“What's going on?” asks Sid, blinking in the light as she enters the kitchen.

  “They found Shelby!” I tell them. “Apparently she had fallen asleep under a bush.”

  “You mean passed out,” says Ryan, but I can tell he's relieved.

  “Thank God!” says Sid. “And good night.”

  We tell Sid good night for the second time, and Ryan suddenly gets up. “You know, I'd just as soon not be here when she comes back,” he says. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I think it would only complicate things.” He smiles at me. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Thanks for the moral support,” I say.

  “Same back at you.” Then he slips out the door.

  I rinse his cup and put it away. No reason to make Shelby wonder. About fifteen minutes later I hear someone at the door. I peek through the peephole and see Shelby with two uniformed men. She looks a little disheveled and loopy but still pretty. I open the door, thank the men, and tug her into the suite. Okay, I seriously want to shake her and yell at her and ask her if she knows how stupid she's been or how she's freaked us all out. But that would be so parental.

  Instead, I make her drink a cup of coffee, then direct her to her bed, and tell her good night. Just to be safe, I close her bedroom door and even use an ottoman to block the front door. In case she decides to go in search of a bougainvillea plant to sleep under, the racket of her escape should wake me up. Then I lie in bed just listening for a while. I want to be certain she's really asleep and going nowhere. I wonder if this is how parents feel, and it makes me seriously reconsider whether I'll ever want to have kids of my own.

  veryone sleeps in fairly late on New Years Eve. I think last night wore us all out. I make a pot of coffee, noticing it's nearly ten, and already I wonder if I'll want to stay up late enough to see the new year in tonight. I've never been much of a night owl anyway.

  “Bless you, my child,” says Sid as I hand her a cup of hot coffee. She still has on her robe, and her eyes aren't totally open yet.

  “The newspaper is in the living room,” I add, knowing how she likes to stay on top of things with the complimentary daily edition of USA Today down here.

  She waves her hand. “Not yet. Let me wake up first.”

  “Shelby still sleeping it off?”

  “It'sounded quiet in there.”

  “Good.” I don't mention that at least the ottoman was still in place in front of the door this morning. I moved it before Sid got up. I don't want my aunt to think I'm totally paranoid.

  “I've been wondering if Shelby's parents are aware of her problem,” says Sid quietly.

  “I don't know.”

  “Sometimes parents are the last to know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyway, I was thinking if I were her mom, I'd want to know. I'd want to get her into some kind of rehab program.”

  “But doesn't Shelby have to want to do that sort ofthing herself?” I ask.

  She nods and takes a sip. “You're right. The first step in recovery is to admit you have a problem.”

  “But maybe we could attempt a little intervention,” I suggest.

  “That's not a bad idea.”

  “I mean, we're not her family, but we're her friends, and we've seen up close and personal that this girl has a problem.”

  “That's for sure.”

  “I'm not sure exactly how to do it,” I admit. “When I've seen it on TV, they've usually had some professionals around ready to whisk the person off into some prearranged rehab place.”

  “Well, we can't do that.” Sid considers this. “But at least we can point out to her that she has a serious problem and that it's obvious to people around her. And we can encourage her to talk to her parents.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “We'll tell Ian and Ryan our idea. Maybe we can try to do it sometime today.”

  “Before she starts drinking again?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And this is New Year's Eve,” I remind her.

  She groans. “That's right.”

  “Does this mean we have to baby-sit her tonight?” I ask.

  Sid just shrugs. “I have no idea.”

  “So, what are you doing today?” I ask.

  “Well, I told Ian that after our busy day of fishing yesterday, I want to just hang out at the resort today. This is our last day here, you know. And I don't want to go home from my vacation feeling exhausted. I might even see if I can get into the spa for a massage or a facial or something.”

  “Oh, that sounds scrumptious.”

  “Want to join me?”

  “Oh, I don't know.

  “Come on,” she urges. “My treat. It'll be more fun with a friend along.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Sid reaches for the phone book. “Hopefully we can get in.”

