I felt a sudden chill. My eyes fell to the wide-planked floor. One image and a quick calculation later, I breathed again. I wasn’t on birth control, but if ever I had a safe time of the month, this was it. Had it not been, I’d have gone to the drug store first thing tomorrow. I would not—couldnot have a child—not again.
Edward knew what I was thinking. Used to be, all I had to do was conjure up fro-yo and he was on his way to the ice-cream shop. Our minds had always run in the same direction, and they did now. He stared at mefor a painful moment before breaking away and reaching for his jeans. “It’s pouring. I’ll drive you home.”
I felt a sharp stab of fear. “No! My house is mine!” I blurted. “You can’t go near it!” I grasped at the rational. “If you drive me home, my truck will be here and I need it to get to work. My work is important, it’s what I do now, I like it, and they like me.” Just then, I couldn’t have said what day of the week it was, much less whether I had bookings the next day. I only knew that I needed to get back to a life I could control.
But he continued to dress, reaching now for the pool of flannel that was his shirt.
“Edward!” I shouted. “Listento me. I don’t know why you’ve come, I don’tcarewhy you’ve come, but I can’t live with you here. You have toleave.”
His arms were in the shirt, but it hung open. “I can’t leave,” he said.
“If you won’t, I will.”
***
I mean it,I fumed silently as I drove. I could leave. Between Edward’s arrival and Chris Emory’s mess, Devon wasn’t the refuge it had been such a short time ago. I coulddefinitelyleave, could leavein a heartbeat.
When I saw the glow of headlights in my rearview mirror, I was angry enough to pull to the side of the road. I was out of the truck when the Jeep came alongside and was leaning toward the side window as it lowered.
“Go home,” I told him.
“It’s dark. You didn’t know who it was. What if I’d been a rapist?”
“This is Vermont, Edward. We don’t have rapists around here, and even if we did, no rapist would be out in this rain. I knew it would be either you or the police. Give me credit for that.”
“Get in. We need to talk.”
“Isn’t it a little late for that?” I cried sharply, but added a saner, “I’m fine. I can take care of myself. Please go home.”
I didn’t wait for an answer, just climbed back in the truck, drove alongthe shoulder of the road until I was clear of the Jeep, and returned to the pavement. I was relieved when his headlights shrank with distance and, once I rounded the curve, were gone.
***
I mean it,I vowed more than once during the fifteen-minute drive, and thought it again when I turned onto Pepin Hill Road and started up.If I had reinvented myself once, I could do it again.My tires spun in the slick mud, then caught, spun again a few seconds later, then caught.If I found work here, I could find work elsewhere. If I made friends here, I could make them somewhere new.When my wheels spun and caught again, I thought,If I can handle this road, I can handle any road.
But I liked my road. I liked the way the string of a stone wall sang of early settlers, the way fallen trees lay in the woods and became homes for squirrels, fishers, and foxes. I liked the weave of the road as it climbed around rocks and gullies. I knew every one of these curves, which was a good thing tonight, since the rain had given way to fog, and visibility was nil.
But the cabin had lights. They were on timers so that my pets wouldn’t be alone when I couldn’t get back until dark. Muted now by the fog, the swath of those lights was dispersed at first but grew focused as I neared. They were welcoming. They were mine.
And there was another thing—mycabin. It had character and charm. Sure, I could find another home with character and charm. But why did I have to do that? I had come here first. I had a right to stay.
Edward was the one who should leave. He had known I was here but had come anyway. He had never been cruel, but how else to explain it? Did he have a sick need to punish me more by making me see Lily’s face wherever I turned? If so, then the pain would be compounded knowing that in killing our daughter, I had turned a loving man into a shell.
He had to leave.Hadto leave.
Would he? Logic argued against. The Devon Inn and Spa was far bigger than anything I owned here. He could try to sell it. But that wouldtake time. My cabin, on the other hand, would sell quickly. From a purely practical standpoint, if one of us left, it would be me.
The unfairness of that rankled. This wasmyroad,mycabin,mytown.
Pulling up beside said cabin, I killed the engine and sat for a minute. My body felt strange—used in new places, bone tired in others—but my mind was the problem. It had been through a wringer, and the wash was far from done.
Then I heard Jonah’s bark and felt a pang of guilt at having been gone so long. But he didn’t bolt for the woods when I opened the front door, simply joined Hex and Jinx crowding my legs.
They were my home. Warmed by that, I leaned against the door to shut it. Smiling at their antics, I set my bag aside and, pausing only to shrug off my wet coat, knelt to hug, rub, and scratch. If I had to move, these creatures would come. But why should any of us be forced from a place we loved?
A male voice answered. “Hey.”
My head flew up, and my heart stopped.
