“It’s beautiful, but—”

“It’s yours. Derrick, who obviously has exquisite taste in all things, picked it out for you.”

“You bought me a dress.”

“A party dress, which, despite your windfall, you haven’t bought for yourself. And shoes, which I—also with exquisite taste—selected.”

He held out a pair in glittering gold with open toes and ankle straps.

“Those heels are really high.”

“You can handle them. You can handle anything. Now strip down, girl. The party’s started without us.”

Since the music, the voices, the laughter all pulsed against the walls of the dressing room, she couldn’t argue.

Breen took off her shoes, her T-shirt, shimmied out of her pants.

“Lose the bra, sweetie. It only makes me sad.”

Breen stood in her plain white bra, her practical white cotton panties. “No bra?”

“The dress has self-support, but your girls are young and perky anyway—and that sad bra deserves a decent burial. Flaunt your girls while you’ve got them.”

“Okay. One more first for me.”

She took it off, wiggled into the dress. She lifted her arm so Sally could deal with the side zip. “It fits.”

“In every single way. Sit. Shoes.”

She sat, slipped them on, struggled a bit with the straps. “You invited Marco’s parents.”

“It would’ve been rude not to.”

“They declined. So did my mother when you invited her.”

Sally knelt down to help Breen with the straps. “It’s their loss. It hurts my heart to see people lucky enough to have beautiful children, inside and out, who can’t bring themselves to accept those children for who they are.”

Sally patted Breen’s foot. “Girl, take it from an old queen: be who you are and the hell with the rest.”

“You’re not old,” Breen said, and made Sally laugh.

“And you need a pedicure. Get some color on those pretty toes.”

“I’ll get one in Ireland.”

“And buy some pretty underwear, girl.” Before Breen could object, Sally hooked a finger in the discarded bra’s strap, flung it away. “What are you going to do when you find some Irish hottie and he sees that mess?”

“I think I’d better find myself before I think about any Irish hotties.”

“You’re a smart woman. Find what makes Breen happy with Breen, then move to the rest.”

“I love you, Sally.”

“Oh, my baby girl, I love you, too. Now stand up, take a look at you.”

She saw a woman with fire-red hair cascading in curls wearing a bold green dress that showed a great deal of leg standing in shoes fit for a princess.

“I look . . . sort of sophisticated.”

“Straight lines, no frills, that’s what suits you.” Sally circled a finger in the air. “Give us a twirl.”

“I might break my ankle.”

“You’ve got better balance than you think.”

She did the twirl, caught a glimpse of the back of the dress. Said, “Oh, wow.”

“That’s one sexy back you got there, girl.” Sally put her hands on Breen’s shoulders, smiled nearly cheek to cheek. “And there you are, Breen Siobhan Kelly.”

“Even when you’re not wearing wings, you’re my fairy godmother, Sally.”

“My favorite purpose of being a fairy. Now grab that champagne and let’s let everybody get a load of you.”

That night, Breen slept the sleep of the happily exhausted with no stress dreams, her new dress and shoes packed for Ireland.

All the stress tumbled back the next day. She reconfirmed all her reconfirmations of all her bookings, rechecked the contents of her bags. Studied her passport, looking for any possible flaws.

Then she harangued Marco to be sure he had everything in place. “You’re sure you stopped the mail?”

“I stopped the mail, even though we hardly get any. And I took any perishables in the kitchen—also hardly any—over to Gracie across the hall. And yes, I gave her a key so she can water the couple of plants we’ve got, turn the lights off and on sporadically in case somebody wants to rob us of basically jack shit.”

“And you put your euros in a safe place?”

“Yeah, yeah. Including the five hundred Sally and Derrick gave me last night.”

“What? They gave you five hundred euros?”

“They wouldn’t take no. I’m supposed to use part of it to take you to a nice dinner so you can wear your new dress.”

“That’s so . . . them.”

“I got more if you’ve finished freaking out, because it’s starting to make me freak out.”

“What more?”

“We’re taking a limo to the airport.”

“Marco, we can’t waste money on a limo.”

