I glanced up, startled. The idea of Mark and me seemed like a long, long time ago, a foggy memory best left untouched. “No. Ian. The vet. We’ve been…seeing each other.”

“What did you fight about?” Freddie asked.

“I had emotional diarrhea,” I said glumly.

“Now there’s a pretty image,” he muttered. The stairs creaked as Fred came down. He sat next to me, slung his arm around my shoulders. “Tell your brilliant child prodigy of a brother,” he said.

“Seriously? You won’t tweet this or anything?”

“Fine. Steal my fun. I won’t tweet. Or blog. Or put you on YouTube.”

Odd, to be telling my cute little brother my romantic woes, but he listened mostly in silence, except for the strangled noises of appropriate horror he made when I mentioned Hester’s interruption.

“So what should I do?” I asked, feeling the prickle of tears yet again.

“You should’ve stayed and shagged him,” my brother advised sagely. “We men are very basic. We’ll forgive anything for a little action.”

“You’re not a man, Freddie my love. You’re a mere child.” My voice was a little hollow. Freddie didn’t answer. “So how are things with you?” I asked.

He sighed. “I don’t know, Callie. I lack direction.”

“I think we’re all aware of that, honey.” Slipping off my shoes, I tipped my head against the wall. “Is there anything you love to do?”

“Other than get laid, you mean?”

“Yes, Fred, and I’d rather not discuss your tomcatting, okay? I changed your diapers and all that.”

Freddie was quiet for a minute. “I like having fun. Sounds stupid, right? I like to hike and kayak and fish. I don’t think the market is great for river guides, though.”

“Wanted: Mountain Man,” I said. He chuckled, and I patted his bare foot. “Well, what are you best at? You’re a math whiz, your blogs are hilarious, you have a huge following on Twitter, you built a computer when you were twelve, you’re as charming as Dad, so you’d be great in some kind of schmoozing job…”

“See, that’s the thing,” Freddie said. “I’m good at everything. The crushing price of genius.”

“Okay, brat. I’m going to bed. How about you?”

“I’m gonna stay up and watch TV and eat all Dad’s ice cream.” He put his hand on my head. “Want to keep your little brother company?”

“Sure,” I said, and fifteen minutes later, I was wearing a pair of my dad’s pajamas, watching Evil Dead III and doing my part to support Ben & Jerry. And trying hard not to think of Ian.

I RAN HOME THE NEXT morning to change. Noah was up (and alone), Bowie quivering at his side as my grandfather absentmindedly fed him bits of bacon and perused the local paper. “Well, well, well,” I said, getting a cup of coffee. “You made your own breakfast. I’m so proud.” I looked around. “Or has Jody replaced me as your slave?”

“Pipe down, youngster, I’m reading.” He glanced up, then frowned. “What happened? You look awful. You have a fight with that vet of yours?”

I blinked. Most of my conversations with Noah went something like Find my leg, dammit! and me replying Yes, Master. “Wow. Yes, I did.”

He stared at me a minute longer. “Well. Things’ll work out. Don’t you worry.”

“I’m worried anyway.” My throat tightened.

“Ah, Callie. You had a fight, you’ll make up.” He slipped Bowie some more bacon, which my dog inhaled. “Give the boy some time. He’s not used to the likes of you.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked.

“Means you’re…big.”

“Thank you. I feel much better.”

“You fill up the whole room, sweetheart, try to fix everyone’s problems, be everyone’s friend. You don’t have to try so hard. We’ll love you just the same.”

Not the first time I heard that, was it? “You just implied you loved me, Noah. What’s next? A Hallmark card? This Jody Bingham thing is transforming you.”

He grinned. “You never know.”

WORK SEEMED ENDLESS THAT day. I kept my office door closed, ground out copy and tried to stay away from other people. And, of course, obsessed over Ian, trying to figure out how to smooth things over, how to say the exact right thing so we’d be back to where we were. Because where we’d been…that was a nice place. A very nice place. As for Ian himself, he didn’t call or e-mail…the only personal message I got all day was from my mom, summoning me to a family meeting at the funeral home after work. My guess was a career intervention for Fred.

