That’s not why I wrote it.
Taking a deep breath, I tighten my hands around the steering wheel and pull away from the post office. My nerves mount as I make the winding drive from downtown Manchester across the town line into Gloucester. Now that I’ve cut ties with my parents… cut ties with my past…
There’s only one more thing to do before I leave this life behind. One more person I need to see before I walk away for good.
The only person who really matters.
My hand reaches up to clasp my necklace as I turn toward the harbor.
* * *
I stand in the night, knocking on his door like a crazy person.
“Archer! Archer, are you home? It’s me,” I yell through the wood. “It’s Jo. I need… I need to talk to you. Please, if you’re there…”
My heart is in my throat.
My hands are shaking.
My knees are quaking.
I’m here.
I’m ready.
Ready to take the plunge.
Ready to tell him how I feel.
I love you.
Let’s make this work.
I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t even know where I’m sleeping come tomorrow… but it doesn’t matter. So long as we’re together.
“Archer?”
There is no answer.
Not after five minutes.
Not after ten or twenty or thirty.
No matter how loud I pound, he does not come. No matter how many minutes I stand there waiting, my skin growing clammy with cold, he does not appear.
When my hand is beginning to ache and my courage is beginning to falter, I force myself to stop. To admit what I’ve known for quite a while, now.
Archer isn’t here. Or, if he is…
He doesn’t want to see me.
My smarting fists drop to my sides.
My leaden legs carry me off his porch, down the steps, onto the sidewalk.
Back to my car.
Back to Cormorant House, to pack what few belongings I will take with me when I leave this town behind for the second time in a matter of hours.