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“I hope so, since he’s the only person I know where I’m going to live for at least three months.”
She sent her mother flowers for being wise enough to work for a sharp lawyer. Then she did a serious survey of her duplex.
She wouldn’t need to take any furniture, but there were things she’d want. Her father’s paintings—the two she’d chosen to keep after his death. Most of her office. Some mementos and gifts, ones that would not only remind her of home but of the people she loved.
And she realized, everything she wanted or needed to take for this trial period would fit in her car.
After weighing the pros and cons, she contacted a Realtor. Shedidn’t want to leave her house vacant for three months. Her thought to rent it—furnished—month by month ended up with a six-month lease.
But even if she turned tail and headed home after a week, she could move back in with her mother for six months.
Safety nets, she thought. A woman needed safety nets.
But she wouldn’t turn tail, she told herself. Hell, Poole’s Bay was only a three-hour drive from Boston. Her mother could visit, Cleo would come. She could drive back for a weekend.
An adventure, she promised herself as she finalized arrangements, began to pack. She’d have an adventure—and at the end of it, maybe end up with an incredible house.
As she did often, she opened her father’s sketchbook to study it. She liked his vision of it even more than the photos.
Could she see herself there?
Maybe. Maybe.
Wasn’t it what she’d wanted when she and Brandon had looked at houses? Something with history and character and charm. Not sleek and new and shiny.
If she wondered about living there, alone, she reminded herself she lived alone now. Just in a smaller space.
She packed the sketchbooks before she went out for a farewell dinner with her mother and Cleo.
And barely slept a wink the night before her departure.
She dressed for the cold. If it was cold in Boston—and it was—it would be colder yet three hours north. She wore the cherry-red cashmere sweater her mother had given her for Christmas, black jeans, and boots.
Maybe her heart pounded when she carefully put her African violet in a box for travel. They’d both try to bloom in a new place.
She’d loaded nearly everything the night before—because who could sleep—and now with her weekend tote and the single box, she looked around.
“It’s not like I’m never coming back. But it feels like it.”
She rolled the suitcase toward the door. When she opened it, Cleo stood outside, one hand lifted to knock.
“Surprise! I couldn’t let you drive off without waving goodbye.”
She threw her arms around Sonya. “I miss you already.”
“What am I going to do without you ten minutes away?”
“We’ll text, we’ll call, we’ll FaceTime. In fact.”
She held up a bottle in a velvet gift bag. “This is champagne. The good stuff.”
“Get out.”
“You’re going to text me and your mom when you get there. Then tonight, we’re going to FaceTime and drink champagne—I got a bottle, too—while you give me a video tour.”
“But you’ll drive up and visit.”
“You bet both our excellent asses I will. Here, take the bottle, give me the box. Is Xena in here?”
