to a military officer who’d stationed them far from our hometown, had created more distance than just geography.
But her eventual support was comforting nonetheless.
I deliberately left Amber’s voicemails unheard. Whatever pleas or accusations she’d left could wait until I felt sufficiently grounded in my new reality to receive them without being pulled back into old patterns.
At ten o’clock precisely, Sandra Whitaker of Coastal Carolina Properties arrived at my hotel.
A brisk woman in her sixties with salt-and-pepper hair and the weathered complexion of someone who spent considerable
