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"That would probably be smart."

“If you’re looking for a place to stay for a few nights while you get your bearings, I'd suggest Pinecrest."

"The motel?"

"That's the one."

I pick up my phone and turn the screen toward her. "I was actually just looking at it."

"Good choice. It's clean, quiet, and June will take good care of you."

"You know the owner?"

"I know just about everybody."

A smile finds its way onto my face despite everything. "One of the perks of living in a town this size, I guess."

"It certainly has its moments." She reaches for the coffee pot again, topping off my mug without asking. "If you decide you're staying longer, there are a few apartments around town."

She begins counting them off on her fingers. "There was one above the pharmacy, but Edith Turner’s grandson just moved into it. The place over the hardware store's been empty for a while, though I hear Frank's still waiting on his brother-in-law to finish the plumbing."

A man two booths behind me looks up from his sandwich. "He'll be waiting till next winter if he's counting on Dale."

Marge chuckles. "Probably."

She looks at me again. "For tonight, though, I'd call June."

All I have to do is make one call. Book a room. That’s it. Instead, I stare at the screen, waiting for someone else to tell me what comes next.

My entire life’s been arranged around the next step. High school led to college. College led to law school. After Law school was supposed to be the career my parents expected.

Every milestone came with another one waiting behind it. There was always a timeline. Always another box to check.

Marge lifts my empty plate. "You don't have to decide the rest of your life before dinner, honey."

I look up at her. There's no way she can know how badly I need to hear that. "I don't?"

"Not unless someone changed the rules while I wasn't looking."

A laugh escapes before I can stop it, tangled with something dangerously close to tears. "Do they rent rooms by the week?"

"They do." Marge nods. “Tell June I sent you.”

Before I lose my nerve, I tap the phone number, and it begins to ring.

My stomach twists. It's too late to change my mind now.

A woman answers on the fourth ring. “Pinecrest Motel.

“Hi. Is this June?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Marge from the diner suggested I give you a call.”

The woman’s tone changes immediately. “Well, why didn’t you lead with that?” A brief pause, then, warmer. “What can I do for you, sugar?”

I smile despite myself. “I’m in need of a room. Marge said I’ll be in good hands with you.”