Grace pondered the problem of Maggie's wedding gown as she worked her way to the bottom of the donor list. She'd just begun typing Maggie's zip code when a familiar voice stopped her mid-stroke.

  Holly Weeks spoke from the other side of the dress rack.

  "Excuse me, Charlene."

  "Holly. How lovely to see you. I understood you weren't able to volunteer today."

  Grace quit typing.

  "To be honest," Holly replied, "I didn't intend to, but I realized a little while ago that I lost an earring yesterday. A gold hoop. It matches this one. Has anyone turned it in to you?"

  Grace wanted to go say hello, but something in the young woman's voice gave her pause. She'd wait just a minute. Listen a little more. Thank goodness she wasn't morally opposed to eavesdropping.

  "Oh, dear. I am so sorry, but no, we have had no jewelry of any kind turned in. That is such a beautiful earring."

  "It was my mother's."

  Oh no. An heirloom. Grace wondered if Holly had checked the rest room.

  "Have you inquired at the front desk? I am certain the hotel has a Lost and Found."

  "Yes. I struck out there, too. Maybe it'll turn up when the gowns are moved out of the ballroom. I'll hang around and help with breakdown if that's all right with you. It's not the most flattering reason for volunteering to help, I know, but..."

  Charlene laughed. "I never turn down a volunteer."

  As the two women discussed where help was most needed at the time, Charlene's cell phone rang. From the one-sided conversation that followed, Grace gathered a problem had developed regarding a wish Pink Sisterhood had granted to a Washington woman who wanted to visit a dude ranch in Montana. Charlene discussed alternative flight arrangements with her wish director, and immediately upon her finishing the call, her phone rang again. This time it was a local restaurant asking questions about the pizzas to be delivered during breakdown an hour later. Grace heard Charlene say she'd need to ask the hotel liaison, then her voice faded as she walked away.

  A shrill voice filled the void. "Who's in charge here? There's a problem with this gown and the girl in the dressing room said I'd have to talk to the woman in charge."

  Holly said, "Charlene is busy at the moment. Perhaps I can help?"

  "My daughter wants this gown, but it has a tear in it, so I want you to deduct a hundred and fifty dollars."

  Frowning, Grace pushed apart two of the wedding gowns on the rack separating her from the check-out table, trying to make a spot through which to peek at Holly and the skinflint without being seen. A bow on the bustle of an early nineties gown blocked her view of Holly, and she scowled at the fashion dinosaur. She was tempted to rip it off, but better sense prevailed. This might be some girl's dream dress. Grace shifted her chair instead.

  The woman glaring at Holly was tall, fashionably thin, and dressed to the nines. She held a gown Grace recognized right away. She knew about the "tear." It was a tiny little quarter-inch slit on the train, probably made by a heel, and easily mended.

  Grace rose and walked around her shield of white, intending to explain how a little iron-on tape would make the dress like new again, when the mother-of-the-bride continued to speak.

  "Also, it's soiled along the edge of the train, so I want the veil and the slip for free."

  Grace's chin dropped. The nerve of that woman.

  Holly's voice dripped sugar as she briefly met Grace's gaze, then replied, "I'm sorry, but you will need to talk to Charlene about that and she is busy right now on a phone call. I believe it has something to do with the wishes the charity is granting to terminally ill men and women with proceeds from this weekend's sale."

  Holly reached over to check the tag on the Demetrios Italian silk gown the woman had piled onto the check-out table. "What a lovely dress," Holly said. "Brand new, too. This is obviously one of the gowns donated by the manufacturer. You know, I believe this one retails for between eighteen hundred and two thousand dollars. Aren't you lucky to be getting it for the five ninety-nine price tag."

  "It's soiled, I tell you," insisted the woman as Maggie abandoned the steamer and joined the tableau, her eyebrows lifted in a questioning arch. "I'm not paying over four hundred dollars for it."

  "Mmm hmm. Won't it make you feel good to know that the money you spent was used to purchase... well, here, let me look at our list of wishes waiting to be granted." Holly lifted a sheet of paper from the table, a page Grace knew itemized pizza requests rather than wishes.

