Alice let her have her way just once, more out of curiosity than anything else, and Chrissie and her husband plus Alice and a local divorcé who worked in Portland in insurance all went out to dinner. At the end of the interminable night, the divorcé walked Alice to her car, one hand on the small of her back, his thumb making circular motions. She imagined sinking her teeth into that thumb, the surprised look on his piggy face when the blood began to flow. But she didn’t do it, just quickly slid into her car, shutting the door and cracking the window enough to thank him for the evening. That night she lay in bed, ignored the ringing phone in her house that could only be Chrissie hoping for an update, and slid gradually into sleep, wondering if her life would ever start again.

Then she met Bill Ackerson, a suave New Yorker looking to relocate to Maine and open a bookstore. She knew he was attracted to her, and she thought he seemed to be a nice man but decided she wasn’t interested. When he next contacted her, he asked if she’d mind if he brought his son along to revisit some of the places she’d shown him before. He brought Harry, who looked just like his father but was almost beautiful, if a boy could be beautiful, with high cheekbones and wavy hair. He was so perfect that it almost hurt Alice to look at him. Something clicked in her. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but she knew that a new part of her life was just beginning.

Alice returned to Jake’s condo, pulled off the police tape, and tried the door. It was locked. She’d thought that would be the case, and removed a credit card from her purse, picking the lock the way she’d done as a teenager whenever she’d forgotten her key.