She opened the front door and walked out onto the enclosed porch, once again amazed at how cold it was. Frigid enough for icicles, if there was any moisture, to hang from her front porch instead of the faux icicles of Christmas lights that Phil had still not taken down, complaining it was too frickin’ cold to climb on the roof—outside, he couldn’t even feel his fingers.

She looked out the window to the driveway, but didn’t see Carol Anne, who came up behind her, startled her. “The back door was open.”

“Don’t scare me like that,” Amy said. “Jack must’ve left it unlocked. He just left with Lisbeth.”

“I don’t mean unlocked. I mean open.” Carol Anne unbuttoned her coat, then laid it over the bottom of the banister.

“He was a little preoccupied—in the middle of breaking up with Lisbeth.”

“Good.”

Amy walked back into the sunroom, ignoring Carol Anne’s comment. Carol Anne followed, flopped down on the chaise longue and laced her fingers behind her head.

“Oh, yes, I’d love some hot tea.”

“What?” Amy squinted.

“I know you meant to offer me some hot tea . . . so I just said yes.”

“Actually that sounds wonderful. You stay all comfortable right there—in my chair. I’ll be right back.”

Amy stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to whistle and stared out at her empty bird feeder. She hadn’t filled it since Christmas. What had she done since Christmas? Waited for the inevitability of whatever lay on the horizon that she could not yet see.

The phone screamed in unison with the tea kettle and she jumped, then shifted back and forth between the wall phone and the stove, not knowing which one to tend to first. She picked up the phone, hearing the same static sound as a few minutes ago.

“Hello.”

“Amy . . .”

“Nick.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Hold on. . . hold on. It’s the kettle.”

She tucked the portable phone under her chin and reached over, pulled the kettle from the stove, then poured boiling water into the two prepared mugs on the sideboard. She lifted the phone back to her ear. Here it was: the beginning or maybe the end of what she’d been waiting for. She still didn’t know.

“Nick, hello.” She tried to sound casual as she reached into the refrigerator, pulled out a carton of milk—just a drop in Carol Anne’s tea.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No . . . well, yes. Carol Anne’s here to visit and I was just making a cup of tea, and—”

“I swear, that woman is the bane of my existence.”

“Stop.”

“Is Lisbeth there?”

“No, she and Jack left about twenty minutes ago. I don’t know where they were going. They didn’t say. But they definitely did not look happy.”