WEEK LATER, MY THRILL at putting Lorenzo of the Crabs in his place had significantly faded. Sure, it had been a moment, and Joe had seen me in that moment. Beside that, I had stuck up for Katie and my other fellow Cape Codders. But I was still alone. No interim boyfriend. No Joe. No closer to getting Joe.

I had lost count of how long it had been since I’d been properly kissed. A long time. More than…I hated even to think it…more than a year. It had been in Boston. A first date with a nice radiology tech. We’d had a really great time, dinner and a stroll down Newbury Street. He kissed me good night at my apartment door. Kissed me very well, as a matter of fact. The next week, I’d seen him smooching a nurse in the ultrasound room, and that was that.

With Memorial Day, tourism season hit full swing, and I saw happy families everywhere. Thousands of couples. Lots of hand-holding. Lots of laughter. Sure, they were on vacation, so what wasn’t there to smile about? And every time I saw such a couple, whether they were sixty-five or twenty-five, with kids or without, I felt a familiar hollowness echoing in me. My heart had a lot of room. I had a lot to offer. Friendship. Love. Loyalty. Humor. Free medical care. Whatever. When, I wondered late at night, was I going to be able to give it away? When would I have a guy laugh at my jokes? When would someone bring me a cup of coffee, fixed just how I liked it? When would I have a little sticky hand in mine as a child looked trustingly up at me?

A few times, Joe and I ran into each other…the post office (he usually went around 4:30); Fleming’s Donut Shack (10:30—he always got a coffee roll and a light coffee with three sugars); the grocery store (this one was a genuine coincidence, since I had been unable to stalk this out). When I was checking patients at the senior center, I’d linger in the parking lot, watching for Joe, hoping our paths would cross.

Each time I saw my golden boy, he was friendly, sweet—and brief. Each time I would get a “Hey, Millie, how are you?” Each time I would will him to notice my more attractive state, certain that if he just paid attention, he’d fall crazy in love with me. But Joe was the same, pleasant and cheerful, always on his way somewhere, and if he noticed me in a special way, he hid it well. I was at a loss. Short of molesting him in the parking lot, I didn’t know what my next step should be.

As for my other little project, Katie and Sam, that was going nowhere as well. Twice we’d planned a night out, and twice our plans had fallen through, once because Corey had a cold and once because Sam had to cover a shift unexpectedly. We’d been unable to reschedule yet. Granted, Katie was busy. Actually, busy wasn’t the right word. Busy sounds like she had a bunch of errands to do, when in fact she was raising two children, which is a bit more than that. Busy is when you need to do your grocery shopping, clean the bathroom and go to work all on the same day. Raising two children, especially without a husband, was a holy mission.

This was all the more reason that I wanted my friend to be with Sam. I could just see them together, Sam with another chance to be a father, Katie finally with someone to take care of her. Not that her parents didn’t help…they did. But Sam…he was such a wonderful father. I’d seen him with many kids over the years, giving a talk to Danny’s Boy Scout troop or lecturing on bike safety at the Visitors Center. What woman wouldn’t want to be married to a guy like that?

But there he sat, spinning his wheels while Katie blanched at the slightest thought of a relationship with anyone. And yet they’d be perfect together. They were both on the serious side. They were both parents of boys, both attractive, quite so. They both had hearts of gold, if not platinum. And, of course, they both liked me, so they had that in common.

I had the chance to bring up this subject more bluntly, since it was apparent that bluntness was called for. As I grimly huffed up the hill between Coast Guard and Nauset Light beaches one sunny day, I glimpsed a fellow runner behind me, taking the hill without apparent effort and gaining fast. Digger began leaping with glee. I looked again. It was Sam.

“Looking good, Millie!” he called, grinning. How people could smile—or speak—while running was beyond me.

“Hey…Sam,” I wheezed. I lurched to a stop—this was my third mile after all—but Sam loped to my side.

“Don’t stop, Mil,” he said, smacking me on the shoulder (the pain meant to distract me from my respiratory distress, perhaps?). “You’re doing great! How far have you gone?” He now turned around, running backward, quite easily keeping pace with me.

“Keep going,” I panted. “Nothing…to see. Move along.”

“Why, kiddo? I’ll run with you. It’ll be fun.”

I glared at him evilly, sweat running into my eyes. “Sam, if I could catch you…I’d strangle you. I hate you.”

