A long coil of cool blue silk reminded her of Marissa’s eyes. The crimson next to it was the color of her lips in the early morning light. Marissa was everywhere around her and all Linda could think to do was run away.

You don’t have to go to Auckland, she told herself. All you have to do is keep running. Anywhere is far enough from Boston. Keep them guessing, keep them frustrated.

“You’ve always made up hurtful lies, Linda.” At their last meeting, her mother’s eyes had matched the onyx beads around her neck. “Money is all you want and you can have it, but you can never repeat these lies again. Sign or get nothing. Sign or we’ll see about another competency hearing.”

Her pace increased through the swirl of the market. It was always this way, her mother’s voice intruding into everything. Whenever Linda thought she had found quiet at last, she heard her mother.

Memories of her mother had been only shadows in the glow of Marissa’s presence. Her laughter, especially—Marissa laughed like sunlight. Marissa had a kind of inner glow that vanquished everything murky and foul.

Marissa was gone now and Linda’s mother was back.

Linda remembered joking about being a suave financier, there to whisk Marissa away to safety but that had been a part she’d played, some of the time. Other times she’d been a survivalist, in love with the great outdoors. Still others she’d been tour guide and coach. The only time she’d been herself had been last night and this morning, after Marissa called her strong.

Strong. Do strong women run? Wryly she thought that strong women might not run but smart women did. Her intelligence had never been in question. Dr. Kirkland had even pointed out that a smart woman would always find a way to make denial and avoidance seem like the wise choice.

This smart woman, Linda mused, wanted to go after Marissa. She wanted to reclaim the feeling of that incredible moment when Marissa had seen and touched only the real Linda, the one no one ever saw, the one even she had thought could never be found again.

Marissa had a passion for living and it had shown in the way she’d attacked the cliff. It showed in the way she made love. Even in the way she enjoyed water, sand and new experiences, like raw tuna and goat cheese.

The aroma of roasting pineapple made her stomach growl and Linda turned back to the main marketplace, following the scent with her nose. She bought a plate of rice with a skewer of white fish and pineapple and stood not far from the vendor, nibbling and remembering. She could get lost in the simple pace of the islands. Even here, where tourists passed through constantly, the vendors moved as if they heard music no one else could. The white paper plates were handed to new customers without hurry.

Linda watched a teenager with dark hair accept a laden plate from her mother. They were both smiling while the food in Linda’s mouth turned to ash.