Nothing from Ian. Half a dozen times, I picked up the phone to call his office, and half a dozen times, I put the phone back.

You don’t have to try so hard. The problem was, I didn’t know how to do anything else.

At five-thirty, I tidied my desk and said goodbye to Pete and Leila. Damien and Karen had left already, as had Fleur. Muriel was once again in California. At least there was that.

“Have a good night, Mark,” I said, pausing at his door.

“Hey, Callie. You, too.” He stood up and smiled. “You look pretty today. Well, you look pretty all the time. If I’m allowed to say that, that is.”

I hesitated. “Uh…sure.”

“Callie, do you have a sec?” he asked, indicating the two empty seats in front of his desk.

“I have plans, actually.”

“Just for a minute?”

We both sat down. Mark looked at his hands. “I miss us talking,” he said, his voice quiet. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then rose back to my eyes.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, shifting slightly away from him.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just miss you, and I hope that…I don’t know.” He sighed. “We’ve been friends a long time, haven’t we?”

“I guess so,” I said.

He was silent a minute. “What do you think about Muriel and me, Callie?”

The question caught me off guard. “Oh…I don’t know, Mark, and I…I don’t want to have this conversation.”

He shook his head and held up his hands. “No, no. You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…I could use a woman’s opinion. That’s all. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“Ask your mom,” I suggested.

He grinned. “Yes. Much more appropriate. You just…” He looked down at his hands, then gave me the James Dean look, lowered head, sheepish grin. “You have a way about you, Callie. It’s…special. You’re special. I hope you know that.” His smile faded. “Very special.”

The air in the office seemed to change. My knees prickled uncomfortably. Mark’s eyes dropped once more to my mouth and stayed there. When he spoke next, his voice was very quiet. “I seem to be thinking about Santa Fe a lot these days.”

My breath caught. “Excuse me?”

He raised his eyes back to mine, gave a little smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. It was…special. A special time.”

Couldn’t the man think of another adjective? I stood up fast. “I have to go, Mark. See you tomorrow.”

“Callie…” I waited, but then he sighed. “See you tomorrow. Have a great night.”

Out on the street, I took a few cleansing breaths, my breath fogging in the darkening evening. Stupid Mark. What was that all about, huh? I knew Santa Fe was special, I’d spent practically an entire year getting over how special it was, I told him about its specialness the night he dumped me and he dumped me anyway! And how dare he look at my mouth that way after all he’d put me through?

I took a few more breaths, the sharp scent of autumn leaves and woodsmoke finally calming me. Jake Pelletier pulled into a parking space in front of Whoop & Holler, saw me and waved. I waved back, then headed up the hill toward the funeral home.

I was over Mark. I was. I just didn’t appreciate him stirring up the muck of my feelings from the past. Especially the day after my very first fight with Ian.

Speaking of my fight with Ian, it was time to fix that. Time for some wild monkey make-up sex. Last night had been awkward, we’d fought, now we’d make up. Because a day without hearing from him or seeing him was just not acceptable.

You go, girl, Mrs. Obama said, and I smiled at the thought. But first, my family.

“Callie, you’re here!” Mom declared as I walked in the family entrance of the funeral home. My sibs, nieces and parents were all here.

“Hey, everyone,” I said, unwinding myself from my Pashmina (on sale, a deep shade of rose, so soft!).

“Where’s your grandfather?” Mom asked.

“I came straight from work. And contrary to popular belief, I am not my grandfather’s keeper,” I said.

“She’s more like his slave,” Freddie said.

“You are correct. And Fred, since you’re shiftless, unemployed and have yet to graduate from college, why don’t you take over?”

“I just called over there, and no one answered,” Mom said.

