ACK AT NICK’S APARTMENT, I took Coco for a walk. She hated the noise, jumping back from the curb when a car passed, quivering at the sound of air brakes or the clatter of a jackhammer. I ended up carrying her most of the way. She could probably adjust, but it seemed rather cruel to ask that of her. She was used to the wind and sand and salt air. Not this.

When we got back, I checked my email, answered a few, then wandered around the apartment, feeling a little stir-crazy. Opened a cabinet here, a drawer there. There were a couple of framed pictures of Isabel. One of Nick, Christopher, Jason and Mr. Lowery. Another of him and Peter in front of a temple. Japan, maybe.

On his desk was a leather-bound day calendar. I flipped it open. Funny, that in this age of phones with every conceivable app from foot massages to ghost whispering, Nick kept a handwritten record of his appointments. There was last week…in his blocky architect’s handwriting, Nick had written C&W’s wedding. Later that week, Whalen U., School of Engineering.

This coming week, it appeared he’d be going to Dubai. Later in the month, Seattle. In October, Nick was scheduled to be in Houston, London and Seattle again.

Business was good.

I sat in his chair for a little while. Coco, sensing my melancholy, jumped into my lap and put her head on my shoulder. She seemed blue, too. The subway screeched from down the block, and my dog shivered in fear. “You’d think they’d have fixed those brakes by now, huh, Coco?” I asked, petting her sleek little back. From the floor below, I could hear the strains of bouncy music and some muffled voices—Ivan, watching the soaps.

Some things never changed, and I wasn’t just talking about Ivan’s taste in daytime television. Nick’s business was thriving; God knows, he worked hard enough and deserved every success. I wouldn’t want it any other way…and yet…and yet, things were feeling awfully familiar. He wanted me to move to New York, to fit my life in around his. Again. And the way he’d mentioned it, so flip and assured—You could pass the New York bar in a heartbeat. We didn’t even know what next week would look like, but he was already assuming I’d uproot everything and move back to his city.

And that whole thing with Chris…that didn’t bode well, either. Nick deliberately withheld something critically important from me. Not without reason—I could see his point about it being Christopher’s to share or not share—but still. It didn’t feel good. The way he’d had that meeting scheduled in Bismarck but hadn’t mentioned it, had made our trip feel completely spur-of-the-moment, while all the time, he’d had a plan and a schedule.

Ivan’s soap cut to commercial, and the merits of Huggies diapers were extolled at an excruciating decibel. It was so odd to be back here, so disconcerting. Different, but still the same. Gone was the small kitchen where Nick and I had shared so few meals, where the steam radiators had ticked and hissed as I’d waited for him to come home. Gone was the tiny alcove in the living room where Nick had ensconced himself in front of the computer on the rare nights he made it home before nine or ten. Gone was our old bedroom where we’d fought so often. And yet, here we were, same building, same structure, same foundation. It was glossier and more sophisticated, but it was still the same.

And so were Nick and I.

God, that thought was petrifying. I realized I was gripping the leather arms of Nick’s chair in a stranglehold. But sitting here alone in this apartment, it was far too easy to remember the bitter solitude of my early days here. The helplessness I’d felt as I became invisible to the man I’d loved more than air. The utter terror that paralyzed my heart as I watched him pack. I could still hear the clink of my ring hitting the storm drain, could still see the accusing glare of the cab’s taillights as Nick left me.

My inbox chimed with a new message. Exhaling abruptly—apparently I’d stopped breathing—I heaved myself out of the chair and took a look. BeverLee. I clicked on it, then squinted to make out the curly pink typeface she always used.

Hey there, Sweetheart how are you doing? I’ve been just the tiniest bit worried about you, it being you’ve been gone such a while. Let me know where you’re at, okay? Miss you bunches. xoxox BeverLee. By the way give me a call if you can.

My heart squeezed. I’d never thought of BeverLee and me as being particularly close, but in her eyes, we were tighter than Joan and Melissa Rivers. If she deemed you her BFF, that’s how she’d act, and it would take a SWAT team and a junkyard dog to keep her away. And now she was having to deal with her recalcitrant-to-the-point-of-mute husband telling her their marriage was over. My family life, if odd, had been pretty stable these past twenty years…and now it would be broken once more.

I needed to go home. At the thought, my eyes filled with completely unexpected tears. I didn’t want to leave Nick…but I really had to take a step back. Nick wouldn’t be happy about it. He might even be furious, and my heart died a little at the thought of disappointing him again, of being away from him. I loved Nick, had always loved him, that was undeniable. But maybe…maybe we both needed to step back a little and think. If we were going to work out, we had to be smarter than we were last time. Not to mention the fact that I had a family, a career, people who were waiting for me to come home. I had a cactus, damn it.

