“That’s an important distinction, Linda. But that still doesn’t mean you couldn’t have a sympathetic ear to talk to.”

“I’m not sure I’ll tell her.”

“But she could read your book if you go ahead with it. And she’ll know.”

Linda’s jaw dropped. The thought simply had not occurred to her. Did she want Marissa to find out that way? Telling the anonymous “world” was one thing but she remembered so well Marissa’s discussion of what contempt did to a relationship. That’s an ouch, she thought. I know none of it was my fault, or thought I did. But if I think Marissa could find something contemptible about me because of all that stuff then I really don’t believe I wasn’t to blame, do I?

She was about to mention her thoughts to Dr. Kirkland, but she realized Dr. K had moved to her desk.

“Our time’s up, Linda. I’m sorry. But we’ll pick up where we left off at the end of the week.”

“It’s okay.” Linda got to her feet feeling a little dazed. These thoughts weren’t as painful as her memories but they mattered far more going forward. If she thought Marissa couldn’t see her as blameless for the past, then she was still on some level ashamed of it.

It had been eight weeks since Tahiti. Marissa will have moved on by now, Linda told herself. You should call her, send a note, something. Maybe she’ll wait.

But the moment you do, she’ll ask questions. You’re not ready to answer any of them, she told herself. You still have nothing to offer her. Nothing but a body you don’t like very much—and a messed up head.

How can you tell her you want a future when you have no idea what yours is?

Marissa knows who she is, knows what she wants, is making a success of a business and has a great life. So you’ve inherited a sum of money, Linda told herself, but that doesn’t answer the million-dollar question: when she sees the real you, what could Marissa possibly want?

She made her way back to the tiny apartment and got ready for another shift at the burger joint. She’d given notice and planned to work the full two weeks because it was undemanding—somehow liberating to her overtaxed brain.

She knew she sometimes didn’t have it quite right in figuring things out but she was working on it. Marissa was so full of life, so kind, so smart and amusing. She deserved to move on if she could. Find someone who would be right for her all the time, not someone who was only right when she was lying about everything from her name to her past.

The nice thing to do would be to let Marissa go and send her a letter that helped her move on. It was selfish not to get in touch and think Marissa would be there when Linda knew what she had to offer.

It was selfish not to write that letter and Linda hoped that the fates and furies—and Marissa—would forgive her for her selfish act of hope.