“He’s probably with his lady love,” I suggested. “Hi, Josephine! Your hair looks so pretty!” My niece held up her arms, and even though she was getting big, I picked her up, sniffing her neck, making her giggle. “You smell like fairy dust,” I told her, and she grinned back at me, then wriggled down to go pick my father’s pocket, a life skill if ever there was one. Dad tossed me a wink and pretended not to notice his granddaughter digging in his back pocket. Her little hand emerged clutching a twenty. “Poppy, I robbed you!” she said happily.

“Hello there, Callie,” came the silky voice of Louis. Louis who was banging Hester. That’s right! I’d almost forgotten.

“Louis,” I said, taking my customary step backward.

“No need to retreat,” he murmured. “I’ve moved on.”

“So I heard,” I said, swallowing.

“Yeah, so, we’re a freak show,” Hester said, coming up and handing me a glass of wine, good sister that she was. “No atheists in foxholes, you know?”

“Yes,” I said, not wanting her to clarify that statement. Besides, Hes was beaming. Beaming! I hadn’t seen her look so happy since Bronte’s adoption was finalized.

Speaking of my elder niece, Bronte came up, noted that her mother was holding hands with Louis and made a gagging sound. “Now, Bronte,” I said. “You’re the one who wanted a father figure.”

“I was picturing Denzel Washington. Not Dwight Schrute here.”

“I love Dwight Schrute,” I said.

“Yes, but do you want him sleeping with your mother?” she demanded.

“Good point.” Hester and Louis were staring at each other, all sorts of icky pheromones flying. “You can come live with Noah and me,” I whispered to Bronte.

“I probably will,” she said huffily. But a little smile played around her mouth.

“Okay, kids, gather ’round,” Dad said. “Well, I wish my father were here… Callie, where’d he go?”

“He slipped out of his collar and ran off! I don’t know, Dad! He has a girlfriend. Can we leave it at that?”

“Sure, Poodle,” he said, all sparkly and Clooneyesque. “Well, Bluebird, would you like to tell them?”

Bluebird. Bluebird. My breath caught.

“You go ahead, Tobias,” Mom said.

Dad looked around at us all. “Your mother and I…” His voice grew husky. “We’ve reconciled. And we’re getting married.” His gaze rested on me a long second.

My eyes flooded. I covered my mouth with one hand, absolutely stunned. He got her back! He did it.

For a second, I was right back in that upstairs window, watching my father leave, and the memory of that wrenching, twisting heartache made me dizzy. Back then, I would’ve given twenty years of my life for him to come back. And now he was. They were getting married. Married! My God! My heart felt so big I thought it might pop out of my chest.

“Way to go, Dad!” Freddie said, applauding lightly.

“Aren’t you married already?” Josephine asked.

“No, honey. Do you want to be a flower girl? You can have a sparkly dress,” Dad said.

“Ooh! Sure, Poppy! Can it be black?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hester boomed. She shook loose of Louis’s hand. “Are you kidding, Ma? You’re not serious, are you?”

Mom glanced at the girls. “Ah, Louis…would you mind taking the girls elsewhere for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” he said. “Girls, would you like play vampires in the showroom?”

“Typical,” Bronte muttered. “I am so old enough to hear this, but I get booted anyway.”

“I call the Windsor!” Josephine said happily, grabbing her sister’s hand. “I love bronze.”

“I’ll be Van Helsing,” Bronte said, resignation dripping from her voice. Louis closed the door after them.

“I’m sorry,” Hester said, “but uh…this is f**king ridiculous.”

“Hes,” I began.

“Please, Callie,” she said. “I’m not like you, singing rainbow songs and letting f**king bluebirds flutter around my head. Dad. You cheated on Mom when she was pregnant. I think we can see that I’m emotionally scarred from that. I mean, I’ve spent my whole life avoiding men like the bubonic plague because, Mother, that’s what you taught me!”