“Really, Mil, you’re doing great. Don’t worry about how fast you’re going. Just relax and loosen up.”

I willed him away, as I was incapable of speech. Loosen up. Right. As soon as my muscles unseized, I would definitely loosen up.

“Here,” he said, still running backward. “Do what I do.” He shook out his arms and rolled his head around, somehow not looking like an ass as he did so. I reluctantly copied him, if only to distract myself briefly from the sharp pain in my calves.

“You have to make sure you drink enough beforehand,” he advised, coach-like. “Otherwise, your muscles will ache.”

“Okay, Notre Dame,” I puffed.

“Do you stretch out after?” he asked, finally, mercifully turning to run frontward. This made me look less pathetic, I hoped. We started down the hill, and my breathing became less labored.

“No,” I confessed. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just put on my sneakers and go.”

“I’ll run you home,” Sam volunteered. “I can show you some stuff. It makes a big difference.”

“How far do you…usually run?” I asked between gasps.

“Oh, I don’t know. Six or seven miles. Ten sometimes. Depends on my schedule.”

“Wow! Ten miles! I’ll never…get that far.” Today, in fact, was the farthest I’d ever run, it being past three miles now. I usually walked the last mile of my outing, but with Sam at my side, I didn’t want to stop. Ten miles. Damn him. I sneaked a glance at him. He looked calm and unsweaty…effortless. He was even smiling. How irritating! We rounded the turn onto my road. Only half a mile to go! My legs seemed to have sandbags tied to them, but I didn’t want Sam thinking I was a whiner.

“Sam, you should…ask Katie out,” I said, unable to let nature take its course on this one. Sometimes nature needed a shove.

“Katie?” He looked at me sharply, obviously surprised.

“Yes, Katie,” I answered, trying to control my breathing so I wouldn’t hyperventilate in front of FloJo here. He didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you think it’s time?” I panted. “Katie’s nice. You know that. She’d be a good way to, you know, break the Trish curse.”

Sam laughed. “Trish curse? What exactly is that?”

I smiled at him…and at my neighbor’s mailbox, the sign that the torture was about to end. “You know…making you feel that you’re…that you’re…”

“A loser?”

“Jeez, Sam! I was trying to be diplomatic!” I darted a quick look at his face, and he seemed okay. “I too suffer from…the Trish curse, after all…We’re home! Thank you, dear, dear Jesus.”

I stumbled to an abrupt halt in my rutted driveway, bracing myself against a sticky pitch pine and gasping. My dog whined to be let off the leash, and I obliged, amazed as always that he could circle madly around the yard or chase chipmunks in the woods after our ordeal.

“No, no, you don’t,” Sam the know-it-all instructed, grabbing my arm and towing me toward the house. “You walk until you’re cooled off. Then you stretch. Come on.”

“I really do hate you, Sam,” I said. He smiled but otherwise ignored me, leading me up the driveway, which was a good fifty feet long. Then he proceeded to force me into myriad stretches designed to relieve the strain my poor body had been under. But it was good, because where was I going to learn this stuff otherwise? Even though I felt kind of like a jerk, I paid attention as he showed me what to do. And by the time we were done, a mere ten minutes after arriving home, I wasn’t sweating anymore and my legs weren’t trembling; I didn’t feel like throwing up, and I could breathe normally again. So it worked, I guess.

“Thanks, Sam,” I said, letting Digger inside. “Come on in, I’ll give you a drink of water for all your hard work.”

As we leaned against my counter, I brought Katie up again.

“So, Sam…what about Katie?” I asked. “What do you think?”

Sam petted Digger’s silky head. “Uh, I don’t know, Mil,” he said awkwardly, avoiding my eyes and concentrating on the dog.

“I think she’d say yes, you know,” I encouraged.

“Have you guys talked about this?” he asked suspiciously.

“No! Come on, Sam. This is not eighth grade, though it probably would have been easier back then.”

“I don’t think I want to date anybody just yet,” he said, scratching Digger’s ears vigorously, not looking at me. Digger began to moan with joy, a sign that he was becoming aroused. Soon he would be humping Sam’s leg, but Sam didn’t need to know that.

“Sam, it’s been, what, six, seven months since Trish left you? Don’t you want some female companionship? It’s only Katie! She’s not going to expect a ring and a marriage proposal, for God’s sake.”

