way. Sit. Shoes.”
She sat, slipped them on, struggled a bit with the straps. “You invited Marco’s parents.”
“It would’ve been rude not to.”
“They declined. So did my mother when you invited her.”
Sally knelt down to help Breen with the straps. “It’s their loss. It hurts my heart to see people lucky enough to have beautiful children, inside and out, who can’t bring themselves to accept those children for who they are.”
Sally patted Breen’s foot. “Girl, take it from an old queen: be who you are and the hell with the rest.”
“You’re not old,” Breen said, and made Sally laugh.
“And you need a pedicure. Get some color on those pretty toes.”
“I’ll get one in Ireland.”
“And buy some pretty underwear, girl.” Before Breen could object, Sally hooked a finger in the discarded bra’s strap, flung it away. “What are you going to do when you find some Irish hottie and he sees that mess?”
“I think I’d better find myself before I think about any Irish hotties.”
“You’re a smart woman. Find what makes Breen happy with Breen, then move to the rest.”
“I love you, Sally.”
“Oh, my baby girl, I love you, too. Now stand up, take a look at you.”
She saw a woman with fire-red hair cascading in curls wearing a bold green dress that showed a great deal of leg standing in shoes fit for a princess.
“I look . . . sort of sophisticated.”
“Straight lines, no frills, that’s what suits you.” Sally circled a finger in the air. “Give us a twirl.”
“I might break my ankle.”
“You’ve got better balance than you think.”
She did the twirl, caught a glimpse of the back of the dress. Said, “Oh, wow.”
“That’s one sexy back you got there, girl.” Sally put her hands on Breen’s shoulders, smiled nearly cheek to cheek. “And there you are, Breen Siobhan Kelly.”
“Even when you’re not wearing wings, you’re my fairy godmother, Sally.”
“My favorite purpose of being a fairy. Now grab that champagne and let’s let everybody get a load of you.”
That night, Breen slept the sleep of the happily exhausted with no stress dreams, her new dress and shoes packed for Ireland.
All the stress tumbled back the next day. She reconfirmed all her reconfirmations of all her bookings, rechecked the contents of her bags. Studied her passport, looking for any possible flaws.
Then she harangued Marco to be sure he had everything in place. “You’re sure you stopped the mail?”
“I stopped the mail, even though we hardly get any. And I took any perishables in the kitchen—also hardly any—over to Gracie across the hall. And yes, I gave her a key so she can water the couple of plants we’ve got, turn the lights off and on sporadically in case somebody wants to rob us of basically jack shit.”
“And you put your euros in a safe place?”
“Yeah, yeah. Including the five hundred Sally and Derrick gave me last night.”
“What? They gave you five hundred euros?”
“They wouldn’t take no. I’m supposed to use part of it to take you to a nice dinner so you can wear your new dress.”
“That’s so . . . them.”
“I got more if you’ve finished freaking out, because it’s starting to make me freak out.”
“What more?”
“We’re taking a limo to the airport.”
“Marco, we can’t waste money on a limo.”
“We’re not. The gang at Sally’s got it done. You know Reno’s brother drives a limo. They worked it out. And he’s going to be here in an hour, so I’m going to take a shower and get my I’m-a-world-class-traveler on. Is that what you’re wearing on the plane?”
She looked down at her black yoga pants, the simple black sweater. “We’re going to try to sleep on the plane. This is comfortable and practical.”
“It works. Makes you look like you do this all the time. But change the black shoes for those red kicks I talked you into. Just a little flash.”
“Fine.”
She changed her shoes, checked the ID cards on her luggage, got the black jacket. She’d checked the weather at Shannon Airport: sixty degrees and cloudy—40 percent chance of rain at the time of their arrival.
Marco—jeans, olive green T-shirt—looked out the window.
“Woo! Big black limo pulling up.”
“Oh God, oh God, it’s time! We need to get the bags down.”
That equaled a process, due to the steps. By the time they got down three flights with one of Breen’s suitcases, her backpack, and Marco’s suitcase and carry-on, the uniformed driver walked up.
For the life of her, Breen couldn’t remember Reno’s—an amazing Tina Turner—brother’s name.
“Hold on there, let me get some of