The Choice

51/571(a year less than her cousin, she was temptedto point out), and if she’d learned one thingabout him, it was that if Kevin found a topicuncomfortable, then more than likely hewouldn’t say anything at all. But Kevin wasn’t the problem. Nor wasthe fact that lately she felt as though her lifeweren’t quite what she’d imagined it wouldbe. And it wasn’t the terrible week at the of-fice, either, one in which she’d been pukedon three—three!—times on Friday alone,which was an all-time office record, at leastaccording to the nurses, who didn’t bother tohide their smirks and repeated the story withglee. Nor was she angry about AdrianMelton, the married doctor at her office wholiked to touch her whenever they spoke, hishand lingering just a bit too long for comfort.And she surely wasn’t angry at the fact thatthrough it all, she hadn’t once stood up forherself.

52/571 Nosiree, this had to do with Mr. Party be-ing a responsible neighbor, one who was go-ing to own up to the fact that he had as muchof a duty to find a solution to their problemas she did. And while she was letting himknow that, maybe she’d mention that it was alittle late for him to be blaring his music(even if she did like it), just to let him knowshe was serious. As Gabby marched through the grass, thedew moistened the tips of her toes throughher sandals and the moonlight reflected onthe lawn like silver trails. Trying to figure outexactly where to begin, she barely noticed.Courtesy dictated that she head first to thefront door and knock, but with the musicroaring, she doubted he’d even be able tohear it. Besides, she wanted to get this overwith while she was still worked up and will-ing to confront him head-on. Up ahead, she spotted an opening in thehedges and headed toward it. It was

53/571probably the same one that Nobby snuckthrough to take advantage of poor, sweetMolly. Her heart squeezed again, and thistime she tried to hold on to the feeling. Thiswas important. Very important. Focused as she was on her mission, shedidn’t notice the tennis ball come flying to-ward her just as she emerged from the open-ing. She did, however, distantly register thesound of the dog galloping toward her—butonly distantly—a second before she wasbowled over and hit the ground.As she lay on her back, Gabby noted dullythat there were way too many stars in a toobright, out-of-focus sky. For a moment, shewondered why she couldn’t draw breath,then quickly became more concerned withthe pain that was coursing through her. Allshe could do was lie on the grass and blinkwith every throb.

54/571 From somewhere far away, she heard ajumble of sounds, and the world slowly star-ted coming back into focus. She tried to con-centrate and realized that it wasn’t a jumble;she was hearing voices. Or, rather, a singlevoice. It seemed to be asking if she was okay. At the same time, she gradually becameconscious of a succession of warm, smelly,and rhythmic breezes on her cheek. Sheblinked once more, turned her head slightly,and was confronted with an enormous, furry,square head towering over her. Nobby, sheconcluded fuzzily. “Ahhhh . . . ,” she whimpered, trying to situp. As she moved, the dog licked her face. “Moby! Down!” the voice said, soundingcloser. “Are you okay? Maybe you shouldn’ttry to get up yet!” “I’m okay,” she said, finally raising her-self into a seated position. She took a coupleof deep breaths, still feeling dizzy. Wow, shethought, that really hurt. In the darkness,

55/571she sensed someone squatting beside her,though she could barely make out hisfeatures. “I’m really sorry,” the voice said. “What happened?” “Moby accidentally knocked you down.He was going after a ball.” “Who’s Moby?” “My dog.” “Then who’s Nobby?” “What?” She brought a hand to her temple. “Nevermind.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah,” she said, still dizzy but feeling thepain subside to a low throb. As she began torise, she felt her neighbor place his hand onher arm, helping her up. She was remindedof the toddlers she saw at the office whostruggled to stay balanced and remain up-right. When she finally had her feet underher, she felt him release her arm.

56/571 “Some welcome, huh?” he asked. His voice still sounded far away, but sheknew it wasn’t, and when she faced him, shefound herself focusing up at someone at leastsix inches taller than her own five feet seven.She wasn’t used to that, and as she tilted herhead upward, she noticed his angledcheekbones and clean skin. His brown hairwas wavy, curling naturally at the ends, andhis teeth gleamed white. Up close, he wasgood-looking—okay, really good-look-ing—but she suspected that he knew it aswell. Lost in thought, she opened her mouthto say something, then closed it again, realiz-ing she’d forgotten the question. “I mean, here you are, coming over to vis-it, and you get slammed by my dog,” he wenton. “Like I said, I’m really sorry. Usually hepays a bit more attention. Say hey, Moby.” The dog was sitting on his haunches, act-ing pleased as punch, and with that, she sud-denly remembered the purpose of her visit.

