sister’s.”
Hen’s face brightened. “I know a secret about Michelle. She has a special drawer in her bathroom with thirty-two different shades of lipstick. I’ve counted.”
Ari had learned from college friends how younger sisters were fascinated with their older sisters. She smoothly sidetracked. “How many lipsticks do you have?”
Hen laughed. “Me? I’m eleven. I’m not allowed lipstick. But I do have my ears pierced.” Hen cupped her ears with her hands and leaned toward Ari.
“What lovely pearls, Hen!”
“I know. Beck gave them to me for my birthday. Beck is my brother. He loves me more than anybody else.”
“What a lucky girl you are. I don’t have a brother or sister.”
“It’s just you?” Hen looked horrified.
“Just me.”
“Oh, that’s sad.”
“I know, but it’s all right. I have a grandmother who lives here, and this is a secret, but she likes me best.”
Hen nodded her head decisively. “Good. Everyone needs someone who likes them best.”
In a cloud of fragrance, Michelle floated into the room. She wore a violet slip dress and had her hair piled on top of her head. “Ari! Sweetie! I thought I saw you come in. Why are you in here?”
“I heard such beautiful music, I had to come in,” Ari said. “Hen is quite talented.”
“Hen is a child who has been told to stay downstairs,” Michelle said. When Hen began to protest, Michelle approached her and put an arm around her. Very softly, Michelle said, “I know. Hen is a fascinating person. But the last time we had a grown-up party, she drank some of the cocktails and became violently ill. She vomited right in the middle of a crowd—”
Red-faced, Hen jumped up and fled the room.
“I’m sorry, Ari,” Michelle apologized. “I didn’t want to embarrass her, but she was so sick that night. Mom and Dad had given Hen her favorite dinner and let her stream a new kid’s movie in her room. But she slipped out and took sips of all the ‘pretty drinks’ and had alcohol poisoning. She could have died.”
Ari said, “Frightening.”
“Yes. But I’ll keep a watch for her tonight. Now let’s join the party.”
People were still on the balcony, talking in groups. Michelle slid through the crowd, tugging Ari along with her to stand at the front, arms on the railing, gazing out at the view.
“This is spectacular,” Ari said.
“I know!” Michelle agreed.
A couple of Michelle’s friends joined them, chatted briefly, then kissed Michelle on both cheeks before leaving. In a kind of dance, people in gorgeous summer clothes approached Michelle, met Ari, and chatted enthusiastically, happily lifting flutes of champagne or gin cocktails from trays and sipping as they talked. The party with its blur of laughter, its display of beautiful people in beautiful clothes, the caviar in deviled eggs, the mini–lobster rolls, the chocolate-dipped strawberries, made Ari feel elated, high, optimistic, thrilled to be in the warm Nantucket air with luxuries all around her. A woman in a beaded dress pulled Michelle back into the crowd. Ari leaned against the railing and looked, not at the water, but at the people gathered on the balcony.
“Hey,” a man said, leaning next to Ari.
Beckett Hathaway wore chinos, a white polo shirt, and a lightweight navy blazer. He had thick blond hair, the wide shoulders of a swimmer, eyes as blue as the ocean, and a magic smile. When Ari’s eyes met his, her heart skipped a beat.
“Hey,” Ari responded, just a little breathlessly. “I’m Ari Paget. Michelle and I were in the same childhood ed classes.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” Beckett said, grinning. “Michelle talks about you a lot.”
Ari laughed. “Michelle talks a lot. Sorry, that sounded mean.”
“Sounded truthful to me. I’ve grown up with her. Both my sisters are champion talkers.”
“And you?” Ari asked.
“I’m more of a listener, I guess,” Beckett said. “That’s probably why I’m a therapist.”
Ari jolted back. “You are a therapist?”
“I just finished a doctorate in behavioral cognitive therapy. I work with the East Coast Mental Health Group in Plymouth. Why are you so surprised?”
“It’s just…I’d never be able to be in therapy with you. I wouldn’t be able to confess my problems.”
“Why not?”
Ari shrugged. “The truth? You’re too handsome.”
Beckett laughed. “I don’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.”
Ari shook her head. “I don’t know, either!”
Beckett twirled an invisible mustache and said in a fake Freudian accent, “Vhy don’t you come to my couch and let me analyze you, my dear?”
Ari laughed. “I’m sure I could use it.” She cocked her head