Sam slid onto the floor to better scratch my dog’s proffered tummy.

“I’ve got you and your mom for female companionship. And Ethel.” Ethel was Sam’s partner on the Eastham P.D. She was about sixty years old, with a leathery face, nicotine-stained teeth and the ability to curse so obscenely that she could put a Portuguese sailor to shame.

“Ethel is not a woman,” I said. I sat down on the floor with him, and Digger wriggled over to me, his tail thumping loudly on the fridge as he enjoyed the simultaneous tummy scratch.

“Well, Mil, I don’t know if Katie’s really my type,” Sam murmured.

“Not your type? She’s gorgeous! And she’s nice, mostly. Plus, you already know her.”

“Sure, I like her. She’s great. I just…I don’t know. I don’t really think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Just say, ‘Hey, Katie, want to grab a bite sometime?’ How bad is that? Is that so hard, Sam, dear? Is it?”

He laughed. “Okay, okay, lay off. I’ll ask her out. But you know, nothing romantic. Just two old pals.”

“Perfect!” I exclaimed. “God, you are so stubborn.”

“Me? No, Millie, kiddo, I’m not the stubborn one on this floor,” he replied with a grin.

“Then you must be referring to Digger,” I said, smiling back.

“Digger’s a good boy,” Sam crooned at my puppy, who then mounted Sam’s leg. I giggled as Sam, horrified, pried him off. Aha! I was thinking. Love, and not just from Digger, was just around the corner.

A FEW NIGHTS LATER, Katie, Sam and I were seated around a table at the Barnacle. Katie had said she didn’t mind going there, though I suspected this was to give me a chance to see Joe. Whatever her reasons, I appreciated it.

If Katie suspected that I was trying to fix her up with Sam, she hadn’t said anything, and I took this as a positive sign. Many times in the past three years, she had told me that she just needed to concentrate on her sons, that a boyfriend was the last thing she wanted and the thought of being married again gave her the cold sweats.

But of course, she was thinking of being with someone like her horrible ex-husband. Not someone like Sam. Never before had Sam been free for speculation, and believe me, there was speculation. Every single woman in Eastham under the age of seventy was hankering for a shot with him. I didn’t want Katie to miss the boat.

We had to raise our voices to be heard over the din of the packed restaurant. From the bar, a crowd cheered as the Sox scored. Servers and busboys hustled about, rattling plates and silverware, keeping the customers content. Tonight was the night. I smiled at my friends across the brightly colored tablecloth, imagining the nice couple they’d make. Sam, clad in khakis and a white polo shirt, shifted in his chair, glanced at me and began peeling the label off his beer bottle. Katie gazed out at the crowd, no doubt assessing the flow of the service and the contentment of the patrons. I sighed. They needed help, these two.

“So, Sam, how’s Danny?” I asked, hitting on Sam’s favorite subject.

“He’s great,” Sam answered. Katie turned to look at him and smiled, too.

“Is he playing baseball this summer?” she asked.

“Yup. He’ll be shortstop for Bluebeard’s Bait and Tackle.” Sam returned his attention to the label.

“Two of my brothers are playing, too,” Katie said. “I think Trev is playing for Bluebeard’s. And you’re playing for Sleet’s Hardware, right, Sam?”

“Yes. First base.”

Summer softball was regarded as almost a sacred ritual here. There was a league for women, which even I had played in many years ago, and another for men. Katie’s brothers played, Joe played, Sam played, even my dad had played, although he had retired from the sport in a ceremony rivaling anything at Fenway. When Danny had turned seventeen this past winter, he had qualified, and the fact that he was varsity baseball hadn’t hurt. Now with my nephew and the object of my desire playing, I would be going to my fair share of games.

I gritted my teeth as the silence continued. Speak to her, idiot, I silently commanded Sam. He didn’t obey.

“I haven’t seen a game in a long time,” I announced. “Katie, we’ll have to go. When do you play, Sam?”

“Well, um, we start in a few weeks,” he mumbled, picking away.

“Great!” I barked, hoping to snap him out of his fog. The urge to kick him in the shins was strong. I psychically threatened him to look sharp, and this time he seemed to hear me.

“So, Katie, how are your boys?” he asked, putting the beer bottle at a safe distance.

“They’re good. Fine. Thanks.”

I ground my teeth and gave her a look.

“What?” Katie asked.

“What are the boys doing? Give Sam some details. He doesn’t talk to you every day, like I do.”

