She must have been the passenger in the taxi. Because her silhouette told Ginette that she was definitely from somewhere else. But not from somewhere like Presque Isle or Caribou or Fort Kent.

She was from somewhere much farther away—in distance and in sensibility.

Ginette stopped to look at the woman, clicking off her flashlight as she did so she wouldn’t be discovered. There was something so glamorous about her, Ginette could tell, even in silhouette. And she wondered why such a glamorous woman was at the Hardings’—the least glamorous people she knew.

And then she continued on her way, trying to not let her boots crunch too loudly in the snow.

And was surprised by how sad she was to realize that she’d probably never see the woman again.

Ginette had been right: the tall, slim woman was the passenger in the taxicab.

And she had come from far away—from the opposite corner of the country, actually.

When the taxicab driver dropped her off in front of the Hardings’, he asked her if she wanted him to wait for her.

But the woman said no, that she was fine. And that she wouldn’t be needing a ride back.

Because she was at the right house. And she was sure that the person she was there to see would be there. Because she had heard that he still lived there.

And she could tell that he was home. Because a warm, creamy light shone through the closed curtains in the front picture window.

As the taxicab drove away, the woman really hoped she had heard right.

She crunch-crunch-crunched her way up the recently plowed driveway and pulled her suitcase behind her by its telescoping handle. A thin crust of uneven snowy ice covered the driveway and made the suitcase totter and weave a bit—and the woman almost slipped, because she was wearing heels. And she wondered why in the world she was wearing them. They were useless in northern Maine, especially in the winter.

But she had come in such a rush that she had forgotten to dress properly. Or wear the right shoes.

After a few more steps, she stopped and looked at the house.

It was still green with white trim. And still tidy and well kept.

Suddenly, she felt a strange lightness fill up her insides. It was the same strange lightness she had felt that morning—when she was preparing for an early conference call with clients from the other side of the country—and saw the sunrise through the window of her corner office on the nineteenth floor.

The woman hadn’t watched the sunrise in a while.

And it made her think of him.

And of something very important that she was supposed to have done nearly twenty years ago—at sunrise.

And she hadn’t let herself think about him or what she was supposed to have done—since she had seen him last. Because she couldn’t let herself think about him. Because thinking about him would have derailed the grand plans she had made for herself.