Kirby glances at Evan to see if he is hearing all this. Darren reads literature and he can cut down some two-by-fours to fit in the gaps of the window that Evan neglected to measure. Evan is standing back with his arms locked across his chest, glaring down at Darren. He isn’t even pretending to help anymore. Kirby is annoyed, but a second later, the air conditioner is installed. Darren plugs it in and turns it on. Kirby stands before the blast of deliciously cold air and closes her eyes.

“It’s heavenly,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” Evan says. “Please don’t make a big deal about it because I can’t afford air-conditioning for anyone else. It’s just that…it does get really hot up here.”

“Thank you,” Kirby says.

“Thank you,” Kirby says to Darren once they’re back down on the street.

“Evan bought you an air conditioner because he likes you,” Darren says. “It’s a twenty-six-pound love letter.”

“Please stop,” Kirby says. “I feel like I have to apologize for Evan. He just stood back and let you do all the work.”

Darren shrugs. “I offered. I wanted to impress you.”

Kirby grins. “You did?”

He reaches for her hand, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Because the day is overcast and people aren’t at the beach, the line at the Flying Horses Carousel is long. Darren buys their tickets and a box of popcorn for them to share while they watch people of all ages ride around on the antique horses, everyone grabbing silver ring after silver ring from the dispenser and stacking them on their animal’s ears. The last ring, Darren explains, is brass, and grabbing the brass ring wins you an extra ride. It’s a lot of hoopla for forty cents, he says, but it makes the ride more fun.

“Have you ever gotten the brass ring?” Kirby asks.

“Never once,” Darren says. “My mother used to say it was because I was so lucky in the rest of my life.”

Kirby says, “I don’t think your mother likes me. She gave me a dirty look at the beach the other day.”

Darren throws away the empty popcorn box and reclaims Kirby’s hand. Her heart not only sings; it hits a soprano’s high note. “My mother is protective,” he says. “Trust me, it’s not you.”

Trust me, it is me, Kirby thinks. “Have you ever had a serious girlfriend?” she asks.

“One,” Darren says. “My freshman year. Her name was Amanda.”

Amanda. She sounds white, but Kirby is afraid to ask. She finds she’s jealous of Amanda, which is ridiculous. “Did your mother like Amanda?” Kirby asks.

“Hated her,” Darren says, and he laughs. “How about you? Have you had a serious boyfriend?”

Officer Scottie Turbo, she thinks. But there’s no way she’s going to tell that story. However, she finds she can’t discount it either. “One,” she says. “He was…older. A policeman.”

“A policeman?” Darren says. He whistles. “Damn, that’s tough to compete with. I’m jealous.”

Kirby squeezes her hand. “You shouldn’t be,” she says. “It’s over. And I mean over.”

When it’s finally their turn to ride the carousel, they pick horses next to each other, Darren on the inside and Kirby on the outside.

The carousel starts to spin and Kirby raises her hands over her head. She has never felt this happy.

Neither of them gets the brass ring—it goes to a little girl with custard-colored curls who looks like Buffy from Family Affair—but even so, Kirby gets off the carousel feeling like she’s lucky in every part of her life.

Darren walks Kirby back to the house on Narragansett Avenue and says, “I’ll be by tomorrow with those two-by-fours. And hey, why don’t you come to my house for dinner on Sunday night? Sundays we always do steamers.”

“Are you sure?” Kirby says. She loves steamer clams. On Nantucket, she and Tiger harvested their own clams using rakes that had belonged to their grandfather. No matter how thoroughly they rinsed them, they always ended up with sand in the bowl, and that was what made them authentic.

“Sure I’m sure,” Darren says. “Come at five; that’ll give us plenty of time to hang out before you have to go to work. You can get to know my mom a little better, and my dad is way easier than my mom.”

His mom is the real judge, Kirby thinks. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

Darren leans over and kisses Kirby gently on the lips. Before she can register how good it feels, he’s walking away with a wave.

Kirby floats into the house. Darren Frazier kissed her! He invited her for dinner! And the truly transcendent thing is, she doesn’t even think of him as black anymore. She only thinks of him as Darren.

On a whim, Kirby knocks on Patty’s door, and Patty calls out, “Enter at your own risk!”

Kirby finds Patty standing at her bureau wearing only a slip and staring into the mirror.

“Hey,” Kirby says. She drops her voice to a whisper. “I have air-conditioning now. Want to come upstairs and luxuriate?”

“I have to go to work,” Patty says. “Double feature, The Italian Job and True Grit.” She tries for a light tone but Kirby senses something wrong. And then she sees the purple bruise on Patty’s upper arm.

“Hey,” Kirby says, gently taking Patty’s elbow so she can get a better look. “What’s this?”

Patty yanks her arm away. “I told you,” she says. “Role-playing.”

“Patty,” Kirby says. She locks eyes with Patty in the mirror, which seems easier than talking to her face to face. “Is he hurting you?”

“It’s a game,” Patty says. “Now, please leave.”

Help!

It feels like Blair is being held hostage in her own body. She’s thirty-four weeks pregnant. There are still six weeks to go until her due date. She has heard that twins often come early, but she has also heard that first children are often late.

Early, she thinks, come early. Today, tomorrow, right now.

Of course, the babies will have no father.

Blair can’t believe Angus asked her to leave. But then she tries to imagine how she would feel if she had walked in on Angus necking with her sister Kirby. It would be unspeakably horrible—much, much worse than finding out about the faceless Trixie.