Prologue
Move on.
It's what her friends have been telling her for months now. Get out more. Try new things. Go see the world! You can do anything you want.
Which isn't strictly true, of course, as she wants nothing more than to turn the calendar back four years and lock Harold inside and throw away the key, before he could . . . before he could go . . . there.
But she can't do that. And there's no reason she has to stay here in this house for the rest of her life, right? That's what they keep saying. She needs to do something adventurous. Go someplace wild. Try for a job somewhere else—like . . . Italy?
"I think you all just want to get rid of me," she said, half-teasingly, half-protestingly, to the friend who told her about the job opportunity.
"You know we'd miss you," the friend said, frankly. "But I think it would be good for you. Change of scenery, a chance to—you know—start over. Try something new."
Grace turned her head away a little so the friend couldn't see her mouthing the final words of the old familiar speech along with her. "Move on."
But in the end, she couldn't think of any good arguments against it. So she sent in her application.
And now here she is, luggage collected by the front door, hands shoved deep into her pockets. Waiting. At the ring of the bell she swallows involuntarily, trying to keep her stomach from jumping up into her throat, and resists the urge to cast one last wistful glance around her. Don't look back.
She opens the door for the driver, tugs her bags out to the step for him, steps out into the crisp night air, trying not to think about anything past this moment. Closing the door firmly behind her, she follows him down the steps, making polite small talk. Look ahead. Straight ahead. Don't look back.
Carefully she places her precious paintings against the car. The driver says something about getting her Web address for his daughter who likes to paint, and automatically she digs in her purse for a card. Stay focused. You're doing fine. Don't look—
And then the night explodes around her.