It felt both inevitable and preposterous that just as Holly figured out what she needed to do, Mark showed up with those creepy men to bring her home.

In the past hour, she’d caught three mackerel, and each time she unhooked the wriggling body from the line and released it back into the ocean, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Her dad was right. There was something about the rhythmic insistence of the waves and the consuming mystery of what lie beneath the water’s surface that forced her to be methodical. She cast her line at three o’clock, and two o’clock, and one o’clock, on and on in an arc that swept from right to left. She wound the reel gently so she could feel the wobble of the lure, flashing as it moved, and she paused every five seconds to let the fish take the sinking lure on the drop. In the same orderly fashion, she worked through the Phoebe problem, considering it from every angle, testing the action of each approach, until she found the right lure to hook her.

Then, and only then, was Holly ready to return to the party, no matter what ideas Mark and the men had about dragging her back. Did Ted really think she wouldn’t come home? Sometimes she wondered where she’d be if she’d never met him, if she’d fallen in love with another struggling artist, someone more her equal. Sometimes the idea that she could just walk away, to another life where all she had to worry about was paying the rent, was as seductive as the grave. But she would never leave her children. And she would never let shame or Ted’s shortsightedness mar their memories of a happy childhood.

“Hello, Holly,” Mark said, as he approached. The two men stood about ten feet behind him on the pier. “We’re here to bring you home.”

There was no point in making a scene, not when they wanted the same thing. She was ready to go. And in a way, it was flattering. Ted knew he needed her, so much that he’d sent these men to fetch her. Holly leaned the rod against the railing and took her purse from the bench. She slipped two fingers through the straps of her sandals to carry them and left the rest of the detritus for Mark to take care of.

“Holly,” Mark called after her. She looked back. “One of these men will need to ride with you.”