She could rationalize it. She was happy, and entitled to a time of peace and pleasure. Only a year before, she’d risked her life, and would have forfeited it, rather than live trapped and afraid.

For so many months following, she’d been alone, constantly on the move, wary of every sound. She awakened night after night in cold sweats from dreams she couldn’t face even in the dark.

If she’d locked that time in a box and buried the key, who had a better right?

It was the now that mattered, and she was giving Zack all she could of the now.

As summer slipped into fall she was convinced of it, and of the solidity of her haven on Three Sisters.

With her latest kitchen catalogs and her new subscription to Saveur under her arm, Nell walked out of the post office and headed down High Street toward the market. The summer people had been replaced by tourists eager to view New England foliage at its peak.

She couldn’t blame them. Wedges of the island were covered with a brilliant patchwork of flaming color. Every morning she studied the changes from her own kitchen window, dreaming into her own woods as the leaves took on fire. There were times she walked the beach in the evening just to see the slow roll of fog tumble in, swallow water, cloak the buoys, and muffle the long, monotonous bongs.

Mornings, a fine, glassy frost might glitter on the ground only to melt under the strengthening sun until it beaded on the grass like tears on lashes.

Rains swept in, pounded the beaches, the cliffs, then swept out again until it seemed to her that the whole of the world sparkled like something under a glass dome.

She was under that dome, Nell thought. Safe and secure and away from the world that raged beyond sea and inlet.

With the brisk wind sneaking up her sweater, she waved at familiar faces, paused briefly at the crosswalk to check traffic, then jogged carelessly into the market for the pork chops she intended to make for dinner.

Pamela Stevens, on an impromptu visit to the island with her husband, Donald, gave a little cry of surprise and rolled down the window of their rented BMW sedan.

“I’m not stopping at any of these shops, Pamela, no matter how quaint they are, until I find the right place to park.”

“I’ve just seen a ghost.” Pamela dropped back on the seat, laid a hand over her heart.

“It’s witches around here, Pamela, not ghosts.”

“No, no, Donald. Helen Remington. Evan Remington’s wife. I’d swear I’ve just seen her ghost.”

“Don’t know why in God’s name she would come all the way out here to haunt anybody. Can’t even find a damn parking lot.”