I sucked in some air and hoped, no, prayed that Dominic would take offense at Mick’s words. That he’d say, even if only for appearances’ sake, that he appreciated lots of qualities in me, not just my willingness to share my paycheck.

But Dominic said, also too loudly, “By the bar, I think. I’ll go ask her in a sec.”

As their voices floated back to Sam and me, I closed my eyes. I had to block out Sam’s steady gaze. I didn’t want to see that look of his, be it retribution or pity.

“So, that’s how it is,” Sam whispered, not unkindly, just very matter-of-fact.

My injured pride made me want to lash out at someone. At Sam. At Dominic. At anyone who crossed my path. Being that Sam was my only choice at present, I started with him.

“You know,” I said in the iciest tone I could produce, “it’s amazingly hypocritical of you, doing the medicine thing. I mean, I always thought doctors had to take an oath — ‘First, do no harm,’ or something like that.” I shook my head. “That’s gonna be a tough one for you, considering your tremendous skill in hurting people.”

I glanced at him once to see if I’d hit my target. I had. His face colored red and his jaw turned even more rigid. At first I thought he merely looked angry, but then I looked again. The expression in his blue eyes exposed as much worry as it did offense. I guessed I’d found a way to blister one of his insecurities while meting out my revenge.

Unfortunately, it didn’t make me feel any better.

“When did you turn into this, this…person, Ellie?” he asked softly. “You’re not who I remember. God, this can’t all be because of me or what happened between us. Because I hurt you once, can it?”

I forced myself to stand up straighter. “Hey, you were the one who called what happened between us a ‘stupid thing’ from the past. What makes you think it’d affect me or that I’d care about it now?”

“Jesus, Ellie.” His expression turned to one of pure pain. “I meant my idiotic reaction in school after what happened. That was the stupid thing you wouldn’t forget…”

Sam’s words still dangled in the air between us as Dominic jogged up ten seconds later. “Hey, darlin’,” he said. “Seeing as how you’re having a deep discussion of your own right now, maybe we could hang out here a little longer?”

My mind, reeling from Sam’s revelation and the consequent reinterpretation of those end-of-high-school memories, couldn’t shift gears so quickly. I knew Dominic wanted something, as usual, but I was in no mood to offer a light, agreeable response. I just stared at him.

Dominic glanced between Sam and me, but received only silence back from us. “Hmm. Are you getting hungry?” He studied his watch. “We’ve kinda missed our dinner reservation, but I’ll order us up some nachos at the bar. Maybe a few beers, too.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly. After all these weeks he still didn’t remember that I detested beer.

“But, uh — ”

“Yeah?” I wanted to hear him ask for it this time. I wasn’t just going to hand him another twenty.

Dominic turned to Sam. “Could you excuse us a minute? I need to talk to Ellie privately.”

Sam raised both eyebrows and folded his arms across his broad chest. He didn’t budge from his spot.

I silently blessed him for this, and even Jane, to my shock, murmured, Correctly done, Mr. Blaine. For once.

Dominic squinted at him and said, “Okaaaay” under his breath. Then he tugged on my arm. “Can we go over there for a sec — ”

“I don’t think so,” I told him.

Dominic looked confused. “What? You don’t think you can talk to me alone for a minute?”

“That’s right.” I sighed. It was crash-and-burn time for Type #4 (yes, I had categories for the men I dated), but a woman had to know when she couldn’t fake it anymore. Since Sam had already guessed the truth, I’d been defeated on all fronts. No use pretending.

Dominic sputtered out a few incoherent syllables, but he finally managed to say, “What the hell?”

I let out a long, slow breath — one I’d been holding for about four years. “I’m sorry, Sam,” I said.

Sam’s eyes met mine. He half nodded and whispered, “Me, too. Really.”

I then returned my attention to Dominic, who was staring at me like I’d just sprouted horns and was brandishing a sharp-’n’-shiny pitchfork.

“I’m not your chauffeur, your mommy or your meal ticket,” I told him. “Get yourself a job and buy your own damn beer. And, in case there’s any doubt, no, I’m not driving you home and, yes, this is goodbye. Have a nice life.”

“Wait! Is this because I didn’t buy you a birthday gift?” Dominic demanded. “Ellie, I told you I’d take you out to dinner. We were just running a little late tonight. It’s not like we won’t go sometime soon — ”

I lifted my hand in a parting wave to Sam, who returned it. Then I gave Dominic the finger.