57/571Beside her, Moby raised a paw in greeting. Itwas cute—and he was cute for a boxer—butshe wasn’t about to fall for it. This was themutt who’d not only tackled her, but ruinedMolly as well. He probably should have beennamed Mugger. Or better yet, Pervert. “You sure you’re okay?” The way he asked made her realize thatthis wasn’t the sort of confrontation she’dwanted, and she tried to summon the feelingshe’d had on her way over. “I’m fine,” she said, her tone sharp. For an awkward moment, they eyed eachother without speaking. Finally he motionedover his shoulder with his thumb. “Wouldyou like to sit on the deck? I’m just listeningto some music.” “Why do you think I want to sit on thedeck?” she snapped, feeling more in control. He hesitated. “Because you were comingover?” Oh yeah, she thought. That.

58/571 “I mean, I suppose we could stand hereby the hedges if you’d rather,” he continued. She held up her hands to stop him, impa-tient to get this over with. “I came over herebecause I wanted to talk to you . . .” She broke off when he slapped at his arm.“Me, too,” he said before she could get star-ted again. “I’ve been meaning to drop by toofficially welcome you to the neighborhood.Did you get my basket?” She heard a buzzing near her ear andwaved at it. “Yes. Thank you for that,” shesaid, slightly distracted. “But what I wantedto talk about . . .” She trailed off when she realized hewasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was fan-ning the air between them. “You sure youdon’t want to head to the deck?” he pressed.“The mosquitoes are vicious around thebushes here.” “What I was trying to say was—”

59/571 “There’s one on your earlobe,” he said,pointing. Her right hand shot up instinctively. “The other one.” She swatted at it and saw a smear ofblood on her fingers as she pulled her handback. Gross, she thought. “There’s another right by your cheek.” She waved again at the growing swarm.“What’s going on?” “Like I said, it’s the bushes. They breed inthe water, and it’s always moist in the shade.. . .” “Fine,” she relented. “We can talk on thedeck.” A moment later they were in the clear,moving quickly. “I hate mosquitoes, which iswhy I’ve got some citronella candles going onthe table. That’s usually enough to keep themaway. They get much worse later in the sum-mer.” He left just enough space betweenthem so they wouldn’t accidentally bump. “I

60/571don’t think we’ve formally met, by the way.I’m Travis Parker.” She felt a flicker of uncertainty. Shewasn’t here to be his buddy, after all, but ex-pectation and manners prevailed, and sheanswered before she could stop herself. “I’mGabby Holland.” “Nice to meet you.” “Yeah,” she said. She made a point tocross her arms as she said it, then subcon-sciously brought a hand to her ribs where adull ache remained. From there, it traveledto her ear, which was already beginning toitch. Staring at her profile, Travis could tellthat she was angry. Her mouth had a tight,pinched look he’d seen on any number ofgirlfriends. Somehow he knew the anger wasdirected at him, though he had no idea why.Aside from being tackled by the dog, that is.But that wasn’t quite it, he decided. He re-membered the expressions that his kid sister,

61/571Stephanie, was famous for, ones thatsignaled a slow buildup of resentment overtime, and that’s how Gabby seemed to be act-ing now. As if she’d worked herself up to this.But there the similarities with his sisterended. While Stephanie had grown up to be-come a certifiable beauty, Gabby was attract-ive in a similar but not quite perfect kind ofway. Her blue eyes were a little too wide set,her nose was just a bit too big, and red hairwas always hard to pull off, but somehowthese imperfections lent an air of vulnerabil-ity to her natural good looks, which mostmen would find arresting. In the silence, Gabby tried to collect herthoughts. “I was coming over because—” “Hold on,” he said. “Before you begin,why don’t you sit down? I’ll be right there.”He started for the cooler, then rotated inmidstride. “Would you like a beer?” “No, thank you,” she said, wishing shecould get this over with. Refusing to sit

62/571down, she turned with the hope of confront-ing him as he strode past. But, too quickly,he dropped into his chair, leaned back, andput his feet on the table. Flustered, Gabby continued to stand.This was not working out as she’d planned. He popped open his beer and took a shortpull. “Aren’t you going to sit?” he asked overhis shoulder. “I’d rather remain standing, thank you.” Travis squinted and shaded his eyes withhis hands. “But I can barely see you,” he said.“The porch lights are shining behind you.” “I came over here to tell yousomething—” “Can you move just a few feet to theside?” he asked. She made an impatient noise and moveda few steps. “Better?” “Not yet.”

