RIDAY MORNING WAS FOGGY and a little cool for the end of June. The forecast was for steady rain toward evening. Great, I thought. Cozy, romantic, good for cooking, good for cuddling. So he would smell pleasingly of rosemary and lavender, I washed my puppy, ignoring his mournful eyes as I lathered, rinsed and repeated. At ten o’clock, I began chopping, mincing, sautéing. I shelled and deveined the shrimp. You’d think that a person who has dissected a cadaver would not be dry-heaving over a little seafood preparation, but such was not the case. Still, I managed to keep down my meager bowl of Special K as I ran my thumb up each gray, cold crustacean.

I boiled, reduced and strained. I stirred, blended and drained. As the steamy, spicy smell of étouffée filled my kitchen, it began to dawn on me why people liked to cook. I washed the lettuce for the salad, chopped in some red and yellow peppers, threw in a few grape tomatoes, then cut up the green and yellow squash.

Mom’s pie looked fabulous, its golden-brown crust scattered with sprinkles of sugar. I vowed to learn to bake for real once Joe and I were together. I had plenty of Cape Cod coffee, my favorite brand, and light cream. My curtains went back up, clean and freshly ironed. After arranging the flowers I had bought at the farmer’s market yesterday in a mason jar, I set the table. The wine and beer were chilling.

After Joe had arrived, I planned to finish cooking the étouffée, for that nice, cozy domestic atmosphere. The rice would be put on just before he came. I’d stick it in a bowl and warm it in the oven in order to get the nasty cleanup of the rice pot done before Joe’s arrival. Planning, planning, it was all in the planning. It seemed I had just about every angle covered.

Finally, I stepped back to survey my work. My house gleamed and sparkled. My dog also gleamed and sparkled. Now it was my turn. I showered, using the expensive, fabulous-smelling bath products Curtis and Mitch had given me for Christmas. Carefully, oh so carefully, I shaved my legs. I blew my hair dry—the humidity made it a little tricky, but I managed to come out with fairly well-behaved hair. Next, the precise application of makeup. Too much and I’d look slutty; not enough, adolescent. On to the clothes. Cute cotton pedal pushers in black and cream, sleeveless cream-colored top, short-sleeved little black sweater. Black leather mules on the feet.

I took a long hard look in the mirror. I’d never be Trish, but still…I looked about as good as I would get. Stylish. Attractive. Not beautiful, but pretty damn cute.

It was now 6:30. I went to my stereo and picked out a few CDs for mood music. Elvis Costello. Sting. Norah Jones. Dave Matthews. Again, all calculated to set a mood of romantic, slightly funky, low-key homeyness.

I took Digger out again on the leash, warning him not to poop in the house on this night of nights. He waggingly agreed (or so I hoped), and flopped down in front of my chair to dream his doggy dreams.

I put the rice on and fussed around the kitchen. There wasn’t really much to do, since I had planned so very well. We would eat in the dining room, which had been used once when my parents had come over. It was a small room that I’d painted last month in a deep shade of rose. The little table was a mellow-stained maple, and I’d just set it with place mats instead of a table cloth. Didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, although frankly, planning this evening had been harder than my surgical rotation.

I poured myself a glass of wine and took a healthy slug. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little relaxed when Joe came over. In ten more minutes, it would be seven, when, no doubt, I would start peering out the window for his truck. But hey, why wait? I peered out now. No Joe, just the promised steady rain pattering in the gutters. I turned on the porch light.

I decided I had time to call Curtis and Mitch for a check-in. Katie was working, and besides, she and I had had a nice chat earlier. I sat carefully in my wing chair so as not to wrinkle and called P-town.

“Good evening, the Pink Peacock!” Mitchell purred into the phone.

“Hi, Mitch! It’s Millie,” I said.

“Hallo, my darling! Is all in readiness?”

I giggled at the quaint phrase. “Yes, all is in readiness, including myself.”