“Um, okay, let’s see. Well, Millie had them for a sleepover a few days ago, and they loved that. They really love her dog, and now of course they want one, too. And, um, they’re in the library reading program, well, Corey is.”

“Oh, really? What’s he reading these days?” Sam straightened up and leaned toward Katie. See? I wanted to tell her. See how interested he is? See what a good daddy he would be?

“He likes the Magic Tree House series. And I’m reading Harry Potter to him, and he loves that. And Mike likes just about everything, especially stories about animals.”

“That’s great. The Magic Tree House is great for a six-year-old,” Sam said. “I miss those days…. Trish used to come back from the library with a huge bag of books, and we’d read to Danny every night….” Sam’s martyred look crept onto his face, and this time I didn’t resist the shin-kicking urge. He jumped and looked at me, his baffled expression a significant improvement from the tragic one he’d perfected.

“Well! It’s great when kids like to read!” I blurted idiotically.

“Sam, remember when we saw you at the market last week?” Katie asked, finally initiating some conversation. “Well, Mikey wanted to know if they could take a ride with you in the cruiser. I told them it was probably against the rules and stuff, but that I’d ask.”

Sam grinned, his eyes crinkling in the corners most attractively. “Well, for your boys, I think we could sneak a ride in around the block.”

I smiled, relieved that the ball was rolling. Soon I would be picking out my maid (or perhaps matron?) of honor dress for their wedding, planning Katie’s shower…

We ordered dinner and while we waited, I entertained Katie and Sam with stories from the clinic. “I saw eleven poison-ivy cases in two days,” I said. “Eleven! I had to put five of them on steroids, the hives were so bad. I think we should hang giant signs from the bridges. A big picture of poison ivy and the words Don’t Touch in ten-foot letters. Jeez. Is it really that hard to recognize? And why do people feel the need to bathe in it?”

My audience laughed. Sue brought us our dinners and we dug in. Sam had ordered what Katie referred to as “man food,” stuff that most females wouldn’t touch: a huge bowl of mussels and clams and scallops, complete with shells, atop a mountain of linguine and drenched in garlic and olive oil. Katie and I ordered the Barnacle’s famous gourmet pizzas. Mine had shrimp, mustard and pinoli nuts on it; Katie’s had clams, bacon and basil.

“What’s new on the Eastham P.D., Sam?” I asked as we ate.

“Oh, not much,” Sam answered. “Neighbors complaining, dogs barking, kids speeding, the usual stuff.”

At that moment, Joe Carpenter entered the building, wearing faded black jeans and a soft-looking T-shirt. He glanced around and saw us, waved and walked over.

“Hey guys,” he said amiably. “We meet again.”

“Hi, Joe,” I said, trying not to sigh.

“Great season for Notre Dame, hey, Sam?” Joe said.

“Sure was,” Sam answered.

“Go Irish,” Joe said, grinning.

“You got it. Want to sit down?” Sam offered.

A great idea leaped into my head. “Joe! You know what? My dad wanted to ask you something…um, listen, I can barely hear myself think. Are you going to eat at the bar? Let’s go over there.” I stood up and took Joe’s arm and steered him away from the table. Looking back at Sam, I widened my eyes and scowled, my personal sign language for Ask her out, stupid!

“What’s up, Millie?” Joe asked. He leaned against the bar and looked at me.

“Well, nothing, really,” I said. “I just wanted to give Sam a minute with Katie. Alone.” I smiled conspiratorially, supremely pleased with my quick thinking.

“So, are they going out or something?” Joe asked.

“No, Joe. Not yet. I’m hoping that will change any minute, though.” I laughed, and Joe smiled back at me, causing my knees to soften.

“Millie the matchmaker,” he said teasingly.

“That’s me. Now let’s watch.”

Sam was fidgeting like a kid in church. He toyed with his silverware, then glanced up at Katie. He said something, managing to make eye contact, though with great effort, it seemed.

“Here we go,” Joe commented. After all, he was quite an expert in courtship rituals of the Barnacle.

Uh-oh. Katie’s face had turned to granite in her classic “Don’t mess with me, boy” look. Sam was talking to the tablecloth, glancing up guiltily.

“Doesn’t look good, Mil,” Joe said with a laugh. “Sam is going down.”

