Maybe Rusty was right: Something was wrong with me, deeply and terribly wrong with me, if I couldn’t love him. I thought of Mother and the ways she loved; of Dad and how he loved; of Rusty. And Hutch. And Birdie. I saw this landscape of different loves: mountains and valleys and rivers and lakes; beaches and deserts and seas. And then I heard Hutch say, When I hear the word beach I think of the Georgia coast. The beaches we love end up being the ones we went to as a child.

I had married the landscape of my childhood—a distinct geography where Mother pointed out the appropriate landmarks.

“Oh, Hutch,” I whispered.

But I refused to be that woman—the one who spent her life loving a man she could not have, loving the distant past more than the present or future.

Did, I wondered, my parents’ choices come down to me through unspoken DNA, whispered choices that my soul heard?

Choose safety, Ellie. Choose safety.

It’s the same as love. Or close enough.

Close enough.

The dream that came that night was vivid, seeming not a dream at all, so that when I awoke, startled and shaking, I was stunned to be in bed.

I am in my backyard, under the largest of our magnolia trees. The cardinal, the one with the injured wing, is above me looking down, staring at me with her dark eyes. I admire the beauty of the day, the clearest of blue skies, the greenest grass, and the oversize leaves on the ground. I am filled with joy. I attempt to step toward the largest leaf I’ve ever seen, fascinated with its size and shadows, when I realize my feet won’t move; I am fastened to the ground. I look down to see the roots of the magnolia tree wrapped around my feet, around my legs, the knobby bark twisted and knotted tight and high to my thighs. I try to scream, but no sound comes. The branches stretch into the sky until they become part of the clouds. The magnolia blossoms are as large as human heads, and the bird has disappeared. I am stuck; the roots climb higher, toward my hips, higher. I bend over to grab at these roots, but my hands are useless against the solid bark. I claw at my legs, at the air, screaming in a voiceless terror.

When I awoke I was covered in the coldest sweat, scratches on my legs and thighs. I wrapped my arms around my knees, wiggled my feet below me, and then turned to the empty side of the bed, relieved that Rusty wasn’t there, that he’d probably fallen asleep watching the Braves game.

Relief was not the emotion I wanted or needed, but there it was, squatting on my heart to remind me of my inability to love. I curled into a tight knot and shut my eyes.