“Should you try to get those other paintings back?” he asked, treading lightly. “To stop May’s curse?”

“I gave them to friends. I’d look like a fool asking for them back now.”

“But couldn’t those paintings bring bad luck to their owners?” Brian asked with the expression of an altar boy. “You say that the dead are possessive. Maybe we should get them back. For May. Then we’ll figure out something special to do with the paintings that would make May happy. I don’t think she wanted you to destroy your beautiful art. We just want to help you.”

“Why?” Margaret asked suspiciously.

“Because you seem so…so…” Brian’s voice broke. “You remind me so much of my aunt Eileen. She was such a talented dancer. My uncle Bernie had two left feet. He didn’t dance, and he never wanted her to dance without him.” Brian started to cry. “It was so tragic. She loved to dance, but after she married him, she never got the chance. What a waste.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.

I can’t believe this, Sheila thought. I always knew he was a frustrated actor, but I didn’t know how convincing he could be.

“Sheila,” Brian said, barely able to get the words out, “do you remember Aunt Eileen?” He sobbed again, but this time it sounded like a hiccup.

“Yes,” Sheila said, lying through her teeth. Brian didn’t have an aunt Eileen. “I was there when she died.” Looking over at Margaret, Sheila continued, “On her deathbed she said, ‘When I see Uncle Bernie up in heaven, I hope he’ll finally have learned to dance.’ I told her that she’ll be dancing with the angels.”

Margaret’s eyes welled up. “She forgave him then.”

Brian nodded gravely as he wiped tears from his cheeks with his meaty hand. “She forgave him for all those years where she had to sit on the sidelines at family weddings because he didn’t want her to dance.”

“I suppose I’ve never forgiven Angus,” Margaret said. “Whenever I tried painting, he told me I should be doing something more useful.”

“Oh, no,” Brian said.

“Umm-hmmm.”

“You’re lucky that now you have this chance to paint,” Sheila said. “Poor Aunt Eileen. By the time Uncle Bernie died, her arthritis was so bad she could barely walk, never mind dance. You’re still healthy.”

Margaret nodded. “But it doesn’t stop May Reilly from being angry at me.”

“It could. If we get the paintings with her design back, we’ll figure out how to honor her. I bet she doesn’t want to be forgotten. And now that the tablecloth is gone, she could be. I think we’re all afraid we’ll be forgotten when we die. We shouldn’t let that happen to May,” Sheila said, laying it on thick.

“I don’t want those paintings back in this house,” Margaret replied sharply.

“Of course not,” Brian said, anguish in his tone. “We’ll round up all the paintings you gave away, and I promise you it’ll all work out. Now, let’s put together a list of the names and addresses of all those who are lucky enough to be your friend.”

“I look like a freak!” Bobby squealed, examining with horror his filed-down tooth in the bathroom mirror. “Where are we going to find a dentist around here?”

“Online-where we find everything,” Anna assured him.

She went to the computer, looked up dentists in Galway, and printed out a list. One by one she called them, but she wasn’t having much luck.

“The doctor doesn’t have any free appointments until Friday.”

“Sorry, she’s booked.”

“The dentist is on vacation.”

“Have you seen us before?…No?…We can squeeze you in a week from Wednesday.”

Finally, working her way from A to Z, Anna called a Dr. Daniel Sharkey. A woman with a frail voice answered the phone. “Dr. Sharkey’s smile center.”

“Hello,” Anna said. “I wonder if you could possibly help us-”

“Hold on a second.”

Anna could hear a television in the background. She waited.

“Okay,” the woman said, finally resuming their conversation. “What did you want?”

“We’re visiting Ireland. My husband was eating blueberry pancakes when…”

At the other end of the phone, the woman sighed as she listened to Anna’s tale of woe. When Anna was finished, the woman again told her to hold on.

A jarring thud sounded in Anna’s ear. The woman had obviously dropped the phone. Anna tapped her foot impatiently, hoping she wouldn’t be disconnected. This wasn’t what she was used to. Bobby’s caps had been done in Los Angeles by an expensive cosmetic dentist, Dr. Favorman, who tended to the mouths of numerous celebrities. His office had a private entrance for his famous clients, which Bobby discovered, of course, and took advantage of on every visit. As long as Dr. Favorman was paid the big bucks, he was happy. Thankfully, his patients’ private lives didn’t interest him, and his receptionist was always cheerful and courteous.

“I’m back,” the voice at the other end of the phone rasped. “You have his X-rays?”

No, you idiot, Anna wanted to shout. Why would we have his dental records with us in Ireland? But she was polite. “Unfortunately, we don’t.”

“Pity. Dr. Sharkey’s X-ray machine is on the fritz. Come on in, but be prepared to wait. He has an appointment with a patient that hadn’t been to the dentist in twenty years until last week when he graced us with his presence.” She laughed ruefully. “He’d never flossed in his life. And once you start with gum disease, it can kill you. Travels to your heart.”

This doesn’t sound promising, Anna thought, but she was desperate. Bobby would be impossible to live with until that fang was covered. “Thank you,” she said. “We should be there within the hour.”

They dressed in blue jeans and sweaters, grabbed their all-weather coats, which was the optimistic way to describe a raincoat in Ireland, locked up the house, and went out to the car.

“You’d better drive,” Bobby whimpered. He had put Vaseline around his stub, but it was sensitive to cold air. “I can’t believe how sore it feels.”

The high from having ruined Jack Reilly’s honeymoon had been wiped out by a pebble.

“Don’t worry,” Anna said soothingly. “We’ll get you a new cap, and you’ll be fine.” I hope, she thought. With the little enthusiasm she could muster. “You look completely different. It’s a disguise we’ll have to try-going toothless,” she joked.

“That’s not funny,” Bobby whined as got in the car, put the seat back, and closed his eyes.

Good, Anna thought. Let him sulk. I’ll have some peace. She flicked on the radio to a station that played jazz. Forty-five minutes later, directions in hand, she turned onto Dr. Sharkey’s street. Her heart sank. From the look of the old row houses on the block, one wouldn’t imagine that Dr. Sharkey had a booming business. If he had any celebrity clients, they certainly didn’t need a private entrance because no paparazzi would venture here. The street was dreary and deserted. She located the house where Dr. Sharkey hung his shingle. Under his name was a red smiley-face and the words “The Smile Center.” She parked the car.

“Where are we?” Bobby asked, his voice rising as he opened his eyes and sat up. “This doesn’t look like Galway.”

“I didn’t say the dentist’s office was exactly in Galway,” Anna answered, trying to maintain a positive attitude. “We’re near Galway.”

“But this looks like the dentist’s house I went to when I was six years old! My mother said he should only fill potholes. And Dr. Favorman’s office in Los Angeles is so plush and nice.” Bobby was panicked.

“Do you realize how many dentists I called before I could find anyone to fit you in today? Besides, it’s not as if you’re getting a root canal or a tooth pulled. He’ll just fix you up with a temporary cap. How much can that hurt?”

“A lot.”

“If this doesn’t work out, we’ll find another dentist. We’ll drive to Dublin if we have to.”

The entrance to the office was on the side of the house. Anna and Bobby walked along the cracked sidewalk to the door, rang the bell, and, as the sign above the bell instructed them, walked right in. The tiny waiting room, with its three orange velour folding chairs, cracked linoleum floor, and drab paneled walls, was ghastly. The sound of a whirring drill pierced the air.