Seaside quickly became their safe haven. For several years, it was the place they’d escape to not just for summers but whenever Dad needed a break from work or when their family needed to “recalibrate,” as Mom said. The little cottage got a lot of good use in those days.

But then everything changed. Everything good turned to dust right there in that cottage on North Road.

And now his master chief wanted him to go back to that exact place and check in with the woman responsible for all of it.

CHAPTER SIX

MAGGIE LEFT FOR THE STOP & SHOP AROUND TWO to pick up everything she would need to make dinner for them that night. Louisa had insisted that Alyssa go along, mostly because she needed a solid thirty minutes without someone fussing over her.

And to collect her thoughts after her near-death experience.

“The doctor said I was lucky,” she’d said absently, only half-realizing Maggie was listening.

The old woman scoffed as she gathered up her shopping bags. “You tell that doctor luck had nothing to do with it. We don’t believe in luck any more than we believe in pots of gold at the end of Nantucket rainbows.”

“I believe in pots of gold,” Ally quipped, but Maggie only stared at Louisa.

Lou got the point, and she couldn’t argue. It sure did seem like God had heard her prayer for a miracle and answered. In a very masculine way.

Had she even said thank you? She’d gotten out of the habit of praying. She was too busy working to make sure God was proud of her. She’d made so many mistakes—she figured she still had a few years of work left before she and God could have a proper conversation.

Now, lying on the couch under a worn-out old quilt she’d picked up at a yard sale during one of her trips to the Cape, Louisa closed her eyes and let her mind wander.

What if she hadn’t prayed? Would God still have sent Cody? Why Cody? Did that mean something? What if Cody hadn’t spotted her out there? Surely she wouldn’t have lasted much longer. What if she’d drowned? How long would it have taken someone to realize she was gone? What if . . . ?

A knock on the door shut off her unproductive line of thinking, though one last question popped into her head as she slipped her legs out from under the quilt and stood.

What if I never recover from this?

She knew she’d almost died. She wouldn’t take that lightly. But it made her wonder why God had chosen to send her a hero when so many other people likely prayed that same prayer and he stayed silent.

People like Daniel Boggs.