Free Blood Red by Wendy Corsi Staub

view of Milkweed Pond. That’s where she and Jake went skating on their first date twenty-­five years ago. It was Christmas night, and snow was falling like moonlit glitter, and their paths were forever altered the moment they kissed. She vividly remembers praying that he felt the same sparks and promising God that she would never ask Him for anything else if this perfect man could just fall in love with her.
    He wasn’t perfect, of course. But she didn’t notice or care. If someone had time traveled back to that moment from the future to assure her that she would wear Jake Mundy’s wedding ring and bear his children and share his bed for the rest of her life, she’d have been ecstatic.
    And if that same someone had told her that one day she’d resent that Jake snores and doesn’t know how to cook, that he whistles in the shower and considers khaki and gray compatible clothing colors, that she would eventually—­even just fleetingly—­find someone else more attractive and appealing . . .
    She’d have said that was impossible.
    Even now that it’s actually happened, that last part seems impossible.
    Beneath the shelter of the octagonal wooden roof, she pushes away her first-­date memories of Jake on a sickening tide of remorse. Again, she focuses on her phone.
    She is, indeed, now Facebook friends with Rick Walker.
    Now that she’s been granted access to his private profile page, she can see that he’s not prone to frequent updates and when he does post something, it’s nothing particularly relevant: photos of meals and sunsets and a few shared cartoons and articles about golf courses—­did Rick even golf? Is this the wrong man?
    Even as she wonders whether she’s befriended some random stranger, she clicks on his private photo album and suddenly there he is: the man she used to know. He’s wearing a dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a tie, standing between a pair of middle-­aged women, neither of them Vanessa. He has more wrinkles and less hair, but the grin is familiar.
    She’s so taken aback at the sight of him that she doesn’t immediately realize that she also has a new private message—­from him.
    Rowan, wow, what a surprise. Thanks for finding me here. I actually found your profile last year when I first got on Facebook but I didn’t know if I should send you a friend request. I’m glad you made the first move. You look great in your pictures and I’m happy to see that you and Jake are still together and the kids seem to be doing well. I’m working in Manhattan and living in New Jersey, single and dating, with an empty nest. I’d love to connect in person sometime so let me know if you’re ever in New York.
    Shaken by the casual words, and by his admission that he’s single and dating, she reads the message several times, searching for hidden meaning.
    Wow, what a surprise . . .
    I’m glad you made the first move . . .
    I’m happy to see that you and Jake are still together . . .
    One moment those phrases seem to resonate irony; the next sincerity.
    Either he sent the package and he’s baiting her, or he’s utterly oblivious—­in which case, he needs to be told. But not, she decides, in writing.
    I’m going to be in New York this weekend , she types back quickly. Can we get together for coffee?
    Thinking better of it, she stands with her thumb poised over the Send button, thoughts flying through the scenario.
    Jake doesn’t have to know she’s going to New York. She’ll tell him she’s going to have lunch with her sister.
    Then again—­what if Noreen happens to call?
    Asking her sister to cover for her is out of the question.
    She’ll just have to tell Jake she’s going to spend the day Christmas shopping.
    But—­the same excuse? Is it getting tired?
    No—­she knows he won’t