She’d still be in Seattle right now, she reflected, if she hadn’t come to a decision about her life and particularly her past. If she didn’t have something urgent to do. Well, to be honest, she had three priorities.

And the first of them, in some ways the most urgent, had brought her back to a place she’d vowed never to set foot in again—no matter what.

Never say never, she thought ruefully.

Time to quit procrastinating and get started.

Resolved, Shallie took a long, deep breath, held it, thrust it out in a forceful gust. Then she shut off her car and pushed open the door.

She was immediately drenched by a cascade of rain, almost as if she’d been singled out for a private deluge.

That quickly, the long day on the road caught up with her. Ever since landing at the airport in Billings, renting a car, setting out, she’d felt a tension that was no longer familiar to her.

She was exhausted, weary down to her bones.

You can do this, Shallie reminded herself. Get moving, before you drown.

Taking her own advice, she shut the car door behind her and hurried toward the seedy motel’s tiny office.

Tonight, she had only one person from her past to face, and the sooner she did that, the sooner she could move on.

Reaching the door, she shoved hard and fairly hurled herself over the threshold. She’d half expected to encounter Russ first thing, but the office was empty.

Shallie paused, catching her breath, dripping rainwater onto the gray carpet, which had probably been some other color once upon a time. Even through the soles of her wet shoes, she could feel the stiffness of the pile and gave an involuntary shudder. God only knows when the rug had been vacuumed last, let alone shampooed.

She looked around, still lingering by the heavy glass door, which had fallen shut behind her.

The walls were even dingier than she recalled. There were cobwebs in the corners, and clutter covered the reception desk—magazines, junk mail, old newspapers and several coffee mugs. There was no computer, and the telephone was the same one Shallie remembered from her childhood, black and heavy, with a rotary dial. From where she stood, she could see that the numbers had been completely worn away.

The handbell still occupied its place on one corner of the desk, so Shallie reached out and gave it a brisk tap. A clamorous ting followed.

And she waited.

As her breathing slowed and her focus expanded, Shallie became aware of the drone of a TV set beyond the office wall, where the family had lived.

It was easy to imagine Russ settled in his dad’s old recliner, staring morosely at the screen and drowning his resentments in booze.

“Hello?” Shallie called, finally, when several minutes had passed and no one had appeared.