Thinking about California made her think of the letters. She reached out to open the drawer in her desk, but then snatched her hand back.

It was far too late now. You couldn’t change history. All she could do was look at the maps and the photographs and dream.

She looked at the box files, bulging with maps and notes.

Selling this place wouldn’t just mean selling her home, it would mean leaving her past. Her house wasn’t stuffed full of meaningless objects, it was full of pieces of her life. Everything came with meaning and memory attached.

She locked the door of the study, and returned to the bedroom where she hid the key in a drawer.

That man breaking into her house had made her evaluate her life.

Yes, she was vulnerable, but so was every human being. Most didn’t realize it, of course. Most people believed they were in control of everything that happened to them and perhaps it took age and long experience to know that life could deliver blows you never could have deflected, not even with a skillet.

She’d never let fear stop her living. Instead she’d made the most of every moment, dealing with trouble as it came her way. If anything she’d been reckless.

She was no longer reckless, but nor was she ready to live out her days in a room with a call button.

A restless feeling stirred inside her. Excitement. Anticipation. A thirst for adventure. Lately it had been absent and it was reassuring to know she was still capable of feeling it. It gave her an energy and a drive that was much needed.

She walked to the bathroom and removed the bandage from her head. Enough of that.

She scrubbed at the dried blood and cleaned herself up as best she could, deciding that washing her hair probably wouldn’t be the wisest move right now. She tried not to look directly at her reflection. In her mind she was youthful, but the mirror mocked her attempts at self-deception.

Turning away, she dressed as quickly as her body would allow and walked down to the kitchen. She was disappointed to find no signs of Popeye. She was ridiculously fond of the cat, and not entirely because he expected very little of her.

She’d always been an early riser and she began the day with strong coffee. The sun was shining, so she carried her cup to the small marble-topped table she’d had shipped from Italy. The moment she stepped outside, her mood lifted.

It promised to be a perfect day, the air filled with the scent of flowers and a sweet chorus of birdsong.