The street weaved crookedly in front of her. That was okay. Just put one foot in front of the other. The beach was getting closer. No matter how drunk she was, she was heading in the right direction. She could find that beach with her eyes closed right now. It seemed to call to her.

There was a noise behind her.

Madeleine held still and listened. For the first time, a prick of worry made its way through her haze. It wasn’t the best idea for a woman to walk, drunk and alone, in a strange place in the middle of the night. What if she was being followed?

She turned unsteadily, but behind her was only the empty street, dark but for where the lamps cast ellipses of light onto the pavement.

Must have imagined it.

Maybe she’d imagined all kinds of things. Maybe this trip—maybe the last six years of her life—was just one big hallucination, a fever dream, and she’d wake up in Sacred Heart to find none of it had happened.

But on the off chance that wasn’t true, she kept walking toward her beach.

Eventually, she stood at the same seawall she’d walked years ago with a tiny flashlight she’d lost and a pair of scissors in her pocket. She might have changed in the meantime, but the beach looked the same. It must be the same. Those must be the same rocks that had sat there six years ago.

There, several yards away from the rocks, stood the same dock she’d fallen from.

Madeleine didn’t have a flashlight this time. She had a phone, though. Its flashlight function, combined with the streetlamps behind her, provided just enough illumination for Madeleine to make her way down the steps that led from the seawall to the shore. As she went, the wind carried the scent of the sea to her: thick and a little rotten, as if it was about to roll ashore and leave something behind to decay.

Even with the flashlight, the darkness was oppressive. The rocks were slippery. She was probably going to twist an ankle, or maybe her neck. Madeleine laughed giddily as she made her way to the dock. This was ridiculous, and so was she. If her students could see her now, sensible Ms. Laurent—Sister Madeleine no more—they’d be astonished.

The wind slapped her face, as if encouraging her to sober up. Her hair followed suit. Madeleine pulled it back, and in so doing, dropped her phone. It hit the rocks with a clatter.

“Dammit!” she gasped. Then she laughed again. It felt great to curse. How long had it been since she’d done that? She picked up her phone, saw that its case had protected it, and turned toward the sea.