Aside from the song of sparrows in the treetops, and the gentle whisper of wind through willow trees, it’s blissfully quiet. But then the back door of the house swings open on squeaky hinges, and, to my utmost delight, Scooter rushes out. He runs past a man who has stepped onto the covered veranda. Scooter swerves around him and barrels down the wooden steps.
My heart swells with joy. “Scooter!”
I drop to my knees and open my arms. He tackles me, and I laugh. I topple backward as he licks my face. Flat on my back on the grass, I shut my eyes and mouth while his tongue laps at my cheeks. I breathe in his distinct doggy scent, which I’ve missed so much, and I hug him and kiss him over and over.
I could stay like this forever, rolling around in the grass with my beloved dog, but something appears in my peripheral vision. I turn my head to the side and take in a pair of bare feet in brown leather sandals. Slowly, my gaze travels up two muscular calves to a pair of well-worn khaki cargo shorts.
Remembering my manners, I gently push Scooter off me so that I can sit up and say hello. But the sun blinds me. I raise my hand to shade my eyes as I squint up at the tall man. He’s a silhouette against dazzling sunbeams, and that’s when I know who it is.
It’s Jacob, my love.
In my disbelief, I become exultant, immersed in a state of eternal contentment, but oddly unsurprised to see him. Though I was flying over the valley with no known destination, I realize now that I felt the tug of my first love and the lure of the country house we would have shared together—for our entire lives—if we’d not gone hiking that fateful day.
“You’re here,” Jacob says.
The sound of his voice flows through me like a river.
“Finally.” Impatient to hug him, I’m clumsy as I rise. I nearly knock him over with my embrace—just like Scooter did to me moments ago when he tackled me to the ground. I fling my arms around Jacob’s neck and exclaim ecstatically, “I’m so happy to see you. I missed you so much.”
But none of this feels real. It’s like a dream.
“I missed you too.” He draws back to hold me at arm’s length. “But what are you doing here?”
I don’t want to answer questions. I want only to look at him. He’s older, like me. His hair is still thick and wavy, as it was in our youth, but it’s partially gray. He’s remained impressively fit, and his eyes still hold that beautiful unconditional love I’ll never forget.
“I drowned,” I tell him.
His eyebrows pull together with dismay. “How? Where?”
“At Peggy’s Cove. I was swept off the rocks.”
He shakes his head, not willing to accept it. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I reply, feeling suddenly unsteady on my feet, lightheaded. “It was awful.”
Jacob stands back and takes in my appearance. His gaze lingers on my face before it sweeps down the length of my body to my bare feet. Only then do I look down at myself and realize I’m wearing denim shorts and a plain white T-shirt, which is not what I was wearing at Peggy’s Cove. But I suppose it’s summer here, and this is comfortable and appropriate, except for the fact that I’m not wearing shoes.
“I’m not sure what’s happening,” I say, mystified.
“Are yousureyou drowned?” he asks.
I glance down at Scooter at my side. He’s sitting on the grass, panting heavily, looking up at me with wonder. I lay my hand on top of his head. “Yes. I sucked water into my lungs and lost consciousness, and I watched myself convulsing—fromoutsidemy body. Then I went still, and I sank.”
Jacob nods, as if this is normal.
“No one could have rescued me in those waves,” I continue to explain. “You know what it’s like at Peggy’s Cove after a storm. You can’t get a boat around those rocks, and it was February. The water was close to freezing. Even if they could have gotten a rescue boat out, I wouldn’t have survived more than a few minutes in those temperatures.”
Jacob’s breath hitches, and he exhales with gentle empathy. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” He pulls me into his arms again to offer comfort. “It must have been frightening.”
I cling to him as I remember the panic and horror. “Yes, but you know all about that.”
I’m referring, of course, to our fall from Cape Split.
“I do.” He steps back. “But thankfully, after I died, I wasn’t scared anymore. And I knew you were going to be okay.”
“You held my hand on the beach,” I say. “And you talked to me.”
“I did.”
