She parked near the side stairs that led to the front porch. And then killed her engine and the lights.

Then she went over what she wanted to say to Lendall one more time. And how she was going to end things with him.

And she felt good about her plan.

And then had second thoughts—and wondered if she really wanted to do what she was about to do. And she sat in her Jeep and waffled—for a good fifteen or twenty minutes. Because, while what she was about to do felt absolutely right, it also felt absolutely wrong. And she almost lost her nerve.

But then she remembered how quiet Lendall had gotten when she asked him what he thought about getting married.

And what Sandrine had said that that quiet meant.

And she found her nerve again. And she got out of her Jeep and started to make her way up the driveway to Lendall’s house to do what she needed to do—when she stopped.

And remembered something.

She had left her keys in the ignition—which she always did when she was in Almost.

And she needed them.

Or—one of them: the one to Lendall’s house.

She needed to give it back to him.

So she made her way back down to the Jeep, opened the driver’s side door, and reached in and pulled the ignition key out of its slot—which was on the same ring as her house keys and her dad’s keys and the keys to the Rec Center. The jumble of keys jangled as Gayle searched for the key to Lendall’s house—a key she had never had to use, because Lendall never locked his door. No one did in Almost.

Once she had found it, she removed it from the ring, shoved it into her jeans pocket, tossed the rest of her keys on the driver’s seat, and closed the Jeep’s driver-side door.

Then she looked up at Lendall’s house. And saw a dull blue light flickering inside.

The TV was on.

Lendall was probably watching hockey. Or—had been watching hockey. He had probably fallen asleep.

So she was going to have to wake him up.

So he’d be out of it at first.

So she was going to have to be really clear.

And she would be. She had gone over what she was going to say to him in her head several times. She thought her arguments were irrefutable. And her reasoning sound.

She started making her way up the driveway again.

And then climbed the steps onto the porch where she and Lendall had spent who knows how many lazy Sunday afternoons together in the summertime.

She went to the door and was about to barge inside—when she realized that she didn’t want to do what she needed to do inside. She needed to do it outside, on the porch—in more neutral territory.

So she gathered up all her gumption and went to the door—and suddenly realized that she was really mad at Lendall. And she pulled open the white aluminum storm door and pounded on the wooden main door—at least five times—and yelled, “Lendall!”