63/571 By then, she was almost against the table.She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Maybe you should just sit,” hesuggested. “Fine!” she said. She pulled out a chairand took a seat. He was throwing this wholething completely out of whack. “I came overbecause I wanted to talk to you . . . ,” shebegan, wondering if she should start withMolly’s situation or what it generally meantto be a good neighbor. He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve alreadysaid that.” “I know!” she said. “I’ve been trying totell you, but you haven’t let me finish!” He saw her glare at him just the way hissister used to but still had no idea what shewas so wound up about. After a second, shebegan to speak, a bit hesitantly at first, as ifwary that he was going to interrupt heragain. He didn’t, and she seemed to find herrhythm, the words coming more and more

64/571quickly. She talked about how she’d foundthe house and how excited she’d been, andhow owning a home had been her dream fora long time, before the topic wandered toMolly and how Molly’s nipples were gettingbigger. At first, Travis had no idea who Mollywas—which lent that part of the monologue asurreal quality—but as she continued, hegradually realized that Molly was Gabby’scollie, which he’d noticed her walking occa-sionally. After that, she began talking aboutugly puppies and murder and, strangely,something about neither “Dr. Hands-on-me”nor vomit having anything to do with theway she was feeling, but in all honesty, itmade little sense until she started gesturingat Moby. That allowed him to put two andtwo together until it dawned on him that shebelieved Moby was responsible for Molly get-ting pregnant. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t Moby,but she was on such a roll, he thought it best

65/571to let her finish before protesting. By thatpoint, her story had veered back on itself.Bits and pieces of her life continued to cometumbling out, little snippets that soundedunrehearsed and unconnected, along withbursts of anger randomly directed his way. Itfelt as though she went on for a good twentyminutes or so, but Travis knew it couldn’thave been that long. Even so, being on thereceiving end of a stranger’s angry accusa-tions about his failures as a neighbor wasn’texactly easy, nor did he appreciate the wayshe was talking about Moby. Moby, in hisopinion, was just about the most perfect dogin the world. Sometimes she paused, and in those mo-ments, Travis tried unsuccessfully to re-spond. But that didn’t work, either, becauseshe immediately overrode him. Instead, helistened and—at least in those momentswhen she wasn’t insulting him or hisdog—sensed a trace of desperation, even

66/571some confusion, as to what was happening inher life. The dog, whether she realized it ornot, was only a small part of what was both-ering her. He felt a surge of compassion forher and found himself nodding, just to lether know he was paying attention. Everynow and then, she asked a question, but be-fore he could respond, she would answer forhim. “Aren’t neighbors supposed to considertheir actions?” Yes, obviously, he started tosay, but she beat him to it. “Of course theyare!” she cried, and Travis found himselfnodding again. When her tirade finally wound down, sheended up staring at the ground, spent. Al-though her mouth was set in that samestraight line, Travis thought he saw tears,and he wondered whether he should offer tobring her a tissue. They were inside thehouse—too far away, he realized—but thenhe remembered the napkins near the grill.He rose quickly, grabbed a few, and brought

67/571them to her. He offered her one, and afterdebating, she took it. She wiped the corner ofher eyes. Now that she’d calmed down, henoted she was even prettier than he’d firstrealized. She drew a shaky breath. “The questionis, what are you going to do?” she finallyasked. He hesitated, trying to draw a bead onwhat she meant. “About what?” “The puppies!” He could hear the anger beginning to per-colate again, and he raised his hands in anattempt to calm her. “Let’s start at the begin-ning. Are you sure she’s pregnant?” “Of course I’m sure! Didn’t you hear aword I said?” “Have you had her checked by a vet?” “I’m a physician assistant. I spent twoand a half years in PA school and anotheryear in rotations. I know when someone’spregnant.”

68/571 “With people, I’m sure you do. But withdogs, it’s different.” “How would you know?” “I’ve had a lot of experience with dogs.Actually, I—” Yeah, I’ll bet, she thought, cutting him offwith a wave. “She’s moving slower, hernipples are swollen, and she’s been actingstrangely. What else could it be?” Honestly,every man she’d ever met believed that hav-ing a dog as a kid made him an expert on allthings canine. “What if she has an infection? That wouldcause swelling. And if the infection is badenough, she might be in some pain, too,which could explain the way she’s acting.” Gabby opened her mouth to speak, thenclosed it when she realized that she hadn’tthought of that. An infection could causeswelling in the nipples—mastitis orsomething like that—and for a moment, shefelt a surge of relief wash through her. As she

69/571considered it further, however, reality camecrashing back. It wasn’t one or two nipples, itwas all of them. She twisted the napkin,wishing he would just listen. “She’s pregnant, and she’s going to havepuppies. And you’re going to have to help mefind homes for them, since I’m not bringingthem to the pound.” “I’m sure it wasn’t Moby.” “I knew you were going to say that.” “But you should know—” She shook her head furiously. This was sotypical. Pregnancy was always a woman’sproblem. She stood up from her chair.“You’re going to have to take some respons-ibility here. And I hope you realize it’s notgoing to be easy to find homes for them.” “But—”“What on earth was that about?” Stephanieasked.

