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  She was still obsessing when Amy came down the stairs in her baby-doll pajamas, looking a lot like she had when she was ten. She sat in the chair across from Sophie and drew her knees up to her chin.

  “We need a love scene,” Amy said. “Clea wants one.”

  “A love scene.” She should have figured on that, it was so like Clea. Sophie gave the wallpaper a dirty look in place of Clea. “I can’t write a love scene. Especially not with those damn things staring at me.”

  “You cannot blame writer’s block on giant mutant cherries,” Amy began. Then she stopped, and said, “Oh. Cherries.”

  “What?” Sophie said, and Amy said, “You know. Cherries. And Chet.”

  “Chad,” Sophie said, but she sat back, a little jolted. “I’m sure that’s not it.” She should ask Brandon. He knew everything about her subconscious. She frowned at the wall phone. She should have called Brandon before now, but she kept forgetting him.

  Amy shifted uneasily. “Clea’s decided that Rob is the love interest. She says it’s better for what she has in mind.”

  “I bet it is.” Sophie thought about it and nodded. “So she comes back to meet her old boyfriend and falls for his son. Lot of conflict there.” She thought it through. “Oh, hell, a lot of conflict there. Frank’s going to have a fit.”

  “If we do this right, he’ll never know,” Amy said. “Just write a nice seduction scene, and we can finish this up.”

  Sophie sat up and tapped her PowerBook out of sleep mode. “Who seduces who?”

  “Are you kidding? Clea’s an old-fashioned girl. He seduces her.”

  “So we’re not doing a documentary.” Sophie began to type in the scene log line, and Amy jerked away and stood up. “Hello?” Sophie said. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Amy said.

  Sophie pointed at the chair. “Sit.”

  Amy sat, her feet on the floor this time.

  “I’ve been very patient,” Sophie told her, “but there’s something you’re not telling me which is dumb because you know I’ll stand behind you no matter what you want. What are you doing?”

  “I’m making a documentary,” Amy said.

  Sophie sat back. “You’re making a documentary about Clea coming home to Temptation?”

  “No, I’m making a movie of that. I’m making a documentary about making the movie.” Amy leaned forward. “This is so cool, Soph. I didn’t want to tell you because I wanted you to be natural in the footage—”

  Footage? “Wait a minute.”

  “—but you wouldn’t believe how great this is already. That virginity stuff we talked about last night came out great—well, a little dark, but very moody with Clea all lit by those candles, and I can use the stuff she said as a voice-over—”

  “Amy!”

  Amy stopped and Sophie reminded herself to be supportive. “You filmed me on the porch last night?”

  “All of us,” Amy said. “I set up the camera in the bushes. It’s good stuff, Soph. And then today I interviewed Frank and got him to talk to the camera and he really comes across as the butthead he is.”

  “Is that fair? Did he realize—”

  “He knew he was on camera. He signed a release. And we’re going to have so much stuff to cut together, it’s going to be great.”

  Sophie leaned forward. “Amy, you’re conning these people. They’re signing releases because they think they’ll look great, and you’re—”

  “I’m not conning them,” Amy said, indignant. “And even if I am, I’m not taking anybody’s money. I’m just filming what they say. I’m not changing their words. I’m just getting what I want.”

  “You have to think about other people,” Sophie said, and Amy said, “No, that was you and Mama, trying to save everybody. Davy and Daddy and I, we know you can’t save anybody so you might as well take care of yourself. And I’m not hurting anybody here. They all want to be in this movie.”

  She was so much like their father —all redheaded innocence, suckering people in with the Dempsey smile— maintaining to the end that it wasn’t his fault if they trusted him, and that he never, ever lied.

  But everybody he met lost something to him, just the same.

  “Sophie, this is real filmmaking,” Amy said, leaning closer, radiating sincerity. “Doing the wedding videos has been great, but it’s been seven years, and I’ve learned everything I can from them. This is what I want to do now. This is my chance to get out. Maybe the only chance I’ll get.”

  Amy’s heart was in her eyes, and Sophie took a deep breath and thought, I knew she’d get tired of those dumb weddings someday. The thought of Amy leaving was painful, life without her was almost unimaginable, but the thought of her staying when she wanted to go was worse.

  “I want to cut the documentary and go to L.A. and use it to get work there,” Amy was saying. She looked as if she were holding her breath waiting for Sophie to say something.

  Are you out of your mind? wouldn’t seem supportive. “L.A.‘s a tough town.”

  “I know.” Amy bobbed her head up and down, eager to agree. “But Davy’s out there. He can help me. It’s his turn anyway.” Her smile faded. “So what happens to you, now that I’m leaving?”

  Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to think about what I want for a change.” After I get finished worrying about you.

  “Don’t you have any dreams?” Amy said. “Isn’t there something—”

  “No,” Sophie said. When she thought about it, it was sad. Thirty-two years old, and she had no idea what she wanted from life. She thought of Phin on the back porch. Maybe his question hadn’t been so smart-assed after all.

  “Are you going to sell the business?” Amy said.

  “Probably,” Sophie said.

  “Can I have half?”

  Sophie blinked at her. “Of course. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking you needed the money more,” Amy said. “I’m going to have a career. You’re sort of stuck.”

  Ouch. “Take half the money,” Sophie said. “I can get myself unstuck.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said. “I mean it. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sophie said. “Now get some sleep.”

  Amy stood up, hesitating as if there was something else, and then she bent and wrapped her arms around Sophie’s neck.

  “I love you so much, Soph,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too, Ame,” Sophie said, patting her arm as she tried to breathe. That’s the only reason I’m letting you go.

  When Amy had gone upstairs, Sophie sat back and thought about her future. She wasn’t worried; smart, organized people who worked hard always found jobs. But she didn’t want a job, she wanted what Amy had, a career that fulfilled her.

  It occurred to her that the reason she’d never figured out what she wanted to be was that she’d spent so much time concentrating on what she didn’t want to be: a Dempsey. She let herself think about doing what Davy did, conning slightly crooked rich people out of their shady gains, but it held no appeal. Well, that was good. But maybe if she opened her mind, she could channel the Dempsey genes into something productive and fun, like Amy had, getting people’s weak spots on film.

  Maybe if she just opened herself to life, she could have fun. There must be something in her life that was recreational. She thought of the mayor, smiling lazily at her, detached and undemanding and her pulse kicked up. He’d be fun.

  It was a dangerous thought, so she only entertained it for one rebellious minute before straightening herself out and heading up the stairs to bed, the dog on her heels.

  The last thing she needed was the mayor.

  On Friday, Phin’s hassles started early.

  First his mother gave him grief at breakfast because he’d been out to the Whipple farm twice.

  “Associating with those movie people can do you no good,” Liz had told him across the white linen expanse of her dining-room table. “Stephen has mentioned it to me several times alre