We see them off the next day. Dennis has said he’s driving Sam back in the car and Abigail can be in that car or not; her call. She’s going, but I know from her face she’s going to hold the line. I have faith in her. She’s not going to let this relationship claim her again, and sink under.

Sam looks tired. I saw him for breakfast today and he blurted out something about a kid at his school whose parents just got divorced and her mom took her to Disneyland for a week. I didn’t say anything or ask him why he’d brought that up. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Sam can tell which way the wind’s blowing, of course he can. He’s smart. And he’s strong, too, if you ask me. He and Abigail are going to be okay. They’re going to have a hard time but they’re going to be okay.

Oliver and I are dropping Mom off at the airport later.

He and I are going to stay, though. I still have a few days before I have to be back at school, and we’re going to make the most of it. Those cocktails on Ocean Drive. Time on the beach. Seeing some art museums. Why not? Life is short and full of curve balls, and here we are bang in the middle of it.

I don’t know if there’s really such a thing as fresh starts. We pretend there is, but you can’t go back in time. You can’t un-know, you can’t undo. But I guess you could also say that starting fresh isn’t about innocence; that actually it’s about the opposite.

We’re flying back in two days’ time, on the sixth of January. The Epiphany, I remember. I smile at that.

Epiphany. Well, may it be so.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

Six weeks later

The apartment is small, bright, and smells of fresh paint. The second bedroom is big enough for a twin bed and a wardrobe.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” The realtor turns to Abigail. They’re right, it is a nice view, a few blocks back from the Saw Mill River, looking out towards the Pace University Pleasantville campus. “I’ll step outside for a minute,” the realtor adds. “And let you ladies talk amongst yourselves.”

They go back out into the corridor and Abigail turns from the window and looks at me.

“What do you think, Gill?”

“It’s nice,” I say, looking out towards the campus green space—not so green right now, but come next month there’ll be signs of spring. Meanwhile it has a quiet, austere feeling on this February morning. January turned out to be a beautiful month, all clear skies and air so cold it tickles your lungs. Now in mid-February, it’s been getting a little dreary.