  “Get into what?” asks Shelby, who emerges looking a little worse for wear. For some reason I find this reassuring. I mean, anyone who lives as hard as this girl has got to show some signs of stress eventually.

  Sid explains her spa idea, and Shelby immediately decides she wants to join us. Not that we invited her. But as Sid calls to see what's available, I'm thinking this might be a good idea. We should try to keep an eye on Shelby today, try to make sure she doesn't get wasted and scare us all again tonight.

  “Maddie,” calls Sid, handing me the phone. “Translate, please.”

  “Hola?” I say as Sid sticks the glossy spa brochure into my hand, pointing to the hot rock massage, then the herbal wrap, and finally the full facial. So I do my best to inquire about these procedures, telling the woman there are three of us. And by the time I'm done, I'm not totally sure, but I think I've booked all three of us for all three treatments. “Our appointments are at one thirty,” I tell them.

  “Terrific,” says Sid.

  “And its my treat,” says Shelby.

  “But I planned to—”

  “No arguing!” Shelby cuts Sid off. “It's the least I can do for disturbing you guys last night.” She gives us a sheepish yet surprisingly winning smile. “I dont remember everything that happened, but I do recall this good-looking security guy telling me my family had called and they were very worried. At first I didn't know what he meant, but then I figured it must've been you guys. Then I thought how it was really sweet that you called about me and that they thought you guys were my family.”

  “Well, we were worried,” says Sid.

  I nod. “Yeah. We had no idea where you were or if you'd been hurt.”

  “I was perfectly fine.”

  “Well, if sleeping in the bushes is considered perfectly fine,” says Sid with a slight edge to her voice.

  Shelby waves her hand. “Let's forget about it now. And our spa time will be my way of saying I'm sorry. Okay?”

  Sid and I both agree. But I'm thinking we can still remember it later, like when we stage our little intervention. After all, she said herself it was sweet that the security guard thought we were her family. What kind of family wouldn't intervene with someone like Shelby?

  We meet the guys for lunch at noon, explaining about our spa date, which looks like it could last several hours. I can tell by Ian's brisk attitude toward Shelby that he's heard about her late-night escapade. I don't think it endears her to any of us when she orders a Bloody Mary with her lunch.

  “I told Ryan I'd go fishing with him today,” says Ian. “I've booked us for the afternoon trip. We should be back here by five.”

  “Sounds fun,” I say.

  “You could ditch the spa and join us,” suggests Ryan.

  I make a face. “Nah, something about lying around and being pampered is sounding pretty good to me right now.”

  “You got that right,” says Shelby. “Besides, the spa is my treat. My little way of apologizing for being out too late last night.” She glances over at Ryan as if to see if he's aware of her disappearing act.

  Ian clears his throat. “Yes, we heard about that, Shelby. You had everyone very worried.”

  She tosses him a brilliant smile. “Oh, it's so nice to know I was missed.”

  “You're just lucky you didn't turn up missing,” says Ryan with a scowl.

  Then Sid changes the subject. “What are we doing for New Year's Eve tonight?” she asks no one in particular.

  “Well, I'm glad you brought that up,” says Ian. “It just so happens I've made reservations for all of us at a very special place.”

  “Where?” asks Shelby with enthusiasm.

  “My surprise,” says Ian.

  “Oh, I love surprises,” gushes Shelby.

  “But I'll warn you ladies, this evening might call for your dancing shoes.”

  “And Irishmen are good dancers,” says Sid, winking at Ian. “It can be a challenge to keep up with them.”

  We finish our lunch, and Sid takes Ian aside for a few minutes afterward, I assume to inform him of our little intervention plan.

  “Oh, young lovers,” says Shelby as she reapplies a thick coat of lip gloss.

  Ryan sort of rolls his eyes and then excuses himself.

  “When did he get to be so grumpy?” she asks me.

