Yes, a swim in the pool. I need to cool off, calm down, clear my head. I don’t want to go off halfcocked, say things in haste, jump to conclusions.

When it comes to pools, I’m usually a toe-dipper, getting wet gradually, inch by careful inch. Today I peel off my cover-up and dive off the edge in one swift motion, surrounding myself with a storm of bubbles, hands brushing the gunite bottom. The water is cold but I’m glad for that. Every nerve ending is wide awake, as I imagine a soldier’s would be on the eve of battle.

For me, this is a nightmare—to bring my daughter to the brink of a brand-new, exciting future, only to have the past reach out and pull her back.

Yet for Molly, it’s a dream come true. What girl doesn’t romanticize about a love so strong, it makes a guy fly across the country just to see her? And in my heart of hearts, I can understand this. We teach our daughters to dream of love. We read them stories of damsels in distress and the knights in shining armor who rescue them, laying happiness at their feet like a carpet of roses.

Of course, in this day and age, we also read about enlightened princesses who do just fine without a man, but those are not the stories that stick with our girls. For some deep-seated, primal reason, the politically correct tales lack appeal. The stories that stay with them always seem to involve a big-shouldered alpha male, sweeping them off their feet.

* * *

After a long, vigorous swim, I shower and dress, trying to compose myself. Flying off the handle, yelling, getting mad won’t help the situation in the least. I try calling Dan but get voice mail, and hang up without leaving a message. If I try telling his voice mail what’s going on I’ll use up all our free minutes.

Instead, I head outside to find Molly. She and Travis have been in the shady garden of the motor court, talking and holding each other for a good half hour.

“What’s going on?” I ask them. Molly’s hair has dried stiff with chlorine, the curls out of control, her eyes red from crying.

“I had to see Molly,” Travis says. His ears are scarlet. I can tell it’s hard for him to talk to me.

I struggle to erase all anger and judgment from my stance. “Travis, I understand it was hard to say goodbye. I know you guys miss each other a lot. But it’s time—”

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Molly says. “I have a plan.”

To screw up your life. I bite my lip to keep from saying it.

“I’m listening.”