Chapters (47)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Epigraphs
- Prologue
- Part One
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- Part Two
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
Ann stood up and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Just then Toby snuck up from behind Michael and giggled. “Gross! You kissed your sister. We saw you.”
“You didn’t see anything,” Ann said.
Brooks said, “Yeah we did. Isn’t that against the law? You can’t kiss your brother.”
Michael sprinted away, turning the corner by Captain Higgins, running as fast as he’d ever run.
THIRTEEN
Ann
Ann fell asleep on the Shaws’ couch and slipped into a dream about Michael and that kiss. His lips were soft but insistent, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. She worked so hard to suppress her feelings for Michael and deny her attraction to him that it felt good to let go in her dreams, where she could indulge all of her pent-up emotions and guilty thoughts.
But then Michael started morphing into Anthony. His features became blunt, his scent musky. He was saying her name: Ann, Ann. She felt the grip grow tighter. It was Anthony’s hand—had it also been his lips on hers, or had she dreamt it? We’re home. Wake up. She opened her eyes and saw him leaning close to her, his hand still there, his face just inches from her own.
“You were out cold,” he said. “I enjoyed watching you.”
“Sorry,” she said, wiping the drool off her cheek. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep with her mouth open—how stupid had she looked? “I can never make it past the music part of Saturday Night Live.”
“Did the boys behave?”
The boys, the boys … it was hard to focus. “They were fine.”
“Now, that was a party!” Maureen said, pulling a big gold bangle off her wrist and tossing it on the kitchen island, where it dinged against the granite.
“A miserable one,” Anthony said.
Ann didn’t think Maureen looked like she’d had fun. She looked sad, worn out, with smudged mascara under her eyes and sweat marks in her shirt under her armpits. Anthony was clearly agitated, his face also grim. Ann could tell they’d been in an argument, and that the argument would have continued if she weren’t there.
Maureen reached into her purse and jiggled her keys. “I need to get you home.”
“I’ll drive her,” Anthony said, snatching the keys from her hands.
“I’m fine,” Maureen said.