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don’t you?” she asked.
    Claire balked at such a mundane characterization. “No, I don’t have a crush on him. In fact, I feel kind of ill and disoriented whenever he’s around.”
    “Claire, honey, that is a crush. You’re out of practice, girl.” The color rinse was finished, and Allie handed Claire a magazine to read while she sat and waited for her hair todry. She sat down in the chair next to Claire. “Is he very cute?”
    “The poison in his soul far outweighs his outside attractiveness,” Claire said.
    “Very cute, then,” Allie said. “And is he seeing anyone?”
    Claire had to plead ignorance. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about his personal life besides the fact that he can’t tolerate me. The other woman who works there, Lissa, once hinted to me that they went out when they were in college.”
    “Lots of people go out, Claire. They go out on one or two dates, but they don’t feel the need to pursue it any further. Most women don’t consider getting hitched to every man who rings the doorbell.”
    “Neither do I, anymore.” Starting tomorrow, she’d be called upon to tell lie after lie, beginning with her and Alec being a couple and continuing on through the moment she pretended to forgive Miranda her trespasses. But she wasn’t lying about what she told Allie. She was too old to keep going out with guys she couldn’t stand just because she couldn’t break it to them that she wasn’t interested. Better to make sure they didn’t notice her at all. And as for the kind of engagement she’d had with Scott—well, she never wanted to give her heart away like that again.
    “Do you want my advice?” Allie asked.
    “Tell me how I could stop you from giving it to me.”
    “I think you should take your new hair and new wardrobe up to the Craigs and enjoy yourself like there’s no tomorrow. Eat great food, drink great wine—oh, wait, the Craigs don’t drink—okay, smuggle in great wine, and let their servants wait on you hand and foot.”
    Allie had painted a tempting picture, but Claire was hung up on one of the details. “I didn’t buy a new wardrobe.”
    “Not yet.” Allie pointed to the large clock on the wall to the right of Claire. “You’re my last client. When we get out of here, we’re going shopping.”
    “I have clothes, Allie. I’m already packed.”
    Allie put her finger on her chin in an exaggerated motion. “Let me guess what you consider clothes for the weekend. You were going to pack that midcalf navy skirt you wore to my great-aunt’s funeral, the designer dress you got on clearance even though it’s a little irregular, your faded baggy jeans and that huge white shirt you stole from Scott. To top it all off, a bathing suit with a skirt attached to it, probably one your mother gave you because she considered it too old for her.”
    “They’re back in style,” Claire said.
    “For people who are planning to time-travel back to the turn of the century,” Allie said. “Look at me.” Claire obeyed. “I look good. But what you see here is work. You’ve seen me without my makeup, or trying to get my hair to hold a curl. Now I look at you and I say, “Gee, Claire’s got great hair, beautiful big eyes, a body Marilyn Monroe herself might have envied, and what is she doing with it? Hiding it all.’“
    Claire pretended to read the poster-sized advertisements hung around the room, but Allie went on. “So I ask myself why? Now in high school, Claire might have lost her mascara tube a few times at the bottom of her grocery sack of a purse, and she didn’t always have time to brush her hair thoroughly before class, but at least she wore clothes that fit. She didn’t try to hide how pretty she was. So do you know what I think?”
    Claire didn’t answer.
    “I think you don’t want anyone to know you’re attractive. You’re terrified that some man will find out how cute and smart and funny you really are, and fall in love with you again.” She