70/571 Gabby had disappeared into the hedge; afew seconds later, he’d seen her enter herhome through the sliding glass door. He wasstill sitting at the table, feeling slightly shell-shocked, when he spotted his sisterapproaching. “How long have you been here?” “Long enough,” she said. She saw thecooler near the door and pulled out a beer.“For a second there, I thought she was goingto punch you. Then I thought she was goingto cry. And then she looked like she wantedto punch you again.” “That’s about right,” he admitted. Herubbed his forehead, still processing thescene. “Still charming the girlfriends, I see.” “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s myneighbor.” “Even better.” Stephanie took a seat.“How long have you been dating?”

71/571 “We’re not. Actually, that’s the first timeI’ve ever met her.” “Impressive,” Stephanie observed. “Ididn’t think you had it in you.” “What?” “You know—making someone hate you soquickly. That’s a rare gift. Usually you haveto know a person better first.” “Very funny.” “I thought so. And Moby . . .” She turnedtoward the dog and lifted a scolding finger.“You should know better.” Moby wiggled his tail before getting to hisfeet. He walked toward her, nuzzlingStephanie in her lap. She pushed the top ofthe head, which only made Moby push backharder. “Easy there, you old hound dog.” “It’s not Moby’s fault.” “So you said. Not that she wanted to hearit, of course. What’s with her?” “She was just upset.”

72/571 “I could tell. It took me a little while be-fore I could figure out what she was talkingabout. But I must say that it wasentertaining.” “Be nice.” “I am nice.” Stephanie leaned back, eval-uating her brother. “She was kind of cute,don’t you think?” “I didn’t notice.” “Yeah, sure you didn’t. I’d be willing tobet it was the first thing you noticed. I sawthe way you were ogling her.” “My, my. You’re in quite a mood thisevening.” “I should be. The exam I just finished wasa killer.” “What does that mean? You think youmissed a question?” “No. But I had to really think hard aboutsome of them.” “Must be nice being you.”

73/571 “Oh, it is. I’ve got three more exams nextweek, too.” “Poor baby. Life as a perpetual student isso much harder than actually earning aliving.” “Look who’s talking. You were in schoollonger than me. Which reminds me . . . howdo you think Mom and Dad would feel if Itold them I wanted to stay in for anothercouple of years to get my PhD?” At Gabby’s house, the kitchen lightflashed on. Distracted, he took a moment toanswer. “They’d probably be okay with it. Youknow Mom and Dad.” “I know. But lately I get the feeling thatthey want me to meet someone and settledown.” “Join the club. I’ve had that feeling foryears.” “Yeah, but it’s different for me. I’m a wo-man. My biological clock is ticking.”

74/571 The kitchen light next door flashed off; afew seconds later, another flashed on in thebedroom. He wondered idly whether Gabbywas turning in for the night. “You’ve got to remember that Mom wasmarried at twenty-one,” Stephanie went on.“By twenty-three, she already had you.” Shewaited for a response but got nothing. “Butthen again, look how well you turned out.Maybe I should use that as my argument.” Her words filtered in slowly, and he fur-rowed his brow when they finally registered. “Is that an insult?” “I tried,” she said with a smirk. “Justchecking to see if you’re paying attention tome or whether you’re thinking about yournew friend over there.” “She’s not a friend,” he said. He knew hesounded defensive but he couldn’t help it. “Not now,” his sister said. “But I get afunny feeling she will be.”

Two Gabby wasn’t sure how she felt afterleaving her neighbor’s, and all she could doafter closing her door was to lean against itwhile she tried to regain her equilibrium. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone overthere, she thought. It certainly hadn’t doneany good. Not only hadn’t he apologized,he’d gone so far as to deny that his dog wasresponsible. Still, as she finally moved awayfrom the door, she found herself smiling. Atleast she’d done it. She’d stood up for herselfand told him exactly how it was going to be.It had taken courage to do that, she told

76/571herself. She normally wasn’t very good atspeaking her mind. Not to Kevin about thefact that his plans for their future seemed togo only as far as the next weekend. Or to Dr.Melton about the way she felt when hetouched her. Not even to her mom, who al-ways seemed to have opinions on how Gabbycould improve herself. She stopped smiling when she caughtsight of Molly sleeping in the corner. A quickpeek was enough to remind her that the endresult hadn’t changed and that maybe, justmaybe, she could have done a better job ofconvincing him that it was his duty to helpher. As she replayed the evening, she felt awave of embarrassment. She knew she’dbeen rambling, but after being knockeddown, she had lost her focus, and then herfrustration had rendered her completely un-able to stop talking. Her mother would havehad a field day with that one. She loved hermother, but her mother was one of those

