“—who lied to me all these years,” I say, and the dam bursts, “who was married to my mother, who lied to me all these years, who was best friends with a man who lied to me all these years—and speaking of best friends, I have one of those, who, thank you very much, has also been living a lie. Call me a liar for sneaking around with you when we were kids, but not a single person was hurt by what we did. Same with the way I conceived Joy, not a single one of them was hurt, and I actually did consider that. I nearly didn’t do it because I was worried one of my parents would be hurt, and when I decided to go ahead, I told them exactly what I was doing and why. Did they return the favor? No. Did they tell me what they had done and why? No.” I’m breathing hard. “So yes, I want a room—and don’t tell me it’s inappropriate right after a funeral. I want to do what I want to do for one solid hour, because all these years, no one has thought of me, and it’s about time I’m a priority. I don’t want to think of another person.” I stop short. “Well. Except you. Unless you can’t.” We both know I’m not talking about his getting back to work.

I don’t tack on the last as a deliberate distraction, but it does the job. He snickers and says in a voice deep enough to have come from the part of his body that we’ll need, “Are you kidding? With you?” My phone dings again. “Want to check that?”

“No.” I switch it to mute. “Please? A room?”

He doesn’t need to be asked again. In a heartbeat, he is out of the Tahoe, striding toward the inn’s office and disappearing inside. I don’t agonize while he is gone, don’t have a second thought. Nor do I look at my phone. Joy is with Margo and is fine. Chrissie is with Lina and is not fine, but deservedly so. Same with Paul, who is likely alone. Neither of them was concerned about me all those years; I don’t need to be concerned about them now.

Call me disrespectful or perverse. Call me selfish. But I’ve earned this.

Jack reappears with a wooden key fob in hand. Seconds later, he is backing out of the space and jouncing us along a dirt path behind the office. The cottages there are named after birds, as in The Piper, The Robin, and The Wren. Ours is The Swan, which I will later think of as metaphorical but now simply take in.