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fellowship and we’ll vote when you come home.”
    I reach up to kiss his jaw and inhale deeply.
    He pulls away. “Would you stop that?”
    “I’m taking one last sniff. I told you, scent is the most powerful memory-inducer.”
    “And what kind of memory is my wife as a bloodhound going to give me? Do you see anyone else sniffing their significant others?”
    “Maybe they don’t smell as good as you do.”
    “Sometimes, Ashley—”
    “I also stole a T-shirt of yours to sniff while I’m gone,” I admit. “So if you’re looking for that Boston Marathon T-shirt, don’t bother.”
    “Check. When you get back in two weeks, the study will be over. I’ll narrow down the programs and we’ll decide if we’re staying.”
    My heart sinks just a little when he says it. Staying. I didn’t know how much more I could take of Philadelphia. There is an energy to it that simply doesn’t agree with mine. And it’s a great city, so I feel guilty for not loving it, but Philly simply never felt like home. Not mine anyway.
    I’m a left-coast kind of girl.
    Kevin cups my jaw and kisses me deeply. “Stop worrying. Silicon Valley is waiting, go remember your life before you became a real housewife of Philadelphia.”
    I nod absently with images in my head of Atlanta. I can see my sister-in-law Emily in an antebellum gown dancing a Virginia reel without a partner. My sister-in-law is certifiable. I know people always say that about their in-laws, but in my case, it’s true. She once canceled my wedding dress (a Vera Wang) and had one made exactly for a Civil War bride. Who does that? Someone without proper boundaries, or obviously, fashion sense.
    Kevin’s soothing voice interrupts my daytime nightmare. “You’ll come back to me with that spark in your eye again and we’ll plan our next step.” His gaze holds expectation and I don’t want to let him down. Clearly, I need a life, and getting perspective must be tantamount to that.
    What happens if I return with no more direction than I’m leaving with now? If I don’t have a direction, my compass could be pointed south. I enter into the security detail of the airport and wave goodbye to my gorgeous husband through the glass planes. Kevin briefly glances over his shoulder then turns and quickly walks away.
    I thoroughly reject the thought that my mother was right.
    Silicon Valley, get ready, Ashley Stockingdale Novak, like the Governator, will be back .

Chapter 3
    ‡
    A s I land in San Jose, it’s like that scene in The Wizard of O z when everything turns colorful, and I shiver at the beautiful sight of home. The sky is bluer, the mountains seem to be shimmering gold and the view is sharp and crisp. My body relaxes as the plane touches ground and my heart is fluttering with excitement. All I want to do is get off this plane, and I nearly shout, “Amateurs, get out of my way!”
    I mean, I’m home. I’m not expecting a parade or anything, but let’s be honest, I wouldn’t turn one down.
    It’s these days that I wish I were Moses. I could stamp my staff to the floor and the aisle would clear, giving me a straight path to sunshine and my destiny. I will find my purpose again. I feel it.
    Once in the wide, open terminal, I want to dance with my arms outstretched, but I catch sight of all the travelers in their tech T-shirts, and grin. I forgot that no one in Silicon Valley actually purchases clothing. They simply go to trade shows and stock up on nerd-wear that advertise some new gadget. Is it any wonder I miss standing out? It really took very little effort here—which makes me wonder if maybe I wasn’t the fashionista I thought I was—maybe I was just slightly better than the tech nerds in free semiconductor T-shirts.
    That’s a disconcerting thought.
    The new terminal in San Jose is extensively long, and there are none of those mobile staircases, so I practically sprint to get to my ride and the new future that awaits me. This is just what I needed: Clarity.