  "It appears as if your purchase will pay for a video camera and VCR for an indigent young mother in Georgia. She wants to record herself reading children's books aloud so her two preschool children will still be able to have their mother read to them after she dies. Oh, but wait. Here it says the equipment costs over six hundred dollars and if the foundation discounts your brand new designer gown, which is already reduced well over a thousand dollars, we won't be able to afford both. Which should we not buy, do you think? The camera or the VCR? Oh, and by the way, your ring is simply beautiful. I love canary diamonds. It's about two carats, isn't it?"

  Maggie leaned over and spoke in Grace's ear. "That girl is good."

  By the time Charlene finished her phone call and returned, Holly had completed the sale for full price and a bonus. Maggie and Grace filled Charlene in on the younger woman's coup while Holly smirked over her victory.

  Talk turned to the Pink Sisterhood organization itself, and Holly explained that she'd visited the foundation's website last night. She asked Charlene about her day-to-day work, then they spoke for a bit about the wishes that the charity had granted and those currently waiting to be filled. It was only when Holly mentioned how, in effect, when a person is diagnosed with breast cancer the entire family is diagnosed with cancer, that Grace again heard the note of pain in Holly's voice.

  Charlene reached out and squeezed Holly's hand. "You lost a family member?"

  "My mom. It was thirteen years ago, but sometimes it feels like yesterday."

  Oh, Holly, Grace thought.

  "Oh, Holly," Charlene said. "She must have been young."

  "Thirty-two."

  Maggie elaborated. "Holly was only twelve."

  "How terribly sad for you both." Sympathy and compassion filled Charlene's expression. "A girl so needs her mother at that time of life. Two of our wish families include pre-teen daughters. Neither of the mothers are expected to live beyond Christmas. It's the saddest thing. I know how to relate to the women. I understand when they wish to talk or simply be silent. The children, the daughters especially, leave me at a loss. I do not know how to communicate with them. It breaks my heart. They break my heart. How does one deal with such a devastating loss at that age?"

  "I made a list."

  At Charlene's curious look, Holly gave a little, embarrassed laugh, then explained about the Life List she'd mentioned during the brouhaha yesterday in the ladies' room. This time when she said that it contained thirty-two items, Grace made the connection between Holly's number of goals and the age her mother died. Had Holly chosen the number on purpose?

  "What sort of goals are on your list?" Charlene asked.

  "Number twenty-five is 'I will win the Yard of the Month Award.' Number sixteen is 'I will teach an adult to read.' I've already checked that one off. Number eight is 'I will save a life.'"

  "It sounds like an ambitious list," Charlene said. "I love the idea of it."

  Holly shrugged. "Don't be too impressed. Owning crotchless panties is on it, too."

  Charlene looked scandalized, and Grace barely held back a laugh. Maggie didn't even try. "Maybe I should make a list, too. Think of the fun I could have with it. I could use some fun."

  Holly smiled crookedly, then pulled a gold hoop earring from her pocket and slipped it over the ring finger on her left hand. Looking at it, she continued, "I used it as an escape. Whenever my troubles got too heavy to bear, I'd dream about my list. I'd imagine myself skiing the Alps or diving a shipwreck. It helped me cope. You might want to pass the idea along to those daughters you mentioned, Charlene."

  The conversation was interrupted when a bride approached the table with a gown purchase. Moments later another half-dozen women waited in line, their arms full of white silk, organza, and lace. Grace and Holly pitched in to bag gowns and veils while Maggie helped Charlene write receipts. When the rush was done, Charlene glanced toward Holly and picked up where they'd left off. "Why don't you pass it along?"

  "Pardon me?"

  Charlene offered a sensible, encouraging, you'll-be-ashamed-if-you-refuse-me smile. "I think it would be nice if you talked to the girls, if you told them about your list, how it helped you, and any other bits of advice you might have. You could talk to them from the position of having been in the trenches with them."

  Grace thought it was a wonderful idea and she'd just opened her mouth to add her two cents when Holly backed away.

