She walked to the big door, painted a cheerful yellow. What would Anthony look like now? In Boston, she thought she saw him standing on every corner. She did a double take at every businessman walking down the street with a leather attaché case, every homeless guy picking through garbage in the South End. She imagined him sitting at the restaurant table next to her or taking up a seat in the same Brookline movie theater. All these years she and Noah had lived in such horrifying proximity to this man who had changed her life forever, a man she wondered if she would even recognize. Was he fat and bald or fit? Was he repentant for what he’d done, or still smugly protective of his personal empire? Would he want to meet Noah? And what about Maureen?

Oh, man. Maureen. She would be deeply hurt. Devastated.

But Ann had been hurt. Devastated.

She’d survived.

She peeked through the thick glass window into the foyer and saw an enormous pair of cheap, plastic sandals under the bench, the kind you might buy at the CVS. Anthony’s? No, no. Anthony wasn’t the kind of person to wear cheap plastic shoes, and Maureen wasn’t the kind of person to buy them. Perhaps Maureen had divorced and taken up with someone simpler—Ann wished that were true. Maybe they belonged to Toby or Brooks, grown now.

She knocked on the thick door with a shaking hand.

She knocked again, this time harder. Nobody answered.

What was she thinking? She looked up at the wainscoting on the ceiling of the big old porch. The light fixture holding the yellow lightbulb was covered in spiderwebs and dead bugs. Ann found some relief that nobody was home. She’d come back another day, figure something else out. She’d turned around and begun to descend the stairs when she heard the lock click, and the giant door opened with a loud, spooky creak, as if the door hadn’t been opened in years.

Maureen.

The first thing Ann noticed was that she was wearing jeans. Jeans! And a loose-fitting Smith College sweatshirt. Her auburn hair was rusty gray, and pulled back into a ponytail. Given the condition of the house, Ann half expected to see her stumble out in a housedress with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the pocket, curlers, and fluffy slippers. Instead, Maureen’s lack of upkeep wasn’t a fall from grace but a slip into a more comfortable, casual life.

“Ann? Ann Gordon? I can’t believe it! You haven’t changed a bit.”

Ann couldn’t help but smile. Maureen made her feel young and special again.

“Good Lord, it’s been ages. You’re all grown up. Just look. Come here!” Ann slowly walked back up the steps. “Don’t be shy.”