77/571ladies who never lost control. It drove Gabbycrazy; more than once during her teenageyears, she’d wanted to take her mother bythe arms and shake her, just to elicit a spon-taneous response. Of course, it wouldn’t haveworked. Her mother would have simply al-lowed the shaking to continue until Gabbywas finished, then smoothed her hair andmade some infuriating comment like “Well,Gabrielle, now that you’ve gotten that out ofyour system, can we discuss this like ladies?” Ladies. Gabby couldn’t stand that word.When her mother said it, she was oftenplagued by a sweeping sense of failure, onethat made her think she had a long way to goand no map to get there. Of course, her mother couldn’t help theway she was, any more than Gabby could.Her mother was a walking cliché of southernwomanhood, having grown up wearing frillydresses and being presented to the com-munity’s elite at the Savannah Christmas

78/571Cotillion, one of the most exclusive de-butante balls in the country. She had alsoserved as treasurer for the Tri Delts at theUniversity of Georgia, another family tradi-tion, and while in college, she had apparentlybeen of the opinion that academics were farless important than working toward a “Mrs.”degree, which she believed the only careerchoice for a proper southern lady. It wentwithout saying that she wanted the “Mr.”part of the equation to be worthy of the fam-ily name. Which essentially meant rich. Enter her father. Her dad, a successfulreal estate developer and general contractor,was twelve years older than his wife whenthey’d married, and if not as rich as some, hewas certainly well-off. Still, Gabby could re-member studying the wedding photos of herparents as they stood outside the church andwondering how two such different peoplecould have ever fallen in love. While hermom loved the pheasant at the country club,

79/571Dad preferred biscuits and gravy at the localdiner; while Mom never walked as far as themailbox without her makeup, Dad worejeans, and his hair was always a bitdisheveled. But love each other they did—ofthis, Gabby had no doubt. In the mornings,she would sometimes catch her parents in atender embrace, and never once had sheheard them argue. Nor did they have separ-ate beds, like so many of Gabby’s friends’parents, who often struck her as businesspartners more than lovers. Even now, whenshe visited, she would find her parentssnuggled up on the couch together, andwhen her friends marveled, she wouldsimply shake her head and admit that forwhatever reason, they were perfectly suitedto each other. Much to her mother’s endless disappoint-ment, Gabby, unlike her three honey blondsisters, had always been more like her father.Even as a child, she preferred overalls to

80/571dresses, adored climbing in trees, and spenthours playing in the dirt. Every now andthen, she would traipse behind her father ata job site, mimicking his movements as hechecked the seals on newly installed win-dows or peeked into boxes that had recentlyarrived from Mitchell’s hardware store. Herdad taught her to bait a hook and to fish, andshe loved riding beside him in his old,rumbly truck with its broken radio, a truckhe’d never bothered to trade in. After work,they would either play catch or shoot basketswhile her mom watched from the kitchenwindow in a way that always struck Gabby asnot only disapproving, but uncomprehend-ing. More often than not, her sisters could beseen standing beside her, their mouthsagape. While Gabby liked to tell people aboutthe free spirit she’d been as a child, in realityshe’d ended up straddling both her parents’visions of the world, mainly because her

81/571mom was an expert when it came to the ma-nipulative power of motherhood. As shegrew older, Gabby acquiesced more to hermother’s opinions about clothing and theproper behavior for ladies, simply to avoidfeeling guilty. Of all the weapons in hermother’s arsenal, guilt was far and away themost effective, and Mom always knew justhow to use it. Because of a raised eyebrowhere and a little comment there, Gabbyended up in cotillion classes and dance les-sons; she dutifully learned to play the pianoand, like her mother, was formally presentedat the Savannah Christmas Cotillion. If hermother was proud that night—and she was,by the look on her face—Gabby by that timefelt as if she were finally ready to make herown decisions, some of which she knew hermother wouldn’t approve. Sure, she wantedto get married and have children somedayjust like Mom, but by then she’d realized that

82/571she also wanted a career like Dad. More spe-cifically, she wanted to be a doctor. Oh, Mom said all the right things whenshe found out. In the beginning, anyway. Butthen the subtle guilt offensive began. AsGabby aced exam after exam in college, hermom would sometimes frown and wonderaloud whether it was possible to both workfull-time as a doctor and be a full-time wifeand mother. “But if work is more important to youthan family,” her mom would say, “then byall means, become a doctor.” Gabby tried to resist her mother’s cam-paign, but in the end, old habits die hard andshe eventually settled on PA school insteadof medical school. The reasons made sense:She’d still see patients, but her hours wouldbe relatively stable and she’d never be oncall—definitely a more family-friendly op-tion. Still, it sometimes bugged her that her

