She let the visions of all the things this space could have been wash over her: all the people who would have walked in off the street, all the Bloomers who would have made a pilgrimage here, all the friends from around the country she could have welcomed into her space, finally, and offered a cup of tea. She would have most of that at Carrigan’s now, even if it would have a different flavor. More eggnog, less grits. She let all those visions float out into the Atlantic, setting them free.

And on Friday, when everything was on a truck and shipped off to New York, she made her last stop. She was going to services one last time at Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim. When she first moved to Charleston, she wasn’t sure if she’d find a spiritual home, but the oldest continuously operating synagogue in the United States had opened its arms to her. Charleston might always be here (pending global warming) but she would never be a part of it, in this particular way, ever again.

That night, Miriam was kicking off her Chucks when her phone buzzed. She had two text notifications.

True Blue: Are you going to call me? A very large, alarmingly beautiful blond man just showed up on my filming set to yell at me.

How did Cole…Never mind, she didn’t want to know. The second text read:

Santa Baby: I miss you.

She pressed the video call button and braced for the physical jolt she got every time Noelle’s face came on screen. Noelle was pushing the swoop of her undercut off her forehead like James freaking Dean when she answered, and Miriam bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

“What? What’s happening? Why are you looking at me like I’m espresso?” Noelle looked behind her, like she was expecting to see something else Miriam would be salivating over.

“I miss touching you.” She knew she was whining, but she figured it was better to be honest about what a schmoopy mess she was.

“Tell me about your day,” Noelle said.

“I went to an Al-Anon meeting! It was good but weird.”

“Wait, did you say you went to an Al-Anon meeting?”

“Well, I’ve never dated someone sober before, and it’s for people who are in relationships with alcoholics, and I didn’t handle my last relationship well…” Miriam sighed, staring up at the motel ceiling. “I have a lot of stuff that I haven’t particularly dealt with.”

“I noticed,” Noelle said dryly.

Miriam flipped her off.

“Are you coming home soon?” Noelle asked, and Miriam nodded. Home. Soon.

She found she couldn’t sleep, so she opened a box of mail Tara had been keeping for her. In among the cell phone bills she had on autopay and the requests from her alma mater for money, she recognized Cass’s stationery.

Her heart stopped.