Chapter 24: The Real Shore

The envelope came to the clinic by courier on Monday, with a Door County postmark and Delaney's careless handwriting on the front.

Maia opened it at the reception desk.

Inside was a key on a wooden fob and a card with one line.

It said, The honeymoon was booked for the wrong couple. Use it.

"Is this a trap?" Maia asked.

"It's a cabin."

"That's what a trap would say."

I took the card out of her hand and turned it over.

There was a cottage address on the back.

Below it was a note in Mr. Vanstone's tidy print: Confirmed. Paid in full. No further obligations.

"She's giving us her honeymoon," Maia said slowly.

"She's giving us a roof on a lake."

"Which one of us is going to get weird about this?"

"Probably you."

"Probably me," she agreed, and she put the key in her pocket.

We drove north on Friday.

The cottage stood alone at the end of a gravel road, gray cedar with a wide porch and a dock that went out into water as clear as glass.

There was no Wi-Fi, no neighbor and no schedule.

I carried the bags in.

Maia walked straight through the house and out the back door.

She stood at the end of the dock with her shoes in her hand.

"Wow," she said, loudly, to the whole lake.

I came up behind her and put my arms around her waist.

The water was dark blue near the horizon and green beneath our feet.

"It's the real one," I said.

"The real what?"

"Shore. The one we were meant to have."

She turned her head.

"Do you ever hear it anymore?"

"The voice?"

"Yes."

"No. It said mission complete, and then it stopped." I rested my chin on her shoulder. "I keep waiting for a line, and nothing comes."

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