83/571mother put the idea in her mind in the firstplace. But she couldn’t deny that family was im-portant to her. That’s the thing about beingthe product of happily married parents. Yougrow up thinking the fairy tale is real, andmore than that, you think you’re entitled tolive it. So far, though, it wasn’t working outas planned. She and Kevin had dated longenough to fall in love, survive the ordinaryups and downs that break most couplesapart, and even talk about the future. Shehad decided that he was the one she wantedto spend her life with, and she frowned,thinking about their most recent argument. As if sensing Gabby’s distress, Mollystruggled to her feet and waddled over, nuzz-ling Gabby’s hand. Gabby stroked her fur, al-lowing it to run through her fingers. “I wonder if it’s stress,” Gabby said, wish-ing her life could be more like Molly’s.Simple, without cares or responsibilities . . .

84/571well, except for the pregnancy part. “Do Iseem stressed to you?” Molly didn’t answer, but she didn’t haveto. Gabby knew she was stressed. She couldfeel it in her shoulders whenever she paid thebills, or when Dr. Melton leered at her, orwhen Kevin played stupid about what she’dexpected by agreeing to move closer to him.It didn’t help that, aside from Kevin, shedidn’t really have any friends here. She’dbarely gotten to know anyone outside the of-fice, and truth be told, her neighbor was thefirst person she’d spoken with since she’dmoved in. Thinking back, she supposed shecould have been nicer about the whole thing.She felt a twinge of remorse about spoutingoff the way she had, especially since he didseem like a friendly guy. When he’d helpedher up, he’d seemed almost like a friend. Andonce she’d started babbling, he hadn’t inter-rupted her once, which was sort of refresh-ing, too.

85/571 It was remarkable now that she thoughtabout it. Considering how crazy she musthave sounded, he hadn’t gotten upset orsnapped at her, which was something Kevinwould have done. Just thinking about thegentle way he’d helped her to her feet madethe blood rush to her cheeks. And then therehad been a moment after he’d handed herthe napkin that she’d caught him staring ather in a way that suggested he’d found herattractive as well. It had been a long timesince something like that had happened, andeven though she didn’t want to admit it, itmade her feel good about herself. She missedthat. Amazing what a little truthful confront-ation could do for the soul. She went into the bedroom and slippedinto a pair of comfy sweats and a soft, wornshirt she’d owned since her freshman year incollege. Molly trailed behind her, and whenGabby realized what she needed, she mo-tioned toward the door.

86/571 “You ready to go outside?” she asked. Molly’s tail started to wag as she movedtoward the door. Gabby inspected herclosely. She still looked pregnant, but maybeher neighbor had a point. She should bringher to the vet, if only to be sure. Besides, shehad no idea how to care for a pregnant dog.She wondered if Molly needed extra vitam-ins, which reminded her again that she wasfalling behind in her own resolution to lead ahealthier life. Eating better, exercising,sleeping regularly, stretching: She’d plannedto start as soon as she’d moved into thehouse. A new-house resolution of sorts, but ithadn’t really taken hold. Tomorrow, she’ddefinitely go jogging, then have a salad forlunch and another one for dinner. And sinceshe was ready to get on with some seriouslife changes, she might just ask Kevin point-blank about his plans for their future. Then again, maybe that wasn’t such agood idea. Standing up to the neighbor was

87/571one thing; was she ready to accept the con-sequences if she wasn’t happy with Kevin’sanswer? What if he had no plans? Did shereally want to quit her first job after a coupleof months? Sell her house? Move away? Justhow far was she willing to go? She wasn’t sure of anything, other thanthe fact that she didn’t want to lose him. Buttrying to be healthier—now that, she coulddefinitely do. One step at a time, right? Herdecision made, she stepped onto the backdeck and watched as Molly padded down thesteps and headed toward the far end of theyard. The air was still warm, but a lightbreeze had picked up. The stars spreadacross the sky in random, intricate patternsthat, aside from the Big Dipper, she’d neverbeen able to discern, and she resolved thatshe’d buy a book on astronomy tomorrow,right after lunch. She’d spend a couple ofdays learning the basics, then invite Kevin tospend a romantic evening at the beach,

88/571where she’d point to the sky and ever so cas-ually mention something astronomically im-pressive. She closed her eyes, imagining thescene, and stood straighter. Tomorrow, she’dstart becoming a new person. A better per-son. And she’d figure out what to do aboutMolly, too. Even if she had to beg, she’d findhomes for every one of those puppies. But first, she’d bring her to the vet.

