I decide to get in the shower, not that I care so much about what I look like, but to warm up. Although the heat is on in the apartment, I’m freezing cold. I grab some clean clothes out of my suitcase and head down the hall. The smell of coffee hits me, and my throat closes up. Will it always remind me of Jay?

I run the water until steam fills the room and step under the spray. I wash slowly, using Corrine’s expensive shampoo and soap until the heady scent of lavender and sage fills my nostrils, drowning out the coffee. Reluctantly, I finish, turn off the water, and get dressed.

Corrine convinced our parents to go home last night. She’d had enough of them and knew I needed some quiet. She’s in the kitchen with Rich, eating sliced cantaloupe and yogurt. I didn’t hear him come home this morning. He’s like Corrine’s twin, both blond, although his hair has run to gray. They work out, eat healthfully, are well-dressed and cosmopolitan. He rises and gives me a hug.

“How are you holding up?” he asks in a whisper, as though we’re in church.

“I’m okay.” My voice is raw, throaty.

“Have some breakfast,” Corrine offers.

“In a little bit,” I say, bypass the coffee machine and put the kettle on.

“I’m working from home today,” Corrine says.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine here.”

Corrine rinses her bowl and places it in the dishwasher. “Nonsense. I’m not leaving you here alone. I work from home at least once a week these days anyway.”

“She does,” Rich adds as if I don’t believe his wife.

I take my tea into the living room and stand in front of the window, watching the boats in the harbor. The sun’s out, and what’s left of the snow seems to have disappeared except for slush along the curbs.

I need to call my boss, Hayes Branch. He might have heard about Jay on the news by now. He’ll be frantic to get in touch, and since I don’t have my phone, he won’t be able to reach me.

When I graduated from college with my English degree, I got a job writing for a small travel magazine. For four years, I scraped by, sharing an apartment with a pharmacy student whom I rarely saw. When the magazine folded, I got a job as an editor for an academic publishing house but was barely making enough to cover my bills, so I got a part-time job at Graybridge Books. Located on the square in a historic brick building, the bookstore has a cozy charm, and I’d spent many hours there when I was young. It was my favorite place and working there was like a balm to my soul, so when the publisher cut staff, and Hayes hired me full-time, I was happy, if not making a lot of money.

Owned by heiress Phyllis Branch, the store benefits from her devotion to the written word and her deep pockets. Among her many interests, Phyllis sees herself as a romance writer, and we proudly display her six self-published tomes on our shelves. Her son, Hayes, manages the store, and he and I have become friends over the years.