A month later Sophie woke me one morning with a nudge. She stood over me next to the bed holding a pregnancy test wand. She looked happier than I’d seen her in a very long time.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

“Huh?” I sat up and put on my glasses.

“You’re going to be a father, Adam.”

As I sit there in the cabin, I want to pound my fists against the table. But I don’t. The most important days of my life are bookends now: Aubrey’s birth and Sophie’s death. Between the two were hope, love, and the promise that whatever mistakes I’d made were gone forever.

Just like Sophie.

I set down the sunglasses and look out the rippled glass windowpane. Teresa Dibley is on the lawn in front of the cabin. I realize now that she’s been waiting for me. When I go out, I find myself going to her like she’s a friend. Maybe it’s the way she wears her hair, but she reminds me of my mother. Grief propels me in her direction.

“She’s dead,” I call out. “Sophie’s dead.”

She puts her hands out, and I take them. “I’m so sorry. I saw it on the news. Clark showed me on his phone. I’m so sorry.”

The words thank you come out of my mouth, but I don’t actually hear them.

Her eyes are wet. “Is there anything I can do?”

I don’t even know this woman, but she’s offering to help. I wonder if other people are like this too. Is this stranger an anomaly? Would I look the other way or offer assistance?

“No,” I say. “I’m going home now. Just need to go see my daughter.”

She nods. “Are you sure you can drive? You’ve been handed the biggest hurt ever, and after a night like last night, I don’t see how you can consider driving anywhere.”

I’m not sure what she means.

“You were up so late,” she says. “Saw the light on.”

I give her a quick nod. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Sat in the sauna. Drank too much and tried to keep positive. Even though, after what I saw, I doubted there’d be any other outcome than what happened today.”

Her damp eyes stay on me.

“Can I help you pack?” she asks.

I don’t want help. I just want to find a way to understand what happened yesterday and how in the world I’m going to get through everything that is to follow.

“No,” I tell her. “I can manage. Just a couple of overnight bags. You want the food in the fridge?”

“How about I put the cabin in order—you know, wash the dishes and work the owner’s checklist?”

I accept the offer. I need to get out of here.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ADAM

For the first time ever, I welcome the traffic clusterfuck I encounter on the way back into the ever-swelling Seattle-Tacoma metroplex. Even on a Sunday. Even on a Sunday before a paid holiday. It’s always beyond comprehension. The Tacoma Narrows Bridge might as well be suspended in amber. Archaeologists will need to chip us out ages from now, after all the twisted metal and carnage piled at the eastern landing has at last been sorted out.