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don’t know.” I lifted a crystal picture frame from a shelf laden with them. “How about this one?”
    My sister made a face. “No.”
    I put it back and looked around the store. “They’re all like that in here. We’re not going to find anything.”
    “Whose bright idea was it to get a fancy picture frame, anyway? Oh, right,” Mary said sarcastically. “Patricia’s. So why are we suckered into trying to find one?”
    “Because Patricia can’t come to places like this with the kids.” I scanned the shelves but all the frames were similar. Overpriced and glittering with ugliness.
    “Right. And I don’t suppose Sean can watch the rugrats in the evening?”
    I shrugged, but something in Mary’s tone made me look up. “I don’t know. Why? Did she say something about it?”
    Sisters also share a nonverbal language. Mary’s posture and expression said it all, but in case I missed what she was trying to say, she said it anyway. “He’s a jerk.”
    “Oh, c’mon, Mare.”
    “Haven’t you noticed how she doesn’t talk about him anymore? And it used to be all, Sean this, Sean that, Sean says, Sean thinks. Tell me you haven’t noticed we’ve been spared the Gospel of Sean lately. And she’s been an even bigger priss than usual. Something’s going on.”
    “Like what?” We abandoned the frou-frou shop and headed out into the bright June sunshine.
    “Well, I don’t know.” Mary rolled her eyes.
    “Maybe you should ask her.”
    My sister gave me another look. “You could ask her.”
    The sight of a familiar shock of black hair and a wardrobe that had dangerously malfunctioned made us both pause.
    “Oh, brother,” Mary said under her breath. “Goth vomited all over her.”
    I laughed. “Is that what that is?”
    “I think you used to call it punk back in the day. Holy cow. She never quits. I thought she was seeing that guy who worked at the record store.” Mary sounded awed. “Who’s that guy?”
    Claire was grinning and flirting with a very tall, very lanky young man with enough metal in his face to set off an airport security alarm. She wore a set of black-and-white striped stockings, a black lace skirt with a jagged hem and a T-shirt emblazoned with the name of a punk rock band that had swirled down the drain of drug overdoses before she’d been born.
    “She definitely marches to the beat of her own drum,” I said.
    “Yeah, that and an electric guitar, two French horns and a synthesizer.”
    Claire looked up and waved from across the parking lot, said her adieu to her new suitor and headed toward us. “Ladies. Good morning.”
    “It’s afternoon,” Mary pointed out.
    “Depends on what time you got up,” countered Claire with an unashamed grin. “So what’s the happs?”
    “Anne can’t decide on a frame.”
    “Hey!” I protested. Without Patricia here to balance on my side, I could quickly be overtaken by my two younger sisters. “It’s not up to me. We should all decide.”
    Claire waved a hand clad in a fingerless lace glove. “Whatevs. Get whatever you want. It’s not like they’ll really care.”
    “Hey, Madonna,” I said, annoyed, “1983 called. It wants its wardrobe back.”
    Mary snerked. Claire made a face. I felt a small, useless moment of triumph.
    “I’m starving,” Claire declared. “Can’t we go find someplace to chow?”
    “Not all of us have the munchies,” Mary put in.
    “Not all of us have to watch our weight,” Claire retorted sweetly.
    “Girls, girls,” I interjected. “Grade school’s over. Can we please grow up?”
    Claire slung an arm around Mary’s shoulders and gave me an innocent look. “Wha? Whyfor you so uptight, my sistah?”
    I did love them, all of them, and couldn’t have imagined my life without them. Mary grinned and shoved Claire’s arm off her. Claire shrugged and leered at me.
    “C’mon, princess,” she cooed. “Treat your li’l sissies to a burger and fries.”
    “Are you going to come clean my house?” I