  "Wait a minute," Holly protested. "I'm no counselor. No therapist. I'm certainly no expert on how to deal with a parent's death. I'm still messed up myself. I don't do cancer. I don't talk about it. I try not to even think about it. It's too hard."

  Grace reached out and touched Holly's arm. "But you could be a friend who talks about female things. Makeup and boys and shoes. You could be a real-life Pink Sisterhood wish for those girls. You could give them a respite from their worries. I think it's a wonderful idea."

  "No. It's not. Really." Holly's dark hair, tied in a youthful ponytail today, whipped back and forth as she shook her head.

  Maggie tucked a pink pen behind one ear, then folded her arms. "It's a great idea and you know it. You know how to relate to youngsters that age. You're a middle-school teacher. Relating is your job."

  "I teach math, not life skills. Believe me, I am the very last person who should volunteer for something like this."

  "Nonsense," Charlene said.

  "I don't believe that," Grace scoffed.

  "You should. Because I... oh, shoot." Holly raked her fingers through her hair. "I can't deal with this. I've got to... I'm just... oh, would you look at that?"

  She gestured wildly toward the center of the ballroom. "That girl is dragging that long train behind her. Someone is going to step on it and it'll ruin the gown or somebody will get hurt."

  She dashed away as if off to save the world rather than a particularly unattractive wedding dress.

  Grace sighed as she watched Holly attempt to help a bride who obviously didn't want help. Maggie clucked her tongue. "Running away again. Something is going on there."

  Grace agreed. "Holly acts like she's scared to death."

  Maggie pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "A hotel employee mentioned to me a few minutes ago that they've set out chocolate chip cookies and drinks in the boardroom for volunteers. Let's get Holly to take a break with us. See if we can get her to spill."

  Even as they made the decision, Holly returned. She addressed Charlene, who now was busy with her calculator and receipt book, totaling the day's sales. "All right. Here's the truth. I can't believe I'm being such a blabbermouth. First the list. Now this." She flung out her hands, gesturing toward the racks of wedding gowns. "I can't believe I'm in the middle of the fairyland of girl dreams, confessing my deepest and darkest."

  She blew out a heavy breath. "I can't help those girls. I would be a terrible example. Teaching is one thing, but this is something entirely different. Believe me, those parents wouldn't want me around their daughters during such a vulnerable time."

  "Why the heck not?" Maggie put her hands on her hips, her expression perplexed.

  Holly shut her eyes, licked her lips, then faced her past. "When I was fifteen, a month after my mother's sister died, I attempted suicide."

  Grace covered her mouth with her hands to hide her gasp. Maggie's eyes went wide and round. Charlene gave Holly an encouraging smile.

  "Daddy did everything he could. Sent me to a shrink, made sure I took my medicine." A smile flickered on her lips as she glanced at Grace and Maggie. "Took me on the best Saturday-Sunday drives. But nothing helped. I was thinking about trying again. Then one of my teachers started talking to me. Her mother had passed away recently and she said she understood what I was feeling. She talked to me, not about death and dying, but about girl stuff. Light stuff."

  "Makeup and boys and shoes," Maggie said, repeating Grace's earlier words.

  Holly nodded. "She got me to talk. By the time school let out for the summer, I was over the worst of it. She inspired me to become a teacher."

  Gently, Charlene asked, "So you will work with these girls?"

  After a moment's hesitation, Holly again nodded. "Yes. I guess so. Except, I want to start out slow. I'm thinking we could exchange e-mails. See how it goes."

  "Good idea." Charlene found a note pad and a pen and asked Holly to write down the information she'd need.

  When she was done, Holly straightened, obviously ready to beat a retreat. "The sale ends at four. It's quarter till now. Would it help if I headed for the dressing room and started boxing up veils?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  Charlene explained how the veils and petticoats should be rolled and stored, and Holly headed off. Grace watched her go and realized the emotion filling her heart was a sense of maternal pride. The feeling surprised her. After all, she barely knew Holly. Still, something about the girl called to Grace, touched a place within her. She suspected it had something to do with the fact that Holly so obviously still missed her mother.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe the connection Grace felt wasn't to Holly, but to the woman who couldn't be here to assist and advise her daughter as she navigated the maze of life. The notion made sense, considering. "I wonder what her name was," she mused.

