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“Don’t tell her,” Dad said, giggling along, though his chuckles had a guilty ring to them.

“It doesn’t even make sense,” I said in answer to Heather. Then, in a hushed aside only Jenny could hear, I said, “If anyone’s going to be Mr. Bean, it’s Jane.”

Jenny agreed. I made a mental note to find a photo of Mr. Bean and send it in the next group text — as much to amuse Jenny as to confuse Heather and Jane, who hadn’t heard Dad’s nonsensical comment and would therefore entertain us as they tried to figure out just what it was about Mr. Bean that we found so damn funny.

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