“I don’t know,” I said. “Her husband showed up this morning. She manufactured some excuse to get away.”

“Oh, shit, Bobo, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I just want a few minutes alone with her.”

Lila touched my face gently with her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep Sammy busy.” She smiled weakly. “And I’ll behave. I promise.”

“I know you will,” I said. “But thanks, anyway.”

“You know, Bobo, in a way I envy her, but in another way, I feel sorry for her,” Lila said quietly.

“Why?” I asked.

“My mother told me something once, just before my divorce, when I was trying to make sense of wanting to live with Sammy. It may be the only good thing she ever did for me, but I’ve never forgotten it. She said, ‘Nothing is worse than not having what you want when what you want is so close to having.’ I know it sounds confusing, but when you think about it, Bobo, it makes sense.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said.

“No, Bobo. You know I’m right,” Lila countered softly.

Amy arrived fifteen minutes later. I watched from the window of my room as she parked her car on the side street and hurried into the Inn from the front porch, and I went to the door and waited for her. She linked her arms around my waist when she entered the room.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was coming,” she whispered.

“I know you didn’t,” I told her. She released me and I closed the door and locked it. “Why is he here?”

“He said he wanted to surprise me,” she answered bitterly. “Said he’d been thinking about it—how he’d ignored my enthusiasm about having the home up here. But that’s not why he’s here; it’s only his story. He wants me to sell the place. Thirty minutes after he arrived, he was telling me he knew someone who wanted a home in the mountains. He had even talked price with them, the son of a bitch.”

“It’s your place, isn’t it?”

Her eyes burned with anger. “And it’s going to remain my place,” she said evenly.

“How long will he stay?” I asked.

“Tonight. He’ll be back in his office tomorrow. He’s never missed a day of work. Never.”

“I think we should call Carter and tell him,” I suggested. “To prevent one of his well-meaning blunders.”

“I did,” she said. “I stopped at a pay phone. He wants you to call him later.”

She looked around the room and smiled softly. “Do you know what’s funny about this?”

“What?”

“This was my room that summer.”

“Are you sure?”