“What did Patrick say to you?” Marisa asked now. “To make you want to come see me?”

“He said a lot,” Sam said. “But what really got me was a tape of us playing.”

“Us?”

“Fallen Angels,” Sam said.

“How did he get it?”

“A friend of his in the Baltimore DA's office. An old fan of ours, apparently.”

“And Patrick had it?” Marisa asked, gazing out at the harbor.

“Yes. He seemed to know it by heart, the way he cued it to the spot of you singing ‘Cliffs of Dooneen.'”

Marisa shivered to think of Patrick listening to a tape of her singing.

“He said the two of you were just friends,” Sam said.

“That's true,” Marisa said.

Sam nodded, holding back a smile. “Okay,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Just,” Sam said, taking her older sister's hand, “maybe you've forgotten how to read your own hearts. Both of you.”

“Both of us?”

“You and Patrick,” Sam said softly. “He reminds me of Paul, you know, when you first met. He really went all out to get me here.”

“He wanted us to be together,” Marisa said.

“That wasn't for me,” Sam said.

Marisa gazed out the door, feeling a tingle go down her spine.

“You haven't stopped watching for him,” Sam said. “Not once, all day.”

“I just want to thank him,” Marisa said. “For bringing you back to me and Jessica.”

“Here comes the ferry,” Sam said, waving.

“Are you going to see T.J.?” Marisa asked.

“He said he might stop up at the inn for a drink later,” Sam said. “I'll probably drop in too.”

“Well, let's head up there now,” Marisa said. “We'll talk to Anne and find out when we're playing.”

The two sisters walked across the wharf, then up the long, grassy hill. Late-day sun had burned off the remaining mist, turning the afternoon bright and golden. Even the lawn was dry, so people had spread blankets and were starting to picnic. A twelve-member band from Dublin had taken the stage, and their music was lively and joyous. Jessica and her friend Allie were on the gazebo with Flora, who faced out to sea as if waiting for her master.

The sisters walked up the steps, across the broad porch, and into the inn's lobby. Anne stood at the front desk, making notations in the guest book. She looked up, smiling.

“Hi, Marisa. And let me guess—you must be Sam!”

“And you must be Anne.”

“Welcome,” Anne said. “We've all heard so much about you. We'd begun to think you'd gotten lost in the Andes.”

“I almost did,” Sam said, squeezing Marisa's hand.

Marisa and Anne exchanged a glance, and Marisa felt grateful to have such a good friend.