Three It was shaping up to be one of thosedays when Gabby wondered why she’d de-cided to work in a pediatric office. She hadthe chance, after all, to work in a cardiologyunit at the hospital, which had been her planall the way through PA school. She had lovedassisting in challenging surgeries, and itseemed like a perfect fit until her final rota-tion, when she happened to work with a pe-diatrician who filled her head with ideasabout the nobility and joy of caring for in-fants. Dr. Bender, a gray-haired medical vet-eran who never stopped smiling and knew

90/571practically every child in Sumter, SouthCarolina, convinced her that while cardiologymight pay better and seem more glamorous,there was nothing quite as rewarding asholding newborns and watching them devel-op over the critical first years of life. Usuallyshe nodded dutifully, but on her last day,he’d forced the issue by placing an infant inher arms. As the baby cooed, Dr. Bender’svoice floated toward her: “In cardiology,everything is an emergency and your pa-tients always seem to get sicker, no matterwhat you do. After a while, that has to bedraining. It can burn you out quick if you’renot careful. But caring for a little fella likethis . . .” He paused, motioning to the baby.“This is the highest calling in the world.” Despite a job offer in cardiology at a hos-pital in her hometown, she’d taken a job withDrs. Furman and Melton in Beaufort, NorthCarolina. Dr. Furman struck her as oblivious,Dr. Melton struck her as a flirt, but it was an

91/571opportunity to be nearer to Kevin. And onsome level, she’d believed that Dr. Benderjust might be right. He’d been right about theinfants. For the most part, she loved workingwith them, even when she had to give themshots and their screams made her wince.Toddlers were okay, too. Most of them haddarling personalities, and she loved to watchas they cuddled their blankets or teddy bearsand stared at her with guileless expressions.It was the parents who drove her crazy. Dr.Bender had failed to mention one criticalpoint: In cardiology, you dealt with a patientwho came to the office because he or shewanted or needed to; in pediatrics, you dealtwith a patient who was often under the careof neurotic, know-it-all parents. Eva Bronsonwas a case in point. Eva, who was holding George on her lapin the exam room, seemed to be lookingdown her nose at Gabby. The fact that shewasn’t technically a physician and was

92/571relatively young made many parents believeshe was little more than an overpaid nurse. “Are you sure Dr. Furman can’t squeezeus in?” She emphasized the word doctor. “He’s at the hospital,” Gabby replied. “Hewon’t be in until later. Besides, I’m prettysure he’d agree with me. Your son seemsfine.” “But he’s still coughing.” “Like I said before, toddlers can cough forup to six weeks after a cold. Their lungs takelonger to heal, but it’s perfectly normal atthis age.” “So you’re not going to give him anantibiotic?” “No. He doesn’t need one. His ears wereclear, his sinuses were clear, and I didn’thear any evidence of bronchitis in his lungs.His temperature is normal, and he lookshealthy.” George, who’d just turned two, wassquirming in Eva’s lap, trying to get free, a

93/571bundle of happy energy. Eva tightened hergrip. “Since Dr. Furman’s not here, maybe Dr.Melton should see him. I’m pretty sure heneeds an antibiotic. Half the kids in his daycare are on antibiotics right now. So-mething’s going around.” Gabby pretended to write something inthe chart. Eva Bronson always wanted an an-tibiotic for George. Eva Bronson was an anti-biotic junkie, if there was such a thing. “If he spikes a fever, you can bring himback and I’ll examine him again.” “I don’t want to bring him back. That’swhy I brought him in today. I think heshould see a doctor.” Gabby did her best to keep her tonesteady. “Okay, I’ll see if Dr. Melton cansqueeze in a couple of minutes for you.” As she left the room, Gabby paused in thehallway, knowing she needed to prepare her-self. She didn’t want to talk to Dr. Melton

94/571again; she’d been doing her best to avoid himall morning. As soon as Dr. Furman had leftfor the hospital to be present at anemergency C-section at Carteret GeneralHospital in Morehead City, Dr. Melton hadsidled up next to her, close enough for her tonotice that he’d recently gargled withmouthwash. “I guess we’ll be on our own this morn-ing,” he’d said. “Maybe it won’t be too busy,” she’d saidneutrally. She wasn’t ready to confront him,not without Dr. Furman around. “Mondays are always busy. Hopefully wewon’t have to work through lunch.” “Hopefully,” she’d echoed. Dr. Melton had reached for the file on thedoor of the exam room across the hall. He’dscanned it quickly, and just as Gabby wasabout to leave, she’d heard his voice again.“Speaking of lunch, have you ever had a fishtaco?”

