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She would show up on his porch one day, wearing a bright yellow rain slicker that covered most of her face. It would take her a minute to reach for the doorbell; the memories would be so strong, she’d want to wallow in them. In her arms would be Katie, almost crawling by now, wearing a fuzzy blue snowsuit—one they’d bought just for Mystic.
And when he opened the door, she would tell him that in all the long months they’d been apart, she’d found herself falling, and falling, and there’d been no one there to catch her. . . .
Ahead, the road merged onto the interstate. Two green highway signs slashed against the steel-gray sky. There were two choices: I-5 South. I-5 North.
No.
It was crazy, what she was thinking. She wasn’t ready. She had oceans of commitments in California, and not even a toothbrush in her diaper bag. It was winter in Mystic, cold and gray and wet, and she was wearing silk. . . .
South was Los Angeles—and a beautiful white house by the sea that held the stale leftovers of her old life.
North was Mystic—and in Mystic was a man and a child who loved her. Once, she had taken love for granted. Never again. Love was the sun and the moon and the stars in a world that was otherwise cold and dark.
Nick had known that. It was one of the last things he’d said to her: You’re wrong, Annie. Love matters. Maybe it’s the only thing that does.
She glanced in the rearview mirror at her daughter, who was almost asleep. “Listen to me, Kathleen Sarah. I’m going to give you lesson number one in the Annalise Bourne Colwater book of life. I may not know everything, but I’m forty years old and I know plenty, so pay attention. Sometimes you have to do everything right and follow the rules. You have to wait until all your ducks are in a row before you make a move. ” She grinned. “And other times . . . like now . . . you have to say ‘what the hell’ and go for it. ”
Laughing out loud, Annie flicked on her turn signal, changed lanes—
And headed north.
