Free A Promise of Fireflies by Susan Haught

rippling across it like fingers strumming a guitar. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks.” Her voice wavered and she kicked herself for the lack of control. “Some things can’t be changed.” A pause afforded her the time to gather her composure.
    “Sorry, Mom. I thought you’d want to know.”
    “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, rubbing her temples, “but once certain things are set in motion, they can never go back to the way they were.”
    “I get it.”
    “I should call Nat. It’s late and I need some sleep.”
    They offered their good-byes and Ryleigh waited for the connection to go silent. She blew him a kiss and hoped the lump in her throat would subside from the news he’d so candidly blurted out.
    She hadn’t known. And what had caused Chandler’s sudden concern? She shook her head. It made no difference now. The dissolution would be final any day.
    Dismissing thoughts of Chandler and a life she’d worn like a treasured sweatshirt, she dialed Nat’s number. When it went straight to voice mail, she told Nat everything was perfect and she’d call her tomorrow.
    With her inner clock set to Arizona time, she ran a bath and sank to her nose into the hot water. The jets chiseled away at the uneasiness. Though an intimation of apprehension remained, she drifted into the conscious daydreams that precede sleep, and a sense of satisfaction bubbled around her, rising with the faint aroma of lemon sage bath salts and the roar of the jets.
    Fatigued from the bath, Ryleigh slid beneath thick blankets and let their weight fold around her. As she gave in to the magnetic pull of slumber, she allowed herself to fully grasp the first step into unknown territory. It terrified, yet comforted her—as did the words written in the leather journal. The decision to resist the stagnated state of her life and come here felt right. Yet in the furthest places she couldn’t grasp, a small knot remained.
     
    On the first night an entire continent away from home, Ryleigh drifted uneasily over the threshold of sleep.

Chapter Twelve

    RYLEIGH WOKE EARLY (Arizona time) with a queasy mix of intrigue and dread. Dressing quickly in a well-worn pair of jeans and a pink long-sleeved cotton T-shirt, she pulled the ASU hoodie over her head, took another glance in the mirror and fluffed her hair. She blew out a breath, the air lifting short wisps of bangs. Her arms dropped to her sides with a slap.
    Stalling would get her nowhere.
    She opened the satchel and made sure the journal, Ambrose’s letter and the drawstring bag containing the patch and button were still there.
    Ryleigh slung the satchel over her shoulder and shivered as she stepped from her room to find some breakfast. Or at least coffee. Her stomach rumbled, avidly protesting the lack of food. The ground sparkled with frozen dew, her breaths billowing ahead of her as she headed in the direction of the dot on the Inn’s small map.
    The breakfast room was nearly deserted, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and strawberry jam greeted her like comfortable old friends. She slathered a bagel with jam, grabbed a tall coffee to go and sat at a table by the window. A thin layer of fog hovered over Saratoga Lake. She watched it float across the water and tried to summon the courage sleep had swallowed. She glanced around. Judging by the pamphlets in her room, Saratoga Springs was big on horse racing. During the summer season, the Inn would be bustling with horse racing enthusiasts and bettors would be perusing The Forum instead of the lone gentleman hidden behind The New York Times .
    Ryleigh picked at the bagel, neither tasting it nor realizing she had eaten the last bite. She scooted her chair back, pulled the hoodie tighter around her neck, refilled her coffee, and headed for the Tahoe.
    Once inside, she punched the button for the seat warmer. “Whoever invented heated seats should be awarded the Nobel Prize, Barnabas.” She glanced around to make sure no one had