“Don’t be mean, Joe!” I pretended to scowl at him. “How could she shoot him down? He’s such a great guy.” Honestly! Didn’t Katie want him coming through the door every night, catching the boys in his arms, giving her a kiss? Didn’t she want the stability and kindness he offered? And he was tall and lean and had those nice lines around his eyes that were so…And let’s not forget his union benefits! What the hell was wrong with her? She was leaning closer to him, but definitely not in a good way. In a “Go to your room” way.

“Glad I’m not Sam right now,” Joe said. “Hey, Chris, can I get a beer?”

Chris obliged. “What are you guys watching?” he asked.

“Nothing!” I said, squeezing Joe’s warm, hard bicep. Oh, boy. I drew a quick breath. “Nothing, right Joe?”

Again he smiled at me. “Right, Millie.”

With difficulty, I turned my attention back to Sam and Katie. Hey, this was good. Katie and Sam were laughing! She patted his arm. Oh, hooray! And Sam looked infinitely more relaxed.

“Okay, I think I can go back,” I said. “Have a good night, Joe. Bye, Chris.”

“Nice to see you, Millie,” Joe said before turning to the bar.

Yes! I had spoken with Joe, we had shared a mildly intimate moment, and oh, Lord, I had squeezed his arm! And what a lovely arm it was! And Sam and Katie chatting away! Making my way back to the table, my heart was full of joy.

“So what’s up?” I asked innocently, taking my seat.

“We’re getting married,” Katie answered, and she and Sam burst into laughter.

My heart stopped singing. “You’re both idiots,” I mumbled.

“No bridesmaid dress for you,” Sam said. I gave him the finger, which just made him laugh harder.

The amusement ended as Katie and I drove home.

“Millie, I can’t believe you forced Sam to ask me out,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Forced, nothing! Come on, Katie. Don’t you know how pretty you are? How great? I mean, all that stuff about wanting to concentrate on the boys is noble and all, but don’t you want someone in your life? Honestly?”

“No, Millie, I don’t!”

“Well, I don’t understand,” I said, looking out the window.

“I know you don’t,” she answered sharply. “No offense, Millie, but you don’t know what’s best for my boys. I do. It isn’t a stepfather.”

“Not even Sam? Sam is so wonderful! How can you not want Sam?”

She shot me a veiled look. “Sam is great, yes, and no, not even Sam.”

“But why? What about you? What about your—”

“Millie, back off!” she barked. She turned suddenly into the Visitors Center parking lot, tires squealing, and jerked to a stop. She took a deep breath and turned to me, her voice tight and quiet. “Listen, you’re my best friend, okay? You’ve done so many nice things for me…I—Look. I love you and you’re great. But for crying out loud, stop trying to fix my life! It’s not broken, Millie!”

“I’m not saying it is,” I began.

“Yes, you are!” She gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Millie, I know you mean well. But the thing is, you’re pretty goddamn condescending when it comes to me.”

“What?” I gasped.

“You think that if I just hook up with Sam, then everything in my sad little life will be fine. I’ve got news for you, Millie. I’m fine. My boys are fine. My being alone is not sad. Our life is not sad, it’s wonderful! I wish you’d get that through your head and just…just…just be friends with me. Stop treating me like I’m your charity case, okay?”

Tears pricked my eyes. “Katie, I don’t think of you as a charity case. God,” I sniffled.

She stared ahead at the locust trees illuminated in the parking-lot lights. “Look. When Elliott first left me, you were a rock. I’m really, really grateful for all that you did. I am. All those trips up from Boston, all those Chinese-food dinners you’d bring me…” Her voice softened. “You were the best. But now things are better with me. I’m making decent money. The truth is, I probably make more than you, Millie. Chris made me a manager, I make a couple hundred a week in tips alone, and now I’m getting benefits. I’m even saving up for a house. Corey and Mike are doing great. I don’t need you to prop me up, Millie. And I really, really don’t need—or want—a husband. Okay?”

I rummaged around in my purse for a tissue. “Okay,” I whispered. “I never meant to make you feel like that, Katie.”

“I know. And I know you can’t imagine wanting to be single. But you’re going to have to accept that I do want it.”

“Okay,” I said.

She continued looking at me with her lovely blue eyes. “I love you, Millie,” she said solemnly. “I love hanging out with you, I love the way your crazy mind thinks, I never laugh so hard with anybody the way I do with you. I want us to be friends forever, but you have to start thinking of me as an equal. Okay?”

