Fools Rush in(79)

“You’re just not cool enough,” Danny answered, grinning. I burst into merry laughter as Sam scowled at me.

“No, really, Dad, you’re a cop,” Danny explained. “You know, you’ll make everybody behave.”

“You better behave anyway.”

“Oh, of course I will. Please. You know I don’t do that sh—stuff. Straight edge all the way. Don’t worry about me.”

“I will anyway.” For a tiny second, Sam looked a little bit sad, but then he picked an errant weed out of his garden and tossed it into the wheelbarrow. Nice cover, I thought.

“Aunt Mil will keep an eye on me, right, Millie?”

“Yes, of course I will, Daniel,” I answered. “And Sam, just because Joe and I are incredibly cool and you’re not doesn’t mean—”

“Give us a hug, sweetheart,” Sam said, opening his arms wide. I leaped up and ran away across the lawn, shrieking with laughter, feeling about nine years old again.

JOE WAS MORE THAN HAPPY to come to the Lighthouse Dance with me. “Great!” he exclaimed when I called him. “Man, those things were fun when we were kids, weren’t they, Mil?”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a Lighthouse Dance,” I told him.

“Really? How could you have missed out on that?”

Because I was fat and had acne and braces and would have jumped off the Sagamore Bridge before going. Luckily—or not—Joe didn’t seem to remember me back then. “Oh, I was kind of shy back then,” I answered.

“Well, we’re going to have a great time, Millie. You’ll see.”

I was excited, too. According to the guidelines the Lighthouse committee had sent me, chaperones were encouraged to dress up as well. Jill Doyle was going to be a chaperone, too, and she’d invited Joe and me to have dinner with several other couples before the dance. It all sounded very grown-up and fun.

I arranged to have my hair cut and colored again and had lunch with Curtis and Mitch in P-town afterward. When I got home, I called my mom and threw her the bone she’d been waiting for her whole life.

“Mom, I need a dress.”

“Millicent Evelyn Barnes!” she exclaimed in Nordstrom’s dressing room later that week. “Look at you! What a figure you’ve got, honey!”

“Well, I finally managed to lose some weight,” I answered modestly.

“But you kept your curves, you lucky thing,” she said. “Trish and I are just skin and bones.”

“I think slender is the word you’re looking for,” I said, blushing with pleasure.

Mom had me try on roughly a thousand dresses. The one we (she) picked in the end was, I had to admit, fantastic. Creamy-white satin, knee-length, with wide, 1950s off-the-shoulder straps and a curving, graceful neckline. The dress definitely made the most of my light tan and, uh, curves.

“You have such a natural beauty,” my mom sighed, looking mistily at me. Then she snapped out of it. “On to shoes. And we’re going to need a serious bra for that thing. Hurry up, honey.”

I didn’t have to work the day of the dance. Instead, I spent all day primping, just as I should have done as a teenager. First, a run for the healthy glow, then a boring but healthful breakfast. I vacuumed the sand out of my car and washed the windows clean of their doggy nose prints. Then I shaved my legs oh-so-carefully. Bubble bath with fantastic-smelling products. A manicure with clear nail polish, two coats. A long chat with Katie, then another with Curtis and Mitch, who cooed simultaneously into the same receiver. They advised cucumber slices for the eyes and lots of water.

“This is fun,” I said to them. “I never went to my prom, you know.”

“Really,” Mitch murmured politely, pretending to be surprised.

“You’ll be the prettiest one there,” Curtis replied loyally.

At five o’clock, I was ready. Joe pulled in promptly and came to my door, a single red rose in his hand. He looked—oh, magnificent didn’t do him justice. He’d gotten a haircut and looked more mature, more reliable than he did with the shaggy adorableness he usually sported. He was freshly shaved and grinning, dimples in full glory. He wore a navy-blue suit with a bright white shirt and blue-and-red tie.

“My God,” I breathed as I opened the door. “You’re beautiful, Joe.” I kissed him carefully so as not to mess up the three coats of lipstick I had painstakingly applied.

“You look great, too,” he said, handing me my rose. “Ready?”

We drove to Jill’s in my car—I hadn’t wanted to crawl in and out of Joe’s truck wearing the dress of all dresses, after all. Jill clucked and cooed over Joe and me and introduced us to the other chaperones as “the most beautiful people here.” I beamed. In fifteen short years, I had gone from fat girl to prom queen.

Jill’s dinner party was lovely. No one was ever allowed to be sad or shy around that woman, and her guests were lively and friendly. Except for one…

“Hi, I’m Millie Barnes,” I said, extending my free hand to an attractive woman in her early forties.

“Lorraine McNulty,” she said, taking my hand. “Fantastic dress.”

“Thanks! This is Joe Carpenter,” I said, turning to introduce my guy.

“Joe.” Lorraine’s features turned to stone.