Then she did what she always did when her mind acted like a runaway train, like a rubber ball bouncing in a closed room—she grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from her Lucite desk and began to write a neat list. First, finish the article. Second, make plane reservations. Third, do not Google Alzheimer’s.

Nothing good, ever, came from over-Googling.

•   •   •

The article was shit. Colleen knew it and yet she hit the send button anyway. “Mexican Fun in the Sun.” Even the title was the worst. But she didn’t care. Her heart hadn’t settled for even a minute since Shane had called that morning.

It’s all in the details—this was a universal law in the writing world, as unbending as a physics equation. Colleen had kept the focus on trivialities—the scattered sparkle of morning sun on the river; the gravel road with weeds forcing their way up in the ruts and grooves; the thickness of hotel room towels; the floral rug with vines that wriggled through the pattern like snakes. Well-chosen details added together made a vivid picture, and she gathered the minutiae and decided which ones to share, which ones would send a reader to plan a trip to the location she’d just vacated.

But the overarching narrative of her own story? Ah, she’d avoided that for years. It was easier to notice the smallest things in her forest than to rise above the treetops and gaze down to see the not-quite-green relationships and withering spaces.

And now? Her sight was fixed firmly on home and on all the emotional uncertainty a visit there would entail.

Colleen had learned to be happy in the years since the heartbreak that had caused her to run from Watersend. She made a good living and had enough friends to stay as busy as she pleased. Sometimes she sensed a glass wall stood between her and her pals, as she was never able to tell the full truth of why she chose New York, why she never went home. Avoiding all mention of family and home, there seemed to always be a piece missing in her relationships, as if by leaving out the subject of her family she’d left the bottle of wine at home when she arrived at a dinner party. She cherished her work and her apartment and someday—maybe someday—she would again love a man. Until then, she went on as many adventures as possible and talked to her brother and father at least once a week. To her sister she didn’t speak at all.

Back at her computer, she typed “LGA airport to SAV airport” in the search bar and watched the flights scroll, one by one, then startled as her apartment buzzer squealed. She walked to the intercom and pressed the speaker button. “Hello?”

“Colleen, you can’t ignore me forever. Let me in, love.”