“We’re not. The gang at Sally’s got it done. You know Reno’s brother drives a limo. They worked it out. And he’s going to be here in an hour, so I’m going to take a shower and get my I’m-a-world-class-traveler on. Is that what you’re wearing on the plane?”

She looked down at her black yoga pants, the simple black sweater. “We’re going to try to sleep on the plane. This is comfortable and practical.”

“It works. Makes you look like you do this all the time. But change the black shoes for those red kicks I talked you into. Just a little flash.”

“Fine.”

She changed her shoes, checked the ID cards on her luggage, got the black jacket. She’d checked the weather at Shannon Airport: sixty degrees and cloudy—40 percent chance of rain at the time of their arrival.

Marco—jeans, olive green T-shirt—looked out the window.

“Woo! Big black limo pulling up.”

“Oh God, oh God, it’s time! We need to get the bags down.”

That equaled a process, due to the steps. By the time they got down three flights with one of Breen’s suitcases, her backpack, and Marco’s suitcase and carry-on, the uniformed driver walked up.

For the life of her, Breen couldn’t remember Reno’s—an amazing Tina Turner—brother’s name.

“Hold on there, let me get some of that. Frazier,” he said. “Got your ride outside.”

“And it’s a fine ride,” Marco added.

“That she is.”

“I’m sorry, there are a couple more bags upstairs.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Frazier told Breen. “Let’s get these loaded up. We’ll get the lady settled in the car, brother, and you and I will get the rest.”

It was like a dream—the long car, the smooth leather, a white rosebud in a clear vase. Frazier offered her a bottle of water. She used it to down the Dramamine she didn’t know if she needed.

When they glided away from the curb, and Marco played with the lights, the music system, she looked out the window.

She was leaving Philadelphia for three months. Everything and everyone she knew was here. And—if she stuck with the plan—after two weeks, Marco would come home.

She’d be on her own, really on her own, for the first time in her life.

No parent telling her what to do, no best friend beside her, no Sally to lean on. No supervisor, no job, no schedule.

She could find work if she needed to fill time. Her father had been an Irish citizen at the time of her birth, so she qualified for dual citizenship. And that meant she could work in Ireland if . . .

“Stop worrying,” Marco ordered. “You’re bringing yourself down.”

“No, I was just thinking if I wanted to, I could work part-time over there. Maybe in a pub—really soak it up. Or a shop. Or a garden center. I’d like to learn how to plant and grow things. I think my father grew up on a farm. I think. So many of the stories he told me get mixed up in my head, but I think he grew up on a farm.”

“They got plenty of them.”

“Anyway, I’m not worrying.” Absolutely not, she swore to herself. “I’m nervous, but that’s different. Aren’t you nervous?”

“Nope. Juiced. You and me, Breen, we’ve barely been out of Philly our whole lives. And look what we’re doing. I’m really grateful you’re giving me this chance.”

“I couldn’t do it without you. Literally. I’d never get on the plane.”

“Get ready, because we’re nearly at the airport.”

Her hand reached automatically for her purse, and Marco closed his over hers.

“You’ve got everything, honey, including your passport. We’re cruising in a freaking limo. Savor it.”

“You want to savor?” She took out her phone, snuggled in next to him. “Limo selfie time.”

“Send it to me. I’m Instagramming it, tweeting it, too. Hashtag BFFs, hashtag on our way, hashtag—”

“That’s enough,” Breen said with a laugh.

“Hey, you need to do a travel journal—day by day. We’ll put up a blog.”

“I don’t know how to do a blog.”

“You know how to write. I know how to set up a blog.” He slid on the Wayfarers he’d splurged on. “We just need a name for it. You have to keep it up after I leave, so—Shit we’re here. I’ll think about it.”

If the limo equaled another world, the airport ranked as another universe. So many people, so much noise, so many signs.

They checked in, and she tried not to panic when she watched her bags ride away on the belt and she was left with her backpack and little purse.

Lines everywhere! Getting through security brought on more low-grade panic, but nobody got arrested.

They followed the signs for the first-class lounge as directed.

“So many people going somewhere, or coming back from somewhere.”

“So are we, going somewhere.” Grinning, bopping a little, Marco grabbed her hand, swung their arms. “Maybe we should get a drink, or a snack. We got the time.”