  "Who?" Charlene asked.

  "Holly's mother."

  Holly's mother. The woman whose life the breast cancer dragon had extinguished way too young. The woman whose light, however, continued to shine. It shone in her bright, brave, empathetic daughter.

  Grace knew just what to do. "Holly?" she called.

  The young woman glanced over her shoulder. Grace smiled tenderly and spoke the words Holly needed to hear. "Your mother would be so proud."

  * * *

  On Wednesday morning, Holly awoke slowly to the toasty sensation of sunshine on her face. Without opening her eyes, she grinned into her pillow. Sleeping late was one of the best things about this year's Spring Break.

  She was trying hard to take note of all the things she enjoyed about her week off this month. She needed something to balance all the negatives that plagued her.

  The smile faded. She and Justin had planned to go away this week. They'd had reservations at a B&.B in the Hill Country. Holly had intended to spend the week working on number eighteen: I will be a man's "Best He Ever Had."

  Instead, she'd spent her time on number twenty-seven: I will read a thousand books simply for pleasure. It was a worthy goal, but not nearly as much fun as the other.

  She missed Justin so bad it made her stomach hurt.

  Holly wondered if he'd taken off work as scheduled. She knew he wouldn't go to the Hill Country alone, but he might have gone somewhere else. He might have gone fishing. Justin liked to fish. Who knows, he might have gone up to his family's lake house at Lake Texoma for the week. He might be fishing with Mike Prescott. He might be catching a twelve-pound striper right this very minute, the same fish that was supposed to be destined for Holly's hook to fulfill number nine.

  "Aaargh," she cried, burrowing her head in her pillow even as the phone beside her bed began to ring. She let it trill four times before picking up. "Hello?"

  "Holly? It's Maggie. I just got a call from Grace and she's begging for our help. Are you busy this morning?"

  Holly glanced at the stack of novels beside her bed. "My plans can wait."

  "Wonderful. It's nine now. Can you be ready in half an hour? I'll pick you up on the way."

  "On the way to where?"

  "Silke's. A little boutique on Camp Bowie. We're meeting Grace there at ten. She wants help choosing her anniversary party dress."

  "Oh, that sounds like fun. I'll be... Silke's?" Horror colored Holly's voice. "That's where Justin's mother took me to try on wedding gowns. That's where Randall works."

  Maggie's tone imitated awe. "He is a god."

  Holly's gaze landed on her stack of paperback novels. "Maybe I should skip this excursion, after all. If Grace has Randall's opinion, she won't need mine. I have a lot to do today and—"

  "She wants very badly for you to join us. She asked me to make the request since this is your vacation and she didn't want to put you on the spot."

  Randall. Ugh. "What if Justin's mother shows up?"

  "I'll get rid of her. I promise. You can hide in the dressing room until I get the job done. Grace can sneak you cookies from the bakery next door."

  Holly always had a difficult time saying no to sweets. At least that was the explanation she gave herself as, an hour later, she found herself exchanging small talk with the only man alive who'd put a tape measure to her breasts.

  When Grace emerged from the dressing room in an ice blue beaded silk evening suit, Holly grasped the distraction like a lifeline. "That's beautiful. I love the color."

  Randall directed Grace onto a carpet-covered platform in the center of the mirrored sitting area, then fixed and fussed and eventually shooed Grace back into the dressing room to change. The second dress was a simple black sheath with a jacket. Maggie adored it; Randall despised it. Holly feared they might break out into a fist-fight at any moment.

  The debate raged for a dozen outfits and almost two hours. To Holly's surprise, she found herself weighing in with an opinion almost every time. However, the most important person in the decision-making process sank deeper into indecisiveness with every change of clothes.

  "I give up," Grace wailed softly when Randall left the room in search of yet another outfit. "They're all pretty. They're all way too expensive. Maybe I should wear something I already have."