I wiped my eyes—holy testicle Tuesday, look at me, crying twice in the same decade, would wonders never cease? Coco cocked her cunning little head and looked at me as if affirming my thoughts. “Time to go home, Coco?” I whispered. She licked my elbow. The hammering of my heart told me I was running away…but sometimes flight was the best course of action. I’d never been able to win a fight with Nick, after all. He could sell a swimming pool to a dolphin.

Taking a deep breath, I typed a quick reply to Bev—I should be home tonight, Bev. Call you later, okay? Then I clicked open my browser and went to the Expedia website. Booked a flight on the five o’clock shuttle to Boston, then a seat on the puddle jumper that would take me to the island. Emailed the office. Packed up my clothes, noting distantly that my hands were shaking. Looked for Coco’s bunny rabbit, which she enjoyed hiding so I could fetch it. She trotted beside me, amused that I couldn’t just sniff the air and find the ratty old thing.

There it was, under the sleek couch in the living room. Coco barked twice, congratulating me. “Found it,” I confirmed, groping for it. Just then, my cell phone rang, then chirped to indicate the low battery. Right. I still hadn’t found my charger; may have left it at one of our stops across country. I handed Coco her beloved and then ran to answer the phone. The screen read Dennis, and an unexpected wave of guilt washed over me. “Hi, Den! Everything okay?”

“Hey, Harp! How are you?”

Beep. “Um, I’m doing fine,” I answered. “Hey, my battery’s low. What’s up?”

“Everything’s fine. Um, I was just wondering if you knew when you were coming home. You’ve been gone kind of a long time, that’s all.”

This was…new. Dennis generally wasn’t the type to call and check on anything; he’d always left that to me. “Well, actually, I just booked a flight for later today.”

“Oh, great! I’ll pick you up!”

Beep. “No, no, that’s okay, Dennis. You don’t have to. I’ll just grab a cab. It’s only ten miles.”

“No, dude, it’s totally okay! You’ll need a ride, right? What time?”

“Um…seven-thirty? But Dennis, please don’t—” Beep.

“Cool! See you then.” With that, my battery gave up the ghost. With a growl of frustration, I picked up Nick’s phone and called Dennis back. I really didn’t want to see Dennis first thing upon landing; life was enough of a snarl. And it wasn’t like him to be so…helpful. Maybe he felt some guilt of his own for not accepting my proposal. Whatever. My call went straight to voice mail…typical. “Dennis here, leave a message!”

“Hi, Den,” I said. “Listen, that’s really nice of you, but I’ll take a cab home, okay? Thanks anyway. Talk to you soon.” I hung up and sighed, then looked down at my little brown-and-white buddy. “You want to go home, Coco?” She cocked her head and froze with anticipation, as if the word homewas almost too good to bear. “I know just how you feel.”

When Nick got home, it was almost four. I was staring unseeing at a copy of the New Yorker, and at the sound of his key, I lurched to my feet, nervous as hell. “Hey! How was your meeting?” I called brightly. “Everything go well?”

He didn’t answer, unfooled by my chipper tone. Instead, he dropped his gaze to my suitcase, parked there by the front door, and folded his arm across his chest. “I probably shouldn’t be surprised,” he said tightly.

“Uh, well, I need to—”

“You’re leaving me.” His voice was flat.

“Nick, don’t jump to conclusions. But yes, I have to get back. I have a lot going on.” Nick cocked an eyebrow, and my temper stirred. “It’s actually true, Nick. I do have a life separate from you.”

As if saying her own form of goodbye, Coco began leaping straight off the floor as if spring-loaded. She launched herself into Nick’s arms, and he grabbed her a bit awkwardly, unused to her forms of devotion. My dog licked his chin, unaware that the grown-ups were about to have a serious talk.

“So,” Nick said, putting Coco back on the floor. He took a deep breath, and I could tell he was trying to keep calm. “What about you and me?”

I nodded. Sat down on the couch. Crossed my ankles. “Well,” I whispered, “I think it’s a little soon for us to talk about the New York bar.”

“Right.” His gaze dropped to the floor.

The silence seemed to stretch, pushing us apart bit by bit. “Maybe you could come out to the Vineyard sometime,” I suggested, biting a cuticle. “Um…next weekend. If your schedule’s clear.”

He just looked at me for a long moment with those tragic eyes. “I’m not leaving you, Nick,” I blurted. “I just…I just don’t know how this is going to work. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again.”

In a second, he was on his knees in front of me, gripping my upper arms. “Harper, I love you.”

God, those eyes, those damn gypsy eyes. “I know. And I…I love you back, Nick, you know that. But how does that translate? I mean, everyone loves everyone, right? But so many relationships don’t work out. We didn’t, Nick, loving each other or not.”

“And she’s off,” Nick muttered, letting go of my arms.

