There had been a thunderstorm that night, too—the night more than twenty five years ago when she first met Ethan Douglas. The day had been unseasonably warm, with the kind of cloudless, dazzling blue sky that gave no forewarning of the sudden Maine squall that was about to sweep in off the bay and alter the course of Emily Porter’s life.
Emily had never believed in predestination, but that evening’s sudden downpour made everything that happened afterward seem more like fate than mere coincidence. After one of her twice yearly visits, Emily’s widowed mother was returning to Los Angeles the following day, and in preparation for her flight home, she’d spent that morning in the beauty parlor. There were few things more annoying to Helene Porter than having a new hairdo ruined by rain, so if the storm had blown through a few minutes earlier, the theater tickets would have ended up in the trash, and mother and daughter would have ...
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