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“I really don’t.”

I sigh.

“Maverick gets someone to help give his son a stable home. I get a place to live, financial security, and enough money at the end of the arrangement that I can do whatever I want with the rest of my life.”

“When you’re thirty-eight?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a long time.”

“I know.”

“You could meet someone.”

“So could he.”

“Then what?”

“There are provisions.”

She stares at me. “You two put a dating-other-people clause in your marital contract?”

“Basically.”

“This gets weirder every time you explain it.”

“Which is why I’m going to stop explaining it.”

“Probably wise.”

I turn back to my suitcase.

One last sweater.

I fold it and tuck it inside. Then I close the lid.

Josie watches me zip it.

“You’re sure?”

There it is.

The question she’s been asking all day.

The question I’ve been asking myself for weeks.

Am I sure I should marry a stranger? No.

Am I sure I should leave the only home I’ve ever known? Also no.

Am I sure I know what I’m doing? Absolutely not.

But I was sure when I stayed for Grandpa. I was sure when I stayed for Grandma. I was sure about my life right up until the moment it ended.

And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you aren’t supposed to be sure before you start something new.

“I want to go,” I say.