“Which earrings did we choose?” he asked

“Little gold swingy thingies,” I answered. I heard Curtis ask if it was me. Mitch didn’t answer.

“Is that Millie, I said?” Curtis demanded in the background.

“Yes, it’s Millie!” Mitch huffed. “Am I allowed to talk to her without you?”

Uh-oh. The Golden Couple rarely fought. “Bad time, Mitch?”

He paused, then laughed. “We had a fight. I had the audacity to change the flower order—he wanted tulips, but they were twice as much as the roses—and now he’s ready to take my head off.”

I giggled. “Can this marriage be saved?”

“Let’s hope, shall we? Very well, my dear. Have a smashing night. Here’s Curtis. Hang on, can you?” I heard Mitch talking in the background, then the unmistakable sound of a kiss. Aw.

“Hi, Millie,” Curtis said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Is everything okay, Curtis?” I asked.

“Yes, now that he’s groveled. How are you, princess?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just waiting for Joe.”

“That’s right! ‘Tonight’s the night,’” he sang. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, of course. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Well, don’t worry, sweetie. It will be wonderful. I want every detail tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” I smiled. “Thanks, Curtis. You’re the best.”

“I know. Love you.”

A truck rumbled up my street. I hurled the phone back into the charger and leaped up. Here! He was here! Digger continued to lie rug-like in front of my chair. Going into the kitchen, I peeked out the back-door window…no truck. No Joe. Not here.

Hmm. Well, it was only seven after. Not really late.

However, twenty-three minutes later, he was really late. It was 7:30. A half hour late was pretty late, right? But still acceptable, if he came right this instant. I covered the rice so it wouldn’t dry out and turned off the heat from under the étouffée, which still awaited the shrimp. Checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I saw that I looked worried.

Joe wouldn’t blow me off, would he? I finished my glass of wine, the alcohol lightening my head a bit. No, Joe wouldn’t do that. He had said he couldn’t wait, I reminded myself. And that I was the sweet one. And God, the way we’d kissed! No, I didn’t think he would stand me up. Maybe his truck had broken down? It wasn’t the newest truck, but it seemed to run well enough.

The phone rang, and I jumped. “Don’t sound worried,” I advised myself. Or pissy.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetness, it’s Curtis. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. How’s it going?”

My heart sank. “Curtis, he’s not here.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Well, how late is he?”

“Thirty-four minutes.”

“Ooh. That’s not good. Well, he’s a bit absentminded, isn’t he?”

“Should I call him?”

“No!” Curtis shouted. “No,” he continued more calmly. “That’s for desperate women, and you’re not desperate.”

“Right,” I said, feeling actually quite desperate. “So what should I do?”

“Have a glass of wine,” he advised.

“Already did that.”

“Have another one, honey. Don’t just sit there waiting for him. When he does come—and he will, sweetie—we want you to be happy and fun. Right?”

“Okay,” I said. “Happy, fun, but not drunk.”

“Exactly. I’ll call you in a little while and check in.”

“Thanks,” I said, grateful to have a pal like Curtis. Someone with whom one could discuss these stupid situations. What to wear, how to set the table, stuff like that. Most people had done this in high school or college or in their early twenties, but I was a late bloomer.

I walked around my house, nibbling a cuticle. Digger leaped up for some lovin’, tail thumping against my freshly vacuumed ottoman.

“No, Digger!” I ordered tersely. Then, filled with shame at taking my frustrations out on my dog, I sat down and called him over.

“I’m just a little worried,” I told him, stroking his sleek head. He wagged understandingly.

The clock read 7:45.

An all-too-familiar emotion surged through me, that enchanting blend of dread, certainty and disgust. All this work. Two days off from work, ninety-seven dollars worth of food and beverage, God knows how many hours, a new outfit, new place mats…for what? For this. For being stood up. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Clearly, finishing medical school in the top tenth of my class didn’t translate into romantic intelligence. Hot tears burned the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard. No crying, I ordered myself. Damn it! Damn Joe Carpenter! How could he be so thoughtless?

