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And she was reasonably sure she saw hoofprints or paw prints, or some sort of animal tracks. While she’d enjoy crossing paths with a deer—getting a closer look—she doubted she’d enjoy crossing paths with anything less benign.
They’d just leave the woods, for now, to whatever wildlife wandered there.
“I’m a city girl, Yoda. And that’s a fact.”
Instead, they walked back to stand at the seawall. Now the wind stirred through her hair and blew cool across her cheeks. With it came the fresh, adventurous scent of the sea.
And under the clear sky, the sea held boldly blue to the horizon. Waves crashed below, and out on that plate of blue, boats glided.
To her delight, she spotted her second whale, even picked up Yoda hoping he’d share the thrill.
But he only wagged and licked her chin.
“This is it, doggie,” she murmured. “This is it for me. Times like last night I get a little shaky, but this is it. Water and woods and whales. Who knew?”
When she took the dog back in, she swore she caught the scent of fresh orange oil.
“She keeps busy,” Sonya muttered, and hung up her coat.
Very busy, Sonya decided when she found her delicates hanging on the rod in the laundry room. A check of the dryer showed it empty, so she had no doubt she’d find what she’d tossed in it folded and put away.
Just as she’d found the dishwasher empty, and the dishes all put away when she’d checked that morning.
How would it feel, she wondered, to spend your afterlife—if that’s what it was—cleaning up after someone else?
However ridiculous she found it, she took a long breath.
“Thank you very much. Please don’t feel obliged.”
The iPad played Kid Rock’s “God Bless Saturday.”
“Okay, fine.” She couldn’t stop the laugh. “Message received.”
Clear skies gave way to thick, heavy clouds, and a solid six inches of snow fell overnight. Sonya took it as an excuse to indulge in a lazy afternoon. She took John Dee coffee, added a generous slice of pound cake. Then she snuggled in for the day.
Games of tug with the dog entertained both of them. Cuddled on the sofa on the second level of the library, she streamed whatever appealed.
She FaceTimed her mother, then Cleo. She watched the dog romp through the fresh snow.
As normal a weekend, she supposed, as she could ask for. To cap it off, she and Yoda settled down by the library fire, he with a chew bone and Sonya with the book Trey had recommended.
He wasn’t wrong in that plug, as she gobbled half of it down in one sitting.
She walked the dog under a pure white globe of moon that shed pale blue light on the new snow. And felt perfectly content, and absolutely home.
1892
I look like a queen. No princess am I, as I am a woman grown. My lover, my groom, my husband is a man of stature. As I stand in the chapel for all to witness our union, I stand proud, I stand regal in a gown by Worth.
I would accept no less than the best on this day.
I am blessed with an hourglass figure, and it is displayed to perfection in the heavy white satin with its long, lovely train. Its fluidity enhances my waist—a waist so small Owen can span it with his hands.
And he has.
The bodice of lace clings to my breasts and is layered with sheer gossamer to a deceptively modest high neck. I have eschewed the popular leg-o’-mutton sleeves—far from flattering on me—for slimmer and ruched.
My veil—precisely the length of my train—is topped with a diamond tiara I know sparkles in the light streaming through the windows of the chapel.
