It was hard to deny that their marriage had lost some of its spark over the last few years. As the demands of Stephen’s career took center stage, their lives had intersected less and less, until they seemed to have little to talk about. Toward the end, even their sex life had become more about habit than passion. But that was normal, wasn’t it? For things to settle into predictable patterns, for the sameness to set in?

The truth was it had been the sameness she most enjoyed about her life with Stephen, the sense of stability that came with knowing every morning when she opened her eyes exactly what the day would hold. But they had also enjoyed a lifestyle she could never have imagined growing up—money in the bank, a stunning home, travel, and a fashionable social circle. She had never stopped to wonder if it was enough for Stephen.

And that was why she was going to West Virginia, to learn what the missing piece might be. Because a sparse background check and a high school yearbook photo weren’t enough. And because her own attempts at online sleuthing had turned up even less. But then they would. As Wade had pointed out, the things she wanted to know weren’t likely to show up on a Google search. She had no idea what she’d find when she got to Riddlesville or what she hoped to come away with when she left. Answers, perhaps. Closure, hopefully. And a way forward.

She had arranged store coverage for the next three days and was already packed, but now, as she popped in to make sure Tamara and Aileen had gotten the doors open without any hitches, she couldn’t help wondering if the trip to West Virginia was a mistake.

She was reaching for the door, her mind a million miles away, when she barreled into Wade as he stepped onto the sidewalk with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Oh no!” Christy-Lynn stared at his dripping shirt in dismay. “You’re soaked. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Wade seemed surprised to see her but took the coffee dripping down his shirtfront in stride, blotting the stain absently with a soggy paper napkin. “I didn’t expect to see you. Tamara said you were taking a few days off.”

“With Mother’s Day over, I thought it would be a good time.”

“You’re going, aren’t you? To see Loretta Rawlings?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. “Yes.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

No. She wasn’t. She’d thought about it, feeling she owed it to him after he had helped her, but in the end, she had decided against it. “I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“I already tried that. Clearly, it didn’t work. And you don’t need my approval.”

“No, I don’t. But I wish you could understand why I have to do this. I’m not going to Riddlesville to break Loretta Rawlings’s heart.”

“I know you’re not. And it’s not her heart I’m worried about.”

Christy-Lynn wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and so she said nothing at all.

“Take care of yourself,” Wade said, his voice suddenly gentle. “It’s a long way to West Virginia.”

“I made it here from Maine.”

“True enough. Still . . .” He reached for the cell phone peeking from the side pocket of her purse and began tapping the screen. After a moment, he handed it back. “All right. I’m in there. Just in case you get sleepy while you’re driving. Or if you just want to talk.”

She smiled awkwardly. His concern was both touching and unsettling. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will. Just the same, I’ll leave mine on.”

Riddlesville was a gray and gritty town, made all the more dismal by the steady drizzle that had been falling all afternoon. Christy-Lynn couldn’t help cringing as she drove through the derelict downtown—block after block of run-down buildings, vacant storefronts, and dirty sidewalks. She was relieved when she finally reached the stop sign at the edge of town, though what awaited her on the other side proved no less depressing. Ramshackle houses with crumbling chimneys and sagging porches, yards choked with broken baby strollers and cast-off recliners—all reminiscent of a childhood she’d just as soon forget.

Organized neighborhoods eventually gave way to a more sparse landscape, lots pocked with rusty trailers and rotting barns. Christy-Lynn’s stomach clenched when she spotted the sign for Red Bud Road. She’d been driving for hours, wondering if she’d ever reach her destination, but now that she was close her doubts began to resurface. How did one go about broaching the subject of adultery with a grieving grandmother?

Christy-Lynn followed the deserted clay track for more than a mile, wondering if she’d missed a turn or misread the sign. Finally, she spotted a small clapboard structure set back from the road, the yard a rough patch of sparse brown scrub. She let her foot off the gas, approaching at an idle, certain now that she had made a wrong turn.

The place was little more than a shack with a listing front porch and a roof patched in places with squares of weathered plywood. In the side yard, a cracked kiddie pool contained several inches of slimy green water, and there was an old Chevy slowly rotting around back, the rear windshield caved in, back tires flat to the rim. Surely no one lived here. But the number on the mailbox matched the one on the paper Wade had given her.

She pulled into the drive and got out, picking her way along a weedy track meant to pass for a path to the porch. Skirting a cluster of mismatched pots filled with pink and white geraniums—the only signs of life in an otherwise abysmal landscape—she mounted a set of creaky steps, took a deep breath, and knocked before she could change her mind.