Digger, his appetite for affection sated, flopped down at my feet. I slumped back in the chair, not caring now if I wrinkled my pants. A headache began to bore into my skull right between the eyes, and I rubbed my forehead hard.

I should have called him yesterday with a question, like was he allergic to shellfish or something, though I knew damn well he wasn’t. But it would have reminded him of our date. As Curtis had said, Joe could be a bit forgetful. Or was this deliberate? Did he forget or was he not interested in me? What about that redhead I’d seen him with last week? Was he with her?

The phone rang again, and I leaped from my chair, heart pounding. This has got to be him, I thought. I took a deep, fortifying breath and reached for the phone. I noticed my hands were shaking.

“Hello?” I said.

“It’s Curtis,” my friend said. My throat closed up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Curtis went on, gleaning the situation from my silence. The kindness in his voice made me feel worse.

“I feel like such an ass,” I whispered.

“Oh, no, honey. Joe’s the ass. Truly. If he can’t see how wonderful you are, he’s just a really gorgeous jerk.”

“But when we saw each other the other day…Curtis, it was so amazing! And he seemed so…I just don’t understand,” I said miserably.

“Men are such assholes,” he commiserated.

I gave a halfhearted laugh. “Except you. And Mitch.”

At that moment, my dog leaped to his feet, barking wildly. “Oh my God,” I said as the adrenaline rushed into my extremities with a tingling surge. “He’s here!”

“Stay on the phone!” Curtis ordered. “Keep talking! Answer the door with the phone in your hand.”

I could barely hear him over Digger’s frenzy. “Quiet, Digger!” I commanded. Surprisingly, he obeyed and stood by the kitchen door, wagging his tail so hard it looked as if he would break his spine.

“Smile,” Curtis instructed as I quickly checked myself out in the reflection of a framed print that hung over my couch. There was a knock, and Digger whined excitedly.

“Grab your wineglass,” the drill sergeant continued. “Laugh. Pretend I said something funny. Vagina. That’s funny.”

I laughed a bit hysterically as I grabbed my half-filled wineglass and went to the back door. I stopped suddenly. It wasn’t Joe. It was Sam.

“It’s Sam,” I told Curtis.

“Sam? Your brother-in-law? What’s he doing here?” Curtis asked.

I opened the door. Digger jumped onto Sam’s leg and began moaning. The rain gushed off the roof onto the deck as the wind blew in gusts.

“Hi, Millie,” Sam said. He disentangled Digger and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Got a minute?”

“Uh…come on in, Sam,” I said, opening the door. “Can you hang on one second?”

“What’s going on?” Curtis demanded. “Are you talking to me?”

“Take off your coat,” I said as Sam stood dripping in my kitchen. He looked around, noticing the dining-room table and food simmering on the stove.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your plans,” he said. “I can go.”

“No, no. Make yourself at home, buddy. Just give me a second,” I said, giving him a pat on his wet shoulder. I scurried down the hall to my bedroom and closed the door.

“What should I do?” I asked Curtis. “He looks upset.”

“Hmm. Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. It’s five after eight. Joe is unacceptably late. Feed the cop. If Joe does eventually come, he’ll see that you’re not just sitting around waiting for him. If he doesn’t, then at least your dinner won’t go to waste.”

“What should I tell Sam? That my un-boyfriend blew me off?”

Curtis sighed dramatically. “No, Millie. Don’t tell him that. Just say you made dinner for a friend who had to cancel at the last minute and you’re glad he came.”

“Okay. That sounds good. Can you say it again so I get it right?”

“Millie, you’re such a sweet dope sometimes. I have to go. Love you! Kisses!”

I heaved a sigh. Curtis was right. I was a dope.

