finale. The date simply confirmed what had ended in my heart much earlier.
That evening, on the way to Marblehead, my mother called.
“Is it done?”
“It’s done.”
“How do you feel?”
I considered how I actually felt.
“Quiet.”
“Is that good?”
Watching the road ahead, I answered.
“Yes.”
“I think it is.”
The setting sun colored the water when I reached home. Despite the chill, I opened the windows, poured sparkling water, and went out onto the deck. I’d once imagined marriage to Aaron Prescott as admission to a
