Mr. and Miss Anonymous. Fern Michaels

that she would have to pay extra to have the beauty shop stay open to accommodate her.

      As Lily drove toward Charleston, she let her mind wander back to her past and the years leading up to the present. She had so many regrets these days. She’d hoped to be married with children by now, but that wasn’t happening. She didn’t think it would ever happen. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. She was married to her company and would just be cheating a husband. She had no motherly instincts, but there was a reason for that. A reason she didn’t want to dwell on. How sad.

      Lily tried to remember the last time she’d had a real date. Well over a year ago. Penny said it was because she was too intimidating. Penny also said her standards were way too high, and at her age, she needed to stop being so picky. Lily didn’t even bother to offer any rebuttal because Penny was right. If things continued the way they were, she was going to end up an old maid, rocking on her verandah and staring out at the ocean.

      Lily continued with her soul-searching. She’d always been a methodical kind of person. And analytical. She rarely made a mistake, but when she did, it was usually of the mega kind. To date she regretted only two things she’d done in her life. The first one was going into the teaching field. She simply wasn’t teacher material. While she admired all teachers, she herself had no desire to mold young minds. The second mistake was to donate her eggs to that awful clinic. How young and stupid she was back then. How needy, how greedy, how goal-oriented she was during that last year at Berkeley.

      With all that on her shoulders, it still boggled her mind that she’d made a go of the little business she’d started in her grandmother’s garage. These days she ran a company that netted a billion dollars annually.

      All of that, and still she was an emotional wreck, teetering on the edge. For months she’d known she had to do something to turn her life around. Then when the invitation arrived to attend the special fund-raiser, her mind had kicked into high gear. Why she thought Peter Kelly could help her was beyond her comprehension. Some deep part of her gut said that since he was part of her past in a minimal way, the answers had to lie with him. “Maybe I’m in the throes of a nervous breakdown and too stupid to know it,” she muttered to herself.

      Lily had reached Charleston. She parked by the outdoor market and made her way to a specialty shop on King Street—a shop named Olga’s—where she bought a ton of clothes that Olga herself paraded in front of her. She explained that she was going to the hairdresser at Charleston Place and paid extra to have her purchases delivered to her home on the Battery.

      At seven o’clock, when she left the beauty shop, her long crop of hair was sheared, sunstreaked, and highlighted. Her mane of curly hair, what was left of it, was now styled into a becoming skullcap hairdo that curled winsomely around her face. She liked the change because she looked totally unlike herself. The beautician said she looked ten years younger. The woman’s testimonial pleased Lily so much that she purchased two shopping bags of products she knew she would probably use once. Her face glowed and tingled, but she was zit-and blackhead-free. She hadn’t even known she had zits and black-heads, which probably just meant she needed glasses.

      From time to time when she parked her car in her driveway, Lily would stop and look at her house. She would marvel at how far she’d come in life, from the ramshackle house she’d lived in with her grandmother to this historical house that she had restored. A house that was far too big for one person. Oh, she had a housekeeper and a gardener, but they went home at five o’clock. It was a house that begged for children and pets, not a young single woman who rarely got home before nine at night and left at six in the morning.

      Lily pressed the code to the gate in her walled-off courtyard. The solar lights guided her toward the kitchen, which was awash in light. In fact, every light and every television set was on inside the house, something she insisted on. She hated coming home to darkness and silence.

      Lily set her shopping bags on the counter and poured herself a glass of wine that she carried out to the courtyard, where she settled herself in a comfortable cushioned glider. She leaned back and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t turn off her mind.

      If only…if only…

      Lily woke a little past midnight bathed in sweat. The damn dream again. She dropped her head into her hands and started to cry. It was always the same dream: children, dozens of them, dressed in clothing she’d designed, and who looked just like her at their age, picketing with faceless parents outside Sandcastle headquarters. Everyone was screaming and shouting, but she could never make out what they were saying. Until a week ago—when she had the dream again, and the words were so crystal clear it felt like they were burned into her brain just the way they were minutes ago when she woke.

      Lily choked on her own sobs as she struggled to get herself together. The words—“See, see, it is a big deal”—wrapped themselves around her very soul.

      What a fool she’d been. She knew she was still being a fool to think Peter Kelly could help her. First, she needed to help herself. She needed to talk to someone, to try and unload the guilt she’d been carrying around for so long. At the very least she needed a professional to help her come to terms with what she considered “Lily’s folly” so many years ago.

      Lily was stiff from the damp air. She picked up her empty wineglass and made her way into the house, where she climbed the stairs to the second floor to take a shower. She knew there would be no more sleep for her that night, so she might as well pack and get things ready for her early-morning trip to the airport.

      The image in the bathroom mirror startled her until she remembered her makeover just hours ago. “The new me,” she mumbled as she stepped into the shower. This new me is going to turn her life around or die trying. With that promise, her spirits lifted. Maybe, just maybe, she would finally be able to get a handle on her life.

      Fifteen minutes later, a luxurious towel wrapped around her, Lily padded out to her bedroom to look at what Olga called her “traveling attire.” She stared at the pale green linen suit with matching sandals and winced. Linen? How had she allowed Olga to talk her into linen? She’d be one wrinkled mess before she even got to the airport in Charleston. She hung the suit in the spacious closet as she moved hangers this way and that. She finally chose a pair of off-white capri pants with a matching top. She rummaged through her shoe rack until she found a comfortable pair of straw sandals for the trek through the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, where she had a layover.

      She just needed one more thing. Her old hat, the one she’d been wearing when she had first met Pak/Peter Kelly. He’d even commented on it. Said he liked it. How weird was it that she would remember a detail like that after all these years?

      In the dressing room off her bedroom, there were shelves and shelves filled with head busts wearing hats. All from back when she first thought she wanted to be a hat designer. Hats, she’d been told back then, were in the tank, so she’d given up on that idea and designed hats only for herself. There it was, her very first creation. A denim fishing hat with the brim rolled up. A huge silk sunflower was pinned to the middle. She smiled. She’d always loved that particular hat, maybe because it was her first design. The sunflower wasn’t the least bit faded or droopy. Nor was there any dust on the denim hat. She plopped it on her head and sashayed out to her bedroom where she got dressed, still wearing the hat. It didn’t exactly go with her outfit, so she changed the capri pants to a pair of soft denims with a design around the hem. They weren’t jeans, so that was okay.

      Lily realized she was feeling better and better as the time moved forward.

      It was four thirty when Lily descended the stairs to leave her oversize piece of luggage by the front door. The limo driver could carry it down the front steps when he arrived at five thirty to take her to the airport.

      With time to kill, Lily made coffee and toast. While she waited, she scribbled off a note to her housekeeper, saying she would call when she was certain of her return date. She looked around the pleasant kitchen, pleasant because her housekeeper had made and hung the checkered curtains. She had also sewed the place mats, and the padded cushions on the wooden chairs. Nelda had also brought in the green plants and looked after the little herb garden on the windowsill.