The rain had come, in a long, quiet shower that had lasted almost until morning. Now, with the sun, the light was soft, ethereal, and there were pockets of mist hugging the ground.

It was a good day for making excuses, for taking aimless walks in the woods, for making lazy love under a quilt. But thinking like that, Libby reminded herself, wouldn’t help Cal find his way home.

“You’d better get started.” It was a gentle nudge, offered without enthusiasm.

“Yeah.” He would rather have sat where he was, ignoring reality. Instead, he stood and, giving her a quick kiss, walked to the back door. When he opened it, the kitchen filled with birdsong. “I was thinking I’d take a break during the afternoon. Maybe come back for lunch. I’m getting so I can’t stomach the stores on the ship.” It was more that he couldn’t stand being away from her, but she smiled, taking him at his word.

“Okay.” Already the day seemed brighter. “If I’m not slaving over a hot stove, I’ll be upstairs working.”

It seemed so normal, Libby thought when he closed the door behind him, to part in the morning with an easy kiss and plans to meet for lunch. That was probably best, she decided after she topped off her cup and took it upstairs with her. There was certainly little else about their relationship that anyone would have called normal.

She worked well into the afternoon, blaming her edginess on the caffeine. She didn’t want to dwell on the fact that Cal had seemed too quiet, too thoughtful, that morning. They both had a lot on their minds. And, she reminded herself, he would be back soon. Since it would be a habit soon broken, she decided to cut her own work short to go down and fix him something special for lunch. When she reached the base of the stairs, she heard the sound of a car.

Visitors weren’t just rare at the cabin, they were nonexistent. Feeling equal parts surprise and annoyance, she opened the front door.

“Oh, my God.” Now it was all surprise, with a healthy dose of trepidation. “Mom! Dad!” Then it was love, waves of it, as she rushed out to greet her parents. They stepped out from either side of a small, battered pickup.

“Liberty.” Caroline Stone welcomed her daughter with a throaty laugh and a theatrical spread of her arms. She was dressed almost identically to Libby, in faded jeans and a chunky, hip-grazing sweater. But, unlike Libby’s plain red wool, Caroline’s was a symphony of hues and tones she had woven herself. She wore two jet-black drop earrings—in the same ear—and a necklace of tourmaline that glittered in the light.

Libby kissed Caroline’s smooth, unpowdered cheek. “Mom! What are you doing here?”