95/571 Gabby blinked. “Huh?’ “I know this great place in Moreheadnear the beach. Maybe we could swing by.We could bring some back for the staff, too.” Though he had maintained a pretense ofprofessionalism—he would have sounded thesame way had he been speaking to Dr. Fur-man—Gabby had felt herself recoil. “I can’t,” she’d said. “I’m supposed tobring Molly to the vet. I made an appoint-ment this morning.” “And they can get you in and out of therein time?” “They said they would.” He had hesitated. “Okay then,” he’d said.“Maybe another time.” As Gabby reached for a file, she’d winced.“You okay?” Dr. Melton had asked. “I’m just a little sore from working out,”she’d said before disappearing into the room. Actually, she was really sore. Ridiculouslysore. Everything from her neck to her ankles

96/571throbbed, and it seemed to be getting worse.Had she simply jogged on Sunday, shefigured she probably would have been okay.But that hadn’t been enough. Not for thenew, improved Gabby. After jogging—andproud of the fact that even though her pacehad been slow, she hadn’t had to stop once towalk—she’d headed to Gold’s Gym in More-head City to sign up for a membership. She’dsigned the paperwork while the trainer ex-plained the various classes with complicatednames that were scheduled almost everyhour. As she got up to leave, he’d mentionedthat a new class called Body Pump was aboutto start in a few minutes. “It’s a fantastic class,” he’d said. “It worksthe whole body. You get strength and cardioin a single workout. You should try it.” So she had. And may God forgive him forhow it made her feel. Not immediately, of course. No, duringthe class, she’d been fine. Though deep down

97/571she knew she should pace herself, she foundherself trying to keep up with the scantilyclad, surgically enhanced, mascara-wearingwoman next to her. She’d lifted and pushedweights, jogged in place to the beat, then lif-ted some more and jogged in place, over andover. By the time she left, with muscles quiv-ering, she’d felt as if she’d taken the next stepin her evolution. She’d ordered herself a pro-tein shake on the way out the door, just tocomplete the transformation. On the way home, she’d swung by thebookstore to buy a book on astronomy, andlater, as she was about to fall asleep, she’drealized she felt better about the future thanshe had in a long time, except for the factthat her muscles seemed to be stiffening bythe minute. Unfortunately, the new, improved Gabbyhad found it exceptionally painful to risefrom bed the following morning. Everythinghurt. No, scratch that. It was beyond hurt.

98/571Way beyond. It was excruciating. Everymuscle in her body felt as if it had been runthrough a juice blender. Her back, her chest,her stomach, her legs, her butt, her arms, herneck . . . even her fingers ached. It took threeattempts to sit up in bed, and after stagger-ing to the bathroom, she’d found that brush-ing her teeth without screaming took a her-culean amount of self-control. In the medi-cine cabinet, she’d found herself reaching forpretty much everything—Tylenol, Bayer as-pirin, Aleve—and in the end, she’d decided totake them all. She’d washed down the pillswith a glass of water and watched herselfwince while swallowing. Okay, she admitted, maybe she’d over-done it. But it was too late now, and even worse,the painkillers hadn’t worked. Or maybe theyhad. She was, after all, able to function in theoffice, as long as she moved slowly. But thepain was still there, and Dr. Furman was

99/571gone, and the last thing she wanted was todeal with Dr. Melton. Without another option, she asked one ofthe nurses which room he was in and, afterknocking on the door, poked her head in. Dr.Melton looked up from his patient, his ex-pression becoming animated as soon as hesaw her. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Can I talkto you for a second?” “Sure,” he said. He rose from his stool,set aside the file on his way out, and closedthe door behind him. “Did you change yourmind about lunch?” She shook her head and told him aboutEva Bronson and George; he promised he’dtalk to them as quickly as he could. As sheleft, she could feel his eyes lingering on heras she limped down the hall.It was half-past noon when Gabby finishedwith her last patient of the morning.

100/571Clutching her purse, she hobbled toward hercar, knowing she didn’t have much time. Hernext appointment was in forty-five minutes,but assuming she wasn’t held up at the vet,she would be okay. It was one of the nicethings about living in a small town of fewerthan four thousand people. Everything wasonly minutes away. While MoreheadCity—five times the size of Beaufort—wasjust across the bridge that spanned the In-tracoastal Waterway and the place wheremost people did their weekend shopping, theshort distance was enough to make this townfeel distinct and isolated, like most of thetowns down east, which was what the localscalled this part of the state. It was a pretty place, especially the his-toric district. On a day like today, with tem-peratures perfect for strolling, Beaufort re-sembled what she imagined Savannah to bein the first century of its existence.