“Millie,” Sam said as I reentered the kitchen, “I’m really sorry. I can see that you have plans and—”

“Actually, Sam, my friend just canceled, so it’s great that you’re here. Otherwise, all this food would go to waste. Sit down.” I gave him a smile and pulled out a chair.

He hesitated, then took off his jacket and hung it on one of the hooks near the back door. “Thanks,” he said, sitting at my kitchen table.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I poured him a glass of fumé blanc (eighteen bucks a bottle, thanks a lot, Joe Carpenter) and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said. Once again, he ran his hand through his military-short hair, a sure sign of distress. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, and he stared distractedly at the floor.

“So what’s going on?” I asked, sitting with him.

He looked up and sighed. “It’s Trish.”

“Oh.” Of course it was Trish. I felt the decades-old irritation with my sister, ever the center of attention. Even from New Jersey, she was making waves. Tropical Storm Trish. I refilled my own wineglass and took a sip. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Sam looked out the window. “She wants Danny to do his senior year in New Jersey,” he said.

“What?” I yelped. “Why on earth would she want him to do that?”

Sam sighed again and swallowed some wine. “She says that Avery can get Danny into some swanky prep school down there that he went to, and it would be better for Danny to graduate from there instead of Nauset.” He met my eyes, and I saw the worry there.

“Well, I think it’s a crappy idea,” I said, reaching out and patting his hand. “I have to put the shrimp on…want to help?”

“Sure,” he replied, standing up. I went to the stove, turned on the étouffée mixture and got the shrimp out from the fridge. Sam leaned helpfully against the counter, watching me closely.

“Can’t say I ever saw you cook before, Millie,” he said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “Who was this friend who canceled?”

“Well, Sam, I think I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.” I dumped the shrimp into the pan, where it hissed in a most satisfying way. I didn’t want to think about J.C. right now, and the wine buzz and Sam were doing a great job distracting me. “So what does Danny think about all this?”

Sam took the spatula out of my hand, nudging the quickly pinkening shrimp. “We haven’t talked to him about it yet. But Trish says if I put it to him in positive terms, he’ll see what an opportunity it is. Or something.”

“I think it’s a stretch to think that Danny would want to transfer,” I said. “He’s doing so well here, and he’s got so many friends, so much going on.”

“That’s what I said. There are a lot of good reasons for him to stay. He’s varsity baseball up here, he knows the teachers, straight As…I don’t think he needs Rich Guy Prep to get into a good school. But Trish says it’s a golden opportunity.”

“I’m with you, buddy,” I said. “Screw Rich Guy Prep! Now get out of the way so I can get this stuff on the table.”

With Sam’s help, I brought our meal into the little dining room. I lit the candles and we sat down, filling our plates with the rather beautiful dish that I had spent days planning.

“Whoever it was who canceled, Mil…he’s missing out.” Sam smiled at me across the table. “But it was kind of good luck for me.”

I smiled back, suddenly very glad that I was here for him in his hour of need. Sam deserved at least that from me. “Cheers.” We clinked wineglasses and started eating.

And guess what? It was fantastic! Definitely the best meal I’d ever made. We ate pretty much in silence, but it was comfortable. Peaceful, even, with the rain strumming on the roof, the music playing softly over the stereo.

“Great food, Millie,” Sam complimented, helping himself to more étouffée. “You really did all this yourself?”

“Except for dessert,” I confessed. “I wouldn’t be able to fool you on that one.”

I sat back and admired my work for a minute. I had really outdone myself. Granted, the wrong man was sitting across from me—I squelched the stir of dismay the thought caused—but I had pulled off a really nice dinner. The flowers on the table looked great, my new place mats and napkins matched the plates, the food was excellent, the wine was rapidly disappearing…. It felt good. And it was so cozy to have Sam here, good old Sam, so comfortable and solid and real. Irritation with my sister—she was still tormenting him—turned my smile into a frown.

“Sam, do you think there’s something else going on with Trish? Some other reason that she’s asking Danny to come down to New Jersey?”

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.