He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Would the ache ever leave? Would he ever be able to breathe correctly when he saw her? To not weigh every action with her against the past and then the future?

He lifted his head and she was gone. He looked behind him as she pulled out from her parking space. He wanted to share with her what he’d discovered about himself in the days he’d spent alone on Oystertip Island—that he was ashamed he’d never really loved his wife for who she was, and that Eliza had to be the one to tell him this. He wanted to tell Amy how one morning, in the soft, filtered light drifting through the live oak above him, he’d understood that even if he couldn’t be with the woman he was meant for, at least he could be the man he was meant to be. He’d have to keep these revelations to himself for now.

But he hadn’t kept the dropwort plant and bald eagle’s nest he found on Oystertip to himself—he’d taken proof of both to the Heritage Program in one last desperate attempt to redeem his mistakes by saving the island.

He grabbed his shell necklace from the glove compartment, clasped it tight in his fist, let the rough edges rub against his hand. He allowed the memory of Amy in the deserted house to wash over him one more time, glanced at the shell before placing it back in the glove compartment. He took a deep breath and jumped from the truck to grab an oyster sandwich, then headed to his lab to check on his research.

For him, there were no second chances—only second choices.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Amy stood on the back porch of the Summerhill Home with her class behind her, their pencils scratching with the sound of dry leaves underfoot as they sketched the columns of the back porch. She stared out to the backyard gardens of the antebellum home, and as often happened in quieter moments of beauty, the memory of Nick washed over her. Over the past year and a half only time had forged whatever good could have come from what had happened with him.

She’d been right about Oystertip—it must have called to Nick from its lush depths because while camping in his self-imposed isolation he’d found a dropwort—an endangered flowering plant—and a bald eagle’s nest. Both these discoveries were the final proof needed for a Heritage Trust from the Department of Natural Resources. After the article in the Darby Chronicle had come out, donations flagged for Oystertip had come pouring in. The land was now designated as a Heritage Preserve, and the Trust had purchased it from Mr. Farley.