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didn’t come.
    Discouraged, I returned to the inn, took newspaper and pen from the front desk, and sank into an overstuffed chair in the library. Crossword puzzles were a distraction, though I had never been terribly good at them. After an hour, I gave up and went out to the gazebo to think about freedom. But thinking about freedom made me think about Jude, and I didn’t want to do that.
    So I followed the other guests when they headed in for lunch. After waiting in line, I fixed a sandwich from the make-your-own at the buffet table, and settled in a rocker on the front porch, but the families around me made me think of my own. Taking the BlackBerry from my pocket, I checked for messages from my parents. There were none. My sister made up for it. She had sent multiple notes and wanted to know why I wasn’t answering.
    Fearing she would make trouble if I didn’t act, I shot her a quick reply.
No time now. I’ll write later in the week
.
    Walter Burbridge had sent a slew of e-mail. I didn’t read Friday’s batch but, rather, allowing him time to cool off, read the one he had sent late yesterday.
Tessa said you were sick
,
but it isn’t like you not to respond. What’s going on?
And then, earlier this morning,
Are you all right? Let me know if I can help
.
    He actually sounded concerned, but I wasn’t fooled. Working weekends at Lane Lavash was optional, but there was nothing optional about Mondays. If I didn’t head back soon, I wouldn’t be at my deskin the morning. Walter would be pissed. Word would spread. My job would be at risk.
    First, though, came James. There were lots of missed calls from him, with no messages left, and his texts were brief.
    This dinner is important
,
babe
.
    Then,
Please answer me. I know you’re seeing this
.
    Then,
If you’re having a nervous breakdown we can deal but you have to call. I’m starting to worry
.
    Then,
WHERE ARE YOU?
    He sounded frantic, and I almost did call. But I knew how persuasive he could be. What was it they said about the difference between a lawyer and a bucket of crap being the bucket? James was a brilliant negotiator and, though barely thirty-five, had already made a name for himself.
    I didn’t trust myself to talk with him. He would have me back there in two minutes flat. But when I pictured driving south, everything inside me backed up again.
    I pulled in a slow, painful breath that must have opened a window of thought, because, sitting on that porch with the remains of a half-eaten sandwich and a once-promising life, I realized that this wasn’t about James. It wasn’t about work or Manhattan or my sister, Kelly, and it wasn’t about having fun. It wasn’t even about Jude. It was about me. Where I was headed. Who I wanted to be.
    But I did owe James, and texting wouldn’t do. So I steeled myself and called his cell.
    He answered with a worried “Where are you?”
    “I won’t be back in time, James. I’m sorry. Just tell them I’m sick.”
    “Where
are
you?”
    “It doesn’t matter. I need to think, and I can’t do it there.”
    “Think about what? You’re my wife.”
    “I need time.”
    “For
what
? You’re giving me a heart attack here, Emily. What happened? You were fine Thursday night.”
    “Was I?” I asked, thinking of all the times I’d floated the idea that I wasn’t fine at all. “I’ll call once I know where I’m at. I’m sorry about tonight, James, I really am.” I disconnected before he could say anything else, and turned off the BlackBerry with a sense of relief. I was glad I’d called. With all the wrong things I’d done, this was right.
    Returning to my room, I restowed the few things I’d taken from my bag. The Berkshires were an improvement over the Cape, but both were way stations. If the point was to figure out who I was, I had to go back to the place that had set me on this course. That place wasn’t New York.
    I started the car. With each mile, the consequences loomed, but they were in my rearview