“You’re not my equal. You’re my hero.” I leaned over and hugged her. “I’m really sorry.”

She hesitated, then chuckled and patted my shoulder. “Let’s go out sometime, just the two of us, okay? Maybe we can do an overnight or something. No matchmaking, no Joe Carpenter, just you and me.”

“That sounds fantastic,” I said. And I meant it.

IT’S VERY HUMBLING TO REALIZE you’ve been an idiot, especially to someone you care about. With that in mind, I headed for Sam’s the next day. He and Danny were working in the yard, hefting bags of mulch and looking very sweaty and manly. Both of them were shirtless, and I noticed for the first time that my baby nephew had washboard abs. So did his daddy. Had Sam always been so…built? Very nice.

“Oh, such masculine pulchritude!” I called out, hoping Sam wasn’t as mad as Katie had been. “Clothe yourselves, boys! There’s a woman on your property.”

“Get my gun, Dan,” Sam answered. They stopped their machismo activity and came to greet me, Danny giving me a sweaty smooch.

“Hey, Aunt Mil,” he said. “Dad told me how you tried to fix him and Katie up.”

“And wasn’t it a great idea?” I asked.

“I thought it was,” he replied agreeably.

“Thanks, young man,” I said. “Sorry to say, we’re a minority.”

Sam pulled on an old T-shirt. Without looking at me, he said, “Dan, could you get us something to drink?”

“He just wants me out of the way while he chews you out, Aunt Mil,” my nephew whispered loudly. He grinned cheekily and bounded off to the house.

“He’s right,” Sam confirmed, folding his arms. He gave me the old “I’m disappointed in you” stare. The kind that really works.

“Before you lecture me,” I said, “I want to apologize. I’m really sorry. I just thought…I don’t know, you guys would be so…I’m sorry.” I kicked at his shell driveway, trying to look genuine. I peeked. He wasn’t fooled.

“Uh-huh,” he said. A grin tugged at his mouth, but he tried to look stern.

“Katie reamed me another orifice last night,” I said. “And I’ve sworn off matchmaking, so even though you two would be perfect together, I’ll just leave it alone and let you walk away from what could be the greatest love of your life.”

“Well, you know, in one sense, it was nice of you to think of us. But in the other, you’re a real pain in the ass,” he said, far too seriously for my taste.

“Sam!” I cried. “Come on! I just wanted to help. You’re just too pathetic, sitting around here, mooning over Trish. It’s time you—”

“I think you should shut up now, Millie,” Sam said quietly. Any amusement he’d felt was gone. A warning prickle went through me.

“Sam, it’s just hard to see you—”

“Millie. Stop talking. You’re a great person, and I appreciate your concern over me, but the thing is, you don’t know squat about marriage, or divorce. Or, obviously, how I’m feeling these days. Not to mention how Katie feels about dating. So the best thing you can do is go back to the ‘I’m sorry’ part of your little speech and leave it at that before I get really mad. Okay?”

I swallowed at the idea of Sam not liking me. Bending to pull up a weed, I said—sincerely, this time—“Okay, Sam. I really am sorry. I think you’re the best guy in the world, you know that. I just want you to be happy.”

His hard expression softened, his sad, downturning eyes crinkling with a smile. “I know, kiddo. You’re off the hook, as long as you’ve learned your lesson. Now stop killing my flowers and come have some lemonade.” He took the plant out of my hands and replaced it gently in the flower bed.

Inside the house, Sam went to shower. Relieved that I was forgiven, I made Danny lunch, because the poor boy was weak with hunger, having only eaten, from his recounting anyway, eight pancakes for breakfast an hour and a half before. As I slathered mayonnaise on four slices of bread, he leaned on the counter, nearly drooling.

“Mom wants me to come and visit her for a couple of weeks this summer,” he said.

I hadn’t seen my sister since our brief encounter at our parents’ house. Aside from a couple of perfunctory phone calls and two e-mails telling me about the fabulous parties she’d been to with Mr. New Jersey, we hadn’t really talked. Sometimes I felt that my role of younger sister was just to admire and agree with Trish.

“Are you going to go?” I asked.

“Well, actually, I don’t think I can, what with Appalachia and my job and the baseball team and stuff. But I might go for a long weekend before school lets out.”

