“A note?” she asked. “What did it say?”

He told her that, too.

She went quiet again.

“Mom, it could’ve been anyone,” he lied. “Someone he worked with or—”

“Joey.”

His heart dropped.

“I always thought she regretted giving your dad to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind.”

He dragged his hand over his forehead and wished he could travel back in time to try to figure out how to keep this conversation from happening in the first place.

“I don’t think it was her.”

“Either way,” she said, “it doesn’t really matter now.”

He tried not to groan. Because it did matter, and being here made it matter more.

“Mom, the party is in a month,” he said. “Don’t book tickets. Don’t come here.”

Then his mother’s voice shifted as if she’d found a new resolve. “Too late, honey. I already booked my ticket. I’ll text you the details so you can meet me at the ferry. Or not—either way.”

Unsent letter to Marissa Boggs:

Dear Mrs. Boggs,

It’s been six months since Mr. Boggs died. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him or you or Cody. In fact, you’re all I think about. I know you probably never want to talk to me again. I know you’re probably mad at the way I treated your son, and hate me for the way he reacted to what I did.

I didn’t mean to hurt him.

I guess that’s the thing about mistakes. We never mean for them to happen.

My mom made me see a counselor, and he said I need to forgive myself. He said if I ask, God will forgive me, and I believe that.

But what about you and Cody and Marley? Will you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me?

I don’t know if I’ll ever move past this until you do. And that’s not me trying to convince you to say something that isn’t true—I just wanted you to know how deeply sorry I am for the mistake I made.

My mom misses you. Maybe, even if you can’t forgive me, you can somehow still find a way to be friends with her? I know it would make things so much better.

Louisa

PS—I don’t think Cody will ever talk to me again, but could you let him know that I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I’ve done?

xoxo

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“MAGGIE, HAVE YOU EVER THROWN ANYTHING AWAY?” Louisa was standing in one of the spare bedrooms on the second level of Maggie’s cottage while the old woman rested comfortably in an armchair downstairs. She’d hollered her question toward the hallway, but either Maggie hadn’t heard her or she was ignoring her.

Odds were good it was the latter.