  I want to tell her it might have something to do with staying up too late last night, combing the beach for dead bodies, and sitting around drinking coffee until two in the morning, but I control myself.

  We wish the guys good luck with their fishing adventure, then return to our room to prepare ourselves for our spa afternoon. Okay, I suppose I wish it were just Sid and me, but if it keeps Shelby out of trouble for a few hours, well, that's worth something. And, I remind myself as we check into the spa, this is on Shelbys tab. More realistically, its probably her parents’ tab. I feel a little guilty for this, but on the other hand, I think her parents might appreciate that Sid and I have been trying to keep their daughter out of trouble.

  Because the spa's fairly busy today, we can't have the same spa treatments at the same time. So the plan is to stagger them. Sid decides to start with the massage and end with the facial. I'll start with the herbal wrap and end with the massage. And Shelby gets what's left. Sounds fair to me, I'm thinking as I head off to be wrapped in seaweed.

  I have to force myself to relax as cold pieces of slimy green goop are slathered around my body, but after a while the coolness is replaced by a nice, warm, tingling sensation, which is actually quite relaxing. I'm thinking I could get used to this. In fact, I think I even fall asleep. After that, and a nice therapeutic shower, I have a facial, which leaves my face feeling as smooth as satin. Very nice. I see Shelby and Sid in passing, but so far we have exchanged few words. Like me, they seem to be enjoying this. Finally I have the hot-stone massage, which totally puts me to sleep. When I wake up, I'm so relaxed I think I could easily stay up long enough to see the new year in after all, perhaps even dance the night away. Well, that last bit might be a stretch.

  I wait for Sid and Shelby in the spa lounge, a quiet room full of big, comfy, white chaise chairs that overlook the sea. I'm stretched out and sipping a tall glass of cucumber water when I hear the sound of loud voices. This strikes me as unusual since everyone in this spa talks as if they're in the public library. I perk up my ears to listen and find that someone's calling for a doctor, saying one of the guests is in serious medical need.

  A few minutes later I think of my aunt. Could she have had a stroke or something? I get up and go out in the hallway in time to see one of the spa women talking to Sid in rapid Spanish, but it's obvious Sid has no idea what's going on. At least she appears to be perfectly fine. I hurry over to see if I can help translate and listen as the woman quickly retells me the horrifying story she was trying to communicate to Sid.

  “Oh no!” I say when she's finally done. I turn to Sid. “Shelby's had an allergic reaction to something. She was so swollen she couldn't breathe.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yes. A doctor gave her some kind of shot—I cant remember what it was called.”

  “Epinephrine?”

  “Yes, I think that's what she said. Anyway, she's okay. But they want us to go check on her.”

  “Of course.”

  The woman leads us to the room where Shelby is recovering. Now, okay, I know it's not funny, but when I see Shelby wrapped in a big white towel, with greenish brown seaweed still hanging off her arms and legs, and her face all swollen and red and splotchy, well, it's hard not to laugh. I mean, this is so un-Shelbylike. Then I remind myself that this poor girl couldn't breathe just a few minutes ago, and I get serious.

  “Are you all right?” asks Sid, bending over to peer at Shelbys puffy red eyes.

  “Yes,” says Shelby in a deep, hoarse voice.

  “That must've been scary,” I say as I sit in a chair across from her.

  She just nods.

  “But you can breathe okay now?” asks Sid.

  “Yes.”

  “Excuse me,” says a man's voice. “I'm Dr. Heishcel. I gave the young lady the epinephrine shot.” He peers at Sid. “Are you her mother?”

  “No,” explains Sid, “we're her roommates…and friends.”

  “I see. Well, Chelsea, is it?” He looks at Shelby.

  “Shelby,” I tell him.

