She never quite felt as though she measured up.
Maybe that was her problem; the reason why she’d run—life was just too good. She had everything she wanted and she couldn’t accept that—especially after Peter rescued her from her own self-inflicted wounds. She’d been mulling the facts repeatedly in her mind for so long it was painfully agonizing to go through them one more time. The answer to her dilemma just wouldn’t appear before her like magic. She had to make the magic happen again as it had before to find her answer.
It didn’t matter that the day was grey and cold for summer, that her thin pink sweater seemed hardly enough to protect her from the harsh elements of the seacoast. She wrapped it around her tightly, shuddering as she looked upward, and then slipped into the Ford’s tatter
