable and delicious man God ever made, thank you, Father, thank you, Son, thank you, Holy Spirit.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Sam answered. “What are you doing so far from home?”

“Oh, just out on a date,” Joe replied, turning his beautiful, smiling green eyes to me. “Hey, Millie.”

“Hey, Joe,” I said again, wracking my brain for a clever comment.

“What about you two?” Joe asked. “What are you doing up here? Arresting someone, Sam?”

My heart thudded so hard my chest hurt. Why hadn’t I put on makeup? Why wasn’t I wearing something other than a Holy Cross sweatshirt? Did I have on earrings? Was chicken wing stuck in my teeth? Trying to save Sam from having to explain that this was Divorce Day and also to say something adorably memorable, I fumbled for an answer.

“Oh, we heard this place had good food,” I said.

Then, walking across the room, hips swaying, blond hair flowing as if in a shampoo commercial, came Joe’s date. Tall. Skinny. Big boobs despite the skinniness, their cantaloupe-like roundness announcing them as store-bought. Unlike me, she seemed to know what to wear to a bar in Provincetown: she had on a wide-necked shirt and interesting earrings that matched the blue in her blouse and, no doubt, her eyes.

“There you are,” she said, placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder in a statement of ownership. Yes, I could now see that her eyes were indeed blue—Caribbean-blue, I believe Bausch & Lomb called them.

“Oh, hey,” Joe said, grinning easily at the blond one, “let me introduce you. This is Sam, this is Millie, and this is Autumn.”

“Actually, it’s Summer,” she said with a glare. Sam swallowed a smile and I bit my lip.

“Right,” said Joe, unremorseful. “You’re just so pretty, I forgot for a minute.” Gross.

She bought it, gracing him with a tight smile. For us, she had nothing.

“Well,” said Sam. “We’ll let you get back to your night. Nice meeting you, Summer,” he said, standing. “See you, Joe.”

I sat frozen for a moment. Was I going to have to stand? This would mean Joe and Summer would see that I was still chubby, the day’s run notwithstanding. But, no, gracious Joe also stood. He smiled down at me and I managed to smile back.

“Bye,” I said.

“Bye, Millie,” he answered. Summer apparently didn’t think that a goodbye was necessary, for she just walked away, tiny little behind twitching.

I dragged my gaze away from Joe’s perfect backside and looked at the table. Say something, I commanded myself, not wanting Sam to see the love I had for Joe written all over my face. Feigning normalcy, I asked Sam if he wanted another beer.

While seeing Joe with another woman never felt good, it was certainly not uncommon. For sixteen years now, I had watched him with other women, and I didn’t expect that someone as gorgeous, sweet and hardworking as Joe would be alone. Of course, it bothered me a little. He was always with someone like Summer, someone very pretty and not really nice. These relationships never seemed to last.

I wholeheartedly believed that once I had Joe’s attention, he would see in me all that he had been missing with other women. I was smart, nice, funny, undemanding. And let’s not forget I was a doctor, for crying out loud, helping the sick, comforting their families, and, once in a while, saving a life! A pretty cool job, if I did say so. Once I became as attractive as I could become (short of plastic surgery and diuretics), Joe would finally see me as something more than an old classmate and fall in love with me.

Maybe you’re wondering where I got the chutzpah, the hubris, the balls to go after a guy like Joe. After all, the longest relationship I’d had was less than six weeks. The thing was, I’d spent most of my life in love with Joe Carpenter. I would be turning thirty soon. I figured it was now or never, and if I was going to try to get Joe, I was going to give it all I had.

I put the encounter with Joe in the back of my mind…another trick I’d mastered over the decades. Later I would examine every detail with excruciating fervor, rating myself, considering what I could do better, psyching myself up for next time. But for now, I put the incident aside. After all, I was used to pretending Joe was just an ordinary guy.

Joe and What’s-Her-Name were occupied playing pool when Sam and I left a little while later. We strolled down to where we’d parked.

“So, Sam, you’re not going to go home, listen to a Norah Jones CD, get drunk and cry, are you?” I asked as we got into the car.

“Well, I think I’ll probably pass on that one,” he said amiably. “Another time, maybe.”

“You’re a good boy. An excellent role model for my dog.”

“Don’t you dare name your dog after me,” he laughed.

When we got back home, I felt warm and fuzzy, like a good sister-in-law, though officially, I wasn’t one anymore. Sam kissed my cheek, thanked me and walked inside his big house, looking, I believed, not nearly so wicked sad as he had earlier. “Hang in there, buddy,” I murmured, putting my car in reverse. “Life is about to get better.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT MORNING, I GOT OUT of bed and collapsed to my knees. My God! What had happened to me? Every muscle south of my scalp had seized like a bad engine. Scrabbling with my quilt, I hauled myself up and lurched stiff-legged into the bathroom, swinging my pelvis like John Wayne to minimize any leg extension. Knives of pain shot up my Achilles tendons into my calves. I’d been hobbled. Whimpering, I bent to the faucet for a mouthful of water and gulped down four Motrin.

My pain turned to joy as I mounted the bathroom scale. I had lost not one but two, two whole pounds! Of course, I knew this was just fluid loss from my excessive perspiring yesterday, and that I couldn’t really have lost two pounds of fat in one day, that the complex workings of the human body just won’t allow that, but long before I was a doctor, I was an overweight American woman, and guess what? I lost two pounds, that’s what!

Katie and her sons arrived a little while later. Corey was six years old, Mikey three. Like her sons, Katie had creamy blond hair and sky-blue eyes, making her my polar opposite. Her beauty attracted dozens of admiring men, but Katie…well, since her divorce, Katie had become a bit hardened. Maybe even before that, but since Elliott left her, she just didn’t, as she put it, have a lot of time for crap.