“All right. Go get your book bag,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have some coffee?”

“What? No, you can’t have coffee.”

“Trisha Carpenter’s mom lets her drink coffee.”

“Trisha Carpenter?”

She nods.

“Yeah. Well, it kind of shows. No coffee.”

“You never let me do anything.” She pouts, but doesn’t really mean it. She hops off the chair.

“Yes, I’m a horrible monster for not— Hey! Young lady, where are your shoes?”

“They’re up in my room.” She shrugs.

“You are killing me this morning, sweetheart. You’re absolutely killing me. Book bag. Shoes. Come on. Let’s go!”

She rolls her eyes, grabs her bookbag, and dramatically stomps up the stairs.

I need to get her on that bus because I need to get to my writing. The novel is chugging along. It’s late, to be sure, but it’s shaping up to be that rare sequel that’s better than the original. I’ve been working on it every day in the ‘writing room’ of our new three-bedroom house in a quiet neighborhood in the beautiful seaside town of Avalon in California, between Monterey and San Francisco. After everything that happened, we needed a change—a big one. The drive across the country with Caitlyn was an incredible adventure, and the perfect way to start a new chapter together. We marveled at the changing landscapes, tried to find the most interesting places to eat, played “I Spy”, and listened to old radio programs. We’d stop at any roadside attraction that sparked our interest. My favorite was the Ice Caves in Wyoming. Caitlyn’s was, of course, a famous candy store in Illinois, where we enjoyed milkshakes and stocked up on enough chocolate, licorice, and saltwater taffy to last us the rest of the trip and then some. After a week on the road, we were both sad to see it end, but I told her how big California is, and promised her a drive along the coast next summer. She immediately began counting the days. We finally reached Avalon and began our new lives.

We’ve been here for almost six months. The memories of the Nightingale House will always be with us, but they’re fading, being overtaken by new memories and experiences. Caitlyn and I still don’t talk about it that much. I don’t think we ever will. There are some things we’ve held on to and other things we’ve left behind.

We both love it here. Caitlyn helped me pick out the house. It’s smaller, but still charming. In other words, exactly what we were looking for. The town is great. Caitlyn loves her school. She’s making friends, like the caffeine-riddled Trisha Carpenter, and Caitlyn’s lying has stopped. Our lives are moving on.

I open the front door, step out onto the porch, and glance down the street.

Damnit.