“I’m not off,” I protested, biting my poor cuticle yet again. “I’m just being realistic. I can’t drop everything I’ve got back home just because we still have feelings for each other.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d think that those feelings would matter, Harper. They do to me.”

“They definitely matter,” I said in a small voice. “They’re just not…they’re just not the only things that do.”

He ran his hand through his hair, then rose from the floor and sat next to me. We didn’t say anything for a minute. “Look,” he said in a gentler voice. “I love you. I want us to work. Last time, you had one foot out the door the whole time we were together. I can’t take that again, Harper. You have to decide if you want this or not, and judging from the suitcase by the door, you don’t.”

I swallowed. “Nick,” I whispered, “I think we need time to…think.”

“I don’t need to think, Harper. I know. But you…” His voice rose. “I’m in this, I want us to be together, but you…your bags are already packed. You’re leaving. Again.”

“I’m not, Nick!” I barked. “I have to deal with things at home, okay? I have a life there, and…I can’t just not go back. You’re traveling all over the planet, anyway, and I won’t throw caution to the wind and make all the same mistakes we made last time and end up miserable again. I won’t do that, Nick.”

There it was again, that look. I’d let him down, even though everything I said made perfect sense.

From the street below, a car horn honked. “There’s my cab,” I said.

“That was fast,” Nick muttered.

“I didn’t think your lunch would last for four hours, either,” I snapped. “Okay?”

Déjà vu all over again. When had I ever gotten an inch from Nick, after all? Never, that’s when.

Nick walked to the door and picked up my suitcase and laptop carrier, his movements sharp and angry. He stood back to let Coco and me go through the door and down the stairs. The ripe smell of the city greeted us out on the street, the roar and the humidity.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said briskly, turning to Nick.

He nodded.

Then, without another word, we were in each other’s arms, and I was hugging him as hard as I could, my face pressed against his beautiful neck, and he held me so close that for a second, it seemed as if he would never let me go, that he’d say something that would make everything okay.

But he didn’t say anything, and he did let me go.

SO THAT WAS FUN. MY brain decided to play Debate Team again for the entire bleeping plane ride to Boston.

Leaving was the right thing to do.

Are you insane? How could it be the right thing?

Please. Let’s not get hysterical here. It’s not as though Nick and I are done, we’re just—

Oh, God, go back, what are you thinking, that man is the love of your stupid life!

As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, we’re just figuring things out. I have other responsibilities, don’t forget.

Didn’t you see the look in his eyes? You did it again. You left him.

Finally, I grabbed my laptop case. There was the yellow envelope that contained my mother’s information. Fat lot of good that did me, huh? So much for closure—more like a reopening of the jugular. What would I have done without Nick that day? (See, idiot? Can we turn this plane around?)Veering away from the tarry emotions that paved the path of maternal memories, I flipped open my laptop and looked at my calendar. Court on Tuesday, Schultz v. Schultz, Judge Keller. Easy peasy…a couple who’d parted ways without so much as a whimper. So civilized. Lunch with Father Bruce. Kim and I were supposed to have a night out on Thursday. That would be great…I could use a little girlfriend time.

What about Nick? When will you see Nick again?

I have no clue, I answered. I will call him tomorrow. Or even tonight. So can you please leave me alone?

We landed in Boston, and I got the resentful Coco from steerage. “I’m sorry. You deserve much better,” I told her as I lugged her crate, my suitcase, laptop carrier and purse to the Cape Air gate. She ignored me, and who could blame her? “It wasn’t much better where I was,” I assured her. “One quick hop, and we’re home again. Bear with me.”

A short while later, we were flying over the Atlantic. No sooner had we taken off than the plane seemed to begin its descent to Martha’s Vineyard. A lump came to my throat at the sight of the island. There were the cliffs of Gay Head in variegated streaks of brown and white, the scrubby green bayberry and beach plum gentling the ragged shore. Waves broke against the beach, and I could see gulls flying and fluttering as they dropped shellfish onto the rocks. Just around the curve of Aquinnah was Menemsha, Dutcher’s Dock and home.

Our plane landed without fanfare, and as I got off, I sucked in a deep breath of the salty, pine-scented air. It seemed as if I’d been gone for a year, not just a week. The sun beat down hot on my hair, and the wind blew strands into my eyes. A mockingbird sang from on top of the gray-shingled terminal.

This was where I belonged. Fourth-generation Islander, granddaughter of a fisherman.

I sprang Coco, clipped on her leash and managed to wrestle my luggage out the door. Coco paused, never a fan of automatic doors. “Coco, come on, honey, don’t get Chihuahua on me—oh, my God.”

Oh, my God indeed. Oh, crotch, in fact.

Because there, in front of the terminal, was a Martha’s Vineyard fire truck, eight firemen, a small crowd of regular people and quite a few kids.

And Dennis Patrick Costello, on bended knee.