“Yes, but… How will I know what is my instinct and what is some rambling fear or worry?”

“My darling girl, have courage! When the hatchling runs into the sea it is following its instinct, without fear or doubt. Onward! Perhaps it’s time to stop asking the questions and simply listen. When the answer reveals itself, you will feel peace in the knowing.”

Cara moved to face Linnea. “I understand your doubts. I had my bags packed, a ticket in my hand, plans made, and yet I felt conflicted about my decision. Doubt niggled me. Then the night before I was to leave I stood at the precipice of a dune and looked out at a scene unfolding before me—hatchlings racing to the sea, my family guiding them, Brett standing at the surf—and I knew.”

Cara reached out to place her hand on Linnea’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “So now I’m telling you. Follow your instincts. Listen to your intuition. Trust yourself. That is where you’ll find your truest advice.”

chapter eighteen

I can’t say yes to you until I say yes to myself.

LINNEA SLOWLY CAME to terms with her grief over Flo’s passing. Since the night of the fight, she’d avoided talking to Gordon or John. Keeping to herself, taking long walks on the beach, looking at old photographs in a week’s peaceful solitude helped return her to an equilibrium that had been missing for the past several weeks… even months.

But she knew she couldn’t dodge the conversation any longer. This morning she’d called Gordon and asked him to come over for tea. She boiled a kettle, set a tray, and carried it outside to the deck. She noticed how dry the earth of her potted plants had become. The leaves were beginning to look a little yellow.

A noise from behind brought her attention to the steps. She exhaled, seeing Gordon step onto the deck. In his hands he carried a bouquet of pink roses. The skin around his eye had turned that faint yellow of a healing bruise. She was sorry to see it.

She shook her head as he drew near. “Look at you,” she said with sympathy.

“You should see the other guy.”

Linnea laughed congenially, grateful he still had his sense of humor. He handed her the flowers and she accepted them, bringing them to her nose. There was no scent.

“Pink roses are said to mean I’m sorry,” he told her.

She looked up at him over the blush colored roses. The bloom of her love for Gordon had passed. She knew that now, and it gave her courage and compassion. “I’m the one who should say I’m sorry.”

“Why? You did nothing wrong.”

“But I did. I’ve come to understand quite a few things in the past several days.” Linnea extended her arm toward the pergola. “Do you want to sit down?”

Gordon followed her to the wicker table. Before she sat, she asked, “Tea?”