Clare battled a flood of memories as she leaned over to hug her daughter. “Be good for Dad and Andi. I love you.”

“Love you, too. I’ll call you.”

“You’d better,” Clare said with a smile.

Maggie got out, closed the door, and waved from the curb.

Clare indulged in a mini pity-party but pulled herself together by the time she reached the Newport Bridge. It was out of her way to take the bridge north to Boston, but something about that bridge symbolized home and, in this case, leaving home. She could never leave Newport forever, at least not as long as Maggie still lived there, but there was something so necessary about what she was doing that she couldn’t help being anxious to get to Vermont and get settled. Dr. Baker’s words kept replaying in her mind—now is the time to take care of you so you can be there for your daughters when they need you.

The radio kept her company as she left Providence, northern Rhode Island, and southern Massachusetts in her wake. Within ninety minutes, the Boston skyline appeared in the distance, reminding Clare as it always did of Jack taking her to the “Top of the Pru” for the first time. The Prudential building was one of Boston’s most recognizable landmarks.

Since her muscles were beginning to stiffen from sitting so long, she decided to stop in the city to take a walk through her old Beacon Hill neighborhood. She took the Storrow Drive exit and parked on Newberry Street. Pulling her winter coat tight around her, Clare set off down Newberry, comforted that little had changed in the pretty, historic area where she and Jack had lived as newlyweds. The narrow cobblestone streets, gas-powered street lamps, and brick-front townhouses were exactly as she remembered them. There were memories here, too, but they were good ones.

Wandering along Beacon Street, Clare came upon the three-story brick house where they’d had an apartment on the third floor. Standing on the sidewalk looking up, she could still remember every detail of the place. Jack had worked then for Jamie’s father, the world-renowned architect Neil Booth, and could walk to his office from their apartment. Clare, who had been a substitute teacher in the Boston school system, often met him halfway home when they would have dinner in one of the cozy restaurants or take a long walk through the Boston Commons. Glancing to the far end of Beacon, she spotted the Citgo sign that hung over the outfield at Fenway Park and remembered spending many a summer evening eating hotdogs and popcorn in the bleachers when the Red Sox played at home.