Emma drove, glad to be going against traffic during the evening rush hour, trying to concentrate on the road and failing, probably as big a safety hazard as Mr. Digital ever was. Emma's thoughts kept circling along the same maddening path: Thomas to Leelee, Leelee to Becca, Becca to herself, herself to Aaron, and back to Thomas again. The crazy cycle was surely due to guilt-several days had passed and she hadn't yet acknowledged Thomas's gifts. For good reason, however-she still didn't know what she should say, or even what she wanted to say. She still didn't know what to do about Thomas Tobin.

The talk she'd had with Leelee last night hadn't helped matters.

It was past midnight when Leelee tiptoed into Emma's bedroom, crawled under the covers, and pressed her little body against Emma's back. In the darkness, Emma listened to Leelee's whispered words, knowing she felt more comfortable in the dark, where Emma couldn't see her cry.

"Tell me something more about her." Leelee wrapped a skinny arm around Emma's waist. "Tell me about the time that thing fell out of her dress at the dance."

Emma smiled to herself in the dark, a rush of love and grief accompanying the image of Becca at fifteen-so much like the little girl now cuddled to her back-wickedly smart, shockingly blunt, the jaw-dropping beauty just beginning to emerge.

Rebecca Weaverton had been Emma's best friend since kindergarten, and stayed her best friend no matter how many years went by, how the miles or the dreams separated them, and no matter how each of them stumbled.

Emma had loved Becca with a force that was part hero worship, part jealousy, and all magic. They were two halves of one whole, Becca with her pale blond curls and eyes the color of butterscotch, Emma with her straight dark hair, freckles, and baby blues. From age five to age eighteen, every weekend, every summer, every day had its beginning and ending with Emma and Becca together. They shared every secret.

Except one: Emma secretly wished that some of her best friend's sparkle would rub off on her, some of her shine and glamour. Emma always felt just a little bit like a dirty penny when standing right next to the too-bright gold of Rebecca Weaverton.

Getting the news that Becca was dead and Leelee was hers had felt to Emma like a punch to the gut followed by a slap across the face. A year had passed since that day, and she'd yet to recover from the blow that had changed her life.

"Mom was just a few years older than me then, right?"

"Yes, she was. It was the Sweetheart Dance and our band was the featured act. Becca was convinced she looked too flat-chested in her dress because one girl in our class-Frankie Seibert-had really come into her own, if you get my drift. I mean big time. She left the rest of us in the dust."

"I can relate," Leelee said with a sigh. "It's Melinda Stockslager in my class."

"Already? Sorry to hear that." Emma gave Leelee's hand a comforting pat and the girl hugged her tighter. "Anyway, we didn't have the high-tech water-filled bras they have now, so we stuffed two of Beck's handkerchiefs with quilt batting and sewed them up on my mom's machine." Emma chuckled. "They weren't pretty but they did the job. Your mom got up there on the stage and looked just like Madonna-from the early days, not the cone-shaped things she had in the nineties."

"Got it. But didn't anybody notice she'd sprouted hooters overnight?"

"Nice language, Leelee," Emma said, still laughing. "Yes, they most definitely did. It was the hot topic at the dance. But she got up there with the microphone and started prancing around and no one dared say anything to her face. She would have denied it, anyway."

"She always did have a special gift for denial," Leelee said dryly. "So tell me the part where one fell out."

Emma started to shake with giggles. "I was back on drums as usual, and she was skipping across the stage, her hair flying-I think we were doing 'Love Is a Battlefield'-and I look up and see that your mother is definitely off kilter. She had a cantaloupe on one side and a Ping-Pong ball on the other."

Leelee laughed. "What did you do?"

"Well, I started winking and yelling at her and waving my drumsticks and she looked at me like I'd lost my mind. I had lost the beat, let me tell you."

Leelee was roaring with laughter now. "I can just see it," she said. "You guys must have sucked."

Emma laughed, too. "Oh, honey, we sucked big time."

Leelee kissed the back of Emma's head. "So what happened next, Em?"

She sighed, catching her breath from the tenderness of Leelee's kiss more than the laughter. "Well, she looked down at her feet and there was the falsie-right in the middle of the stage. So with a big dramatic windup, she throws that sucker right out onto the gym floor. Some guy catches it and throws it into the air. Then the next thing I know, she reaches down her dress and whips the other one out into the audience.

"Then. Oh, God, Leelee-after the show she autographed them for a couple guys on the junior varsity football team!"

"Mom was like that, wasn't she? She had balls."

"Nice language, again, but yes. She did."

"Did everyone really think she was going to be famous one day?"

"Oh, sure, sweetheart. She was the local celebrity. And it wasn't just how pretty and talented she was-it was how alive she was, how her mind was on fire all the time. She was something else." Emma paused for a moment. "You are so much like her, Lee."

"But I don't want to be like her."

"She loved you more than anything."

"So she said." Leelee's voice came out a whisper. "She screwed up so bad-wasting that scholarship, falling in love every three days. She never even tried to find out who my father was. Why did she have to be like that, Em?"

Good questions, all of them, Emma knew. Becca was chaos theory in a short skirt, barely making a living as a screenwriter/waitress/actress/singer and anything else she could find. And never making apologies for any of it.

"We all make poor choices sometimes, Lee. We're human. It's the way we learn. And I think maybe for a woman as smart as your mom was, she was a real slow learner in some areas." Emma felt a little sob shudder through Leelee's thin body. "Becca didn't do such a great job at being your mom, but I know she never meant to hurt you. She did the best she could and now I'm lucky enough to get to do the best I can. And I'm bound to make mistakes. I hope you'll forgive me when I do."

Leelee was so quiet for so long that Emma thought she'd fallen asleep. It was a surprise to hear the next question. "Are you ever going to get married again?"

Emma flipped over and rose up on an elbow to see Leelee's face in the moonlight. The young girl's eyes were wide and sad and Emma nearly cried herself.

"Oh, sweetie! I just got rid of the old model. I think I'll take a breather if you don't mind."

Leelee laughed at that and sat up tailor-style, staring at her hands. "It's just that, well, the man who sent you all the flowers-" Leelee raised her eyes to Emma's. "I heard his voice on the phone. He sounded excited when he thought it was you. He really likes you."

Emma sat up quickly. She cupped Leelee's fragile-looking face in her hands and tried to smile. "That man means nothing to me, Leelee. He's the owner of a patient and he's… well… I thought at first there might be something special about him, but I think I was wrong."

She stroked Leelee's cheek. "Just between you and me, I'm not all that optimistic about men right now, and I sure don't see myself starting a serious relationship anytime soon, especially with Mr. Gift Basket."

Leelee nodded, her eyes beginning to sparkle with laughter.

"But sweetie, even if I do fall in love somewhere way down the road, I'd still love you. You'd still be my girl. I wouldn't go anywhere or leave you behind. Do you understand that?"