  “Right. Well, Shelby had a severe allergic reaction to something she's been exposed to today. It could be one of the oils or something she ingested or even this kelp.” He pulls a string of seaweed from her hair. “Whatever it was, it caused her airways to swell and close so that she was suffocating. But the epinephrine shot took care ofthat.” He hands Sid a bottle. “This is Benadryl, an over-the-counter allergy medicine that she should continue to take for the next couple of days, just to make sure the effect of the assaulting allergens is out of her system. The dosage is on the package.”

  “Thank you,” says Sid. “Is there anything else she should do?”

  “She might want to try a soda bath to relieve the itching and swelling.”

  “Itching and swelling?” asks Shelby in a raspy voice.

  “Yes. It'should go away in a day or so. It's basically like a bad case of hives.”

  “What kind of soda?” I ask the doctor, imagining filling the bathtub with Coke or Sprite.

  “Just regular baking soda,” he says. “It's very soothing.”

  “I'm so glad you were here,” says Sid.

  “There's always a doctor on call at the resort,” he tells her. “Sort of a working vacation for us. Anyway, I've seen this type of thing before down here. Numerous times. In fact, I always advise my traveling friends to take Benadryl with them on their trips. You never know when a bee sting or spider bite or a piece of seafood can throw a real wrench in the works.”

  He smiles at Shelby now. “You take care, young lady Drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest.”

  She just nods.

  “What about alcohol?” I say before the doctor can leave.

  He peers at me curiously, as if he's thinking I'm a lush who wants to get my friend drunk. “I mean, Shelby likes a drink sometimes,” I say quickly. “Is that a problem?”

  “Yes,” he says sternly, “it most definitely is. She is not to drink alcohol with this medication.”

  Shelby puts her head down and groans. I smile at the good doctor. “Thank you,” I say, suppressing the urge to yell Woo-hoo!

  e get Shelby back to the suite, and Sid makes a run to the grocery store for some baking soda while I start a bath in the big Jacuzzi.

  “I need a drink,” she tells me in her gruff-sounding voice.

  “We have orange juice, papaya juice, Coke, Sprite—”

  “You know what I mean,” she huffs. “A real drink.”

  “Sorry,” I tell her, feeling the water to make sure its not too hot. “Doctors orders.”

  She goes over to the bathroom mirror and looks at her reflection, then swears.

  “It's only temporary,” I tell her.

  “I look like a monster.” She leans closer to the mirror, peering at herself with a look of complete horror. And I have to agree with her, I suppose; she does look pretty monstrous right now. Her face is swollen almost beyond recognition. She's covered with raised red welts. Her eyes are bloodshot, and even her lips are puffed out in an unbecoming and unnatural way.

  “Why don't you take a quick shower,” I say. “Get the rest ofthat seaweed off you, then you can soak in the tub. Sid should be back any minute with the soda. And I'll go make you a drink.”

  “A drink?” she says hopefully.

  I smile. “Yes, my own specialty.”

  She sighs and turns away. “Yeah, I'll bet.”

  I find a big glass and put in some ice, orange juice, papaya juice, and then Sprite. This I adorn with one of her little paper umbrellas. Sure, it doesn't have any alcohol in it, but it looks pretty, and it will do her some good. I go set this by the bathtub and turn off the water.

  Shelby comes back wearing a white terry robe and a little less seaweed and looks down at her drink. “Anything good?” she asks, picking it up. She takes a sip, then says, “Ugh.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “I thought I did a pretty good job.”

  She takes another reluctant sip. “I really don't see what a little bit of tequila in here would hurt,” she says. “Just a tiny bit? I know there's still a bottle around here somewhere. I think your aunt hid everything, but you could go look for it. Pretty please?”

  “Shelby,” I say in a warning voice, “you heard the doctor.”

  “He doesn't know everything.”

  I consider this. “No, he doesn't. But I wonder what he'd think if he did, Shelby.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  She sits down on the chair near the tub and sticks one of her red swollen feet up on the edge and moans. “Just look at me.”

  “It'll go away,” I remind her. “Drink your juice.”

  She takes another sip. “But it's starting to itch,” she tells me, digging her nails into her skin.