“How is it for you when you’re down there?” I asked, layering cheese and turkey and thick slices of tomato on the bread.

“Well, it’s not too bad. A little uncomfortable, a little weird, but mostly okay. She came up to see me a couple days ago, did Dad tell you? We had dinner, just her and me. It was nice.”

“No, your dad didn’t mention it. How is she?”

Danny grabbed one of the sandwiches and stuffed a third of it into his mouth. “She’s good, I guess. Seems happy.” He paused to swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing wildly. “She looks great.”

“She always does,” Sam said, laying a hand on my shoulder as he leaned in to claim a sandwich. The smell of shampoo and soap wafted toward me. I started making two more sandwiches, knowing how these boys ate.

“And how was it for you, seeing her?” I asked Sam, curious.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, making it spike up. “Oh, it was okay. Strange, but not bad. She was just here for a little while to pick Danny up and then drop him off again. It was…fine.” Whatever mysterious emotions Sam had running through him, he seemed to mean what he said. I reminded myself not to assume I knew everything about the people I loved and opened a bag of chips.

Danny inhaled the second sandwich, gulped down some milk and wiped his mouth. “Gotta go!” he announced cheerfully. “I’m helping Sarah’s dad clean the cellar.” He thundered upstairs, thumped around in his room for a minute and clattered back down.

“Bye, Aunt Mil,” he said, kissing my cheek. He one-arm hugged Sam and then banged out the back door. A second later, we heard the car start, and he was gone.

“Noisy little fella,” I said, smiling at Sam. He smiled back, and we shared a moment of silent Danny adoration.

“You want a sandwich?” Sam asked, pointing to the last one.

“No, thanks,” I answered. There was far too much cheese and mayonnaise on that sucker for me. But I poured myself a glass of lemonade and sat at the counter next to him. There were a few catalogs, and I opened one for flowers, idly flipping through the pages, wondering aloud what might look nice in window boxes for my little house. Sam made a few suggestions, and I scribbled down names in the margins.

“What are you doing on the house these days?” Sam asked, ripping open a package of Oreos. I steeled myself against the temptation, forcing a mental image of myself in a bathing suit into my head. Could I actually do it? Appear in public in a bathing suit? It would be the first time in my adult life. It would take a great deal of courage….

“Millie? The house?”

“Oh. Sorry.” I gratefully extracted myself from thoughts of cellulite and pasty skin. “The house is great. Very cute. I’m almost done painting the other bedroom. You should come see it.”

“I’d love to,” Sam answered. He popped an Oreo into his mouth, whole, like a giant black communion wafer, grinning at me as he chewed. “How’s work going?”

“Oh, it’s great,” I said. “I love it. I just hope…”

“Just hope what?”

I drew my initials in the condensation on my glass. “Well, I hope Dr. Whitaker will take me on in the fall. The clinic is only open till October, and if he doesn’t want to hire me, then I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, I think he’ll take me on, he hasn’t said anything negative. But if he doesn’t, I’ll have to think about something else. I just got an offer from a doctor in Wellesley, but I don’t want to live off-Cape.”

The offer had come as a surprise to me. Alan Bernstein was one of the nicer supervising doctors I’d met when I’d been a resident, and he had a growing practice with two other doctors. They wanted to expand, and Alan had called me last week. Wellesley was a lovely, affluent suburb of Boston, and if I hadn’t been so determined to stay on Cape, it would have been perfect.

“You could move, couldn’t you? Come up here on the weekends and stuff?” Sam asked.

“I could. But I just got back here,” I answered. “And I don’t want to live anywhere else. I mean, how could I? You didn’t want to stay out in Indiana, did you?”

“Landlocked? You kidding? I couldn’t wait to get back,” Sam smiled. “Curse of the Cape.”

It was true. Once you’ve lived on the Cape, you’d be hard pressed to move. The natural beauty of the place, the loveliness of so many neighborhoods, the smell of the air, the sound of the ocean…it was unsurpassable. Even when I’d lived in Boston, just a couple of hours away, I’d yearned for Eastham. It was my dream since childhood to be a doctor in my hometown, and I was determined to make that work.

And of course, there was Joe. Even though my plans were going nowhere at the moment, I couldn’t quit now. I had been putting this plan into effect for quite some time, dreamed about it for years. Surely, something would have to give, and he would finally, finally notice me, fall in love with me and marry me. Hopefully before my fiftieth birthday.