“Happy birthday to me,” I said to myself as the bar doors swung shut behind me. I inhaled the warm Chicago night air and escaped into my car, planning to drive only a block or two so Dominic couldn’t find me. I needed to sit somewhere for an hour and let everything wear off.

Happy birthday, Ellie, Jane’s voice echoed in my mind. And good for you. Your life is just beginning.

Yes, it was. Finally.

I blinked back a tear, hummed a few bars of Boston’s “Don’t Look Back” and hit the gas pedal.

Chapter 2

There is nothing like dancing after

all…one of the first refinements of

polished societies.

 — Pride and Prejudice


To know what, exactly, I wasn’t looking back on and to understand the intricacies of my relationships with my sister Diana, my brother Gregory and my cousin Angelique, you’d need a detailed chronicle of our family dynamics. I don’t have the patience (or the lifespan) to be that comprehensive.

Let’s just say, though, that while Jane’s appearance added a new zing to my home/school existence and bestowed upon me an amazing best friend, it made life instantly tougher for me, too.

The weekend after Jane’s arrival, I was awakened early by a jostling — or, more accurately, a violent shaking — of my rib cage.

“Get up, geek,” Di said, moving away from my body to flick up the window shade and flood my room with unwelcome sunlight. “Aunt Candice, Uncle Craig and our freak-show cousins are coming, remember? Get your butt outta bed.”

I groaned. Yes, because Di’s method of rousing lacked finesse, but also because any amount of time spent with our Indiana cousins was, and always had been, a trial of the highest order.

I tossed on some clean sweats and stumbled into the family room. My mother, already coiffed and lipsticked, raced between the kitchen and every other room in the house issuing commands. “Girls, get rid of this clutter on the kitchen table. Now! Throw that garbage out. And, for God’s sake, Gregory, put away that stupid Rubik’s Cube! They’re going to be here in twenty minutes.”

We, thus, began a frantic attempt at picking up our stuff. As we worked, my brother warbled a version of The Music Man’s “Gary, Indiana” under his breath followed by a few choruses of “Pick-a-Little, Talk-a-Little.” The former was a depiction of my aunt’s hometown, the latter, her conversational style.

Di countered his thirteen-year-old notion of musical coolness with her own seventeen-year-old version: Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.” Normally, I would’ve tried to zone out, but Jane’s newfound residence inside my head made that an impossibility.

Jane, ever the witty conversationalist, remarked, Transcendent talent is not so rare as was once believed. Apparently, everyone these days has been blessed by the muses.

Yeah, I’m feeling real inspired right now, I said to her.

She laughed. Oh, do not judge them too harshly, Ellie. They would have been great proficients…

…if ever they’d learnt, we finished together in a sentence reminiscent of one of Jane’s more obnoxious book characters.

I giggled aloud. Unfortunately, I was within Di’s earshot.

She elbowed me. “Don’t laugh at me, geek.”

“Diana, try not to call your sister names,” our mom bellowed from the kitchen.

“But she is a geek,” Gregory offered. “She’s so damn boring, no guys like her.”

“Gregory, honey, it’s not polite to swear.”

Need I mention that in both instances of sibling abuse Mom neglected to demand an apology on my behalf or discount the Geek label? Didn’t think so. Being the middle child (most ignored, least liked) was chock-full of touching family moments like these.

“Your sister’s not a geek,” Dad broke in, stuffing a box of snow hats and gloves into the closet and safely out of sight.

Ah, thank goodness for dear old Dad.

“She’s just an intellectual,” he added. “It takes awhile, sometimes years, for guys to learn to like that in a girl.”

Terrific.

Such stunning words in your defense, Jane mused, the likes of which I have heard but rarely.

Well, they’re commonplace enough around here, I told her.

“’Course, she’s nothing like Angelique,” Mom said.

“No one’s like Angelique,” Dad admitted.

My cousin, Angelique Lawson, is a Genius, I explained to Jane. And my Dad’s posh sister, Aunt Candice, never tires of telling us so.

How delightful, Jane said. There is nothing like geniuses when a party is in want of enlivening.

Angelique’s sixteen but already a junior because she skipped a grade. And very musical. She takes her cello with her everywhere and will probably play it for us today, I added. And she’ll never pass up an opportunity to speak French.