Read Crossing Oceans for Free Online Page B

my delicate ring and the gold prongs holding it in place. Another knock and more waiting. I glanced at the garage. One of its doors was open, and inside I spied a gleaming Infiniti Coupe.
    Unaffected by the storm brewing within me, the morning sun rained down a warmth I could not feel. Maybe David and Lindsey were out back, working on the yard, basking on the deck . . . sitting in matching rockers on the patio, holding hands and sharing secrets. I cringed at the thought.
    As I walked over the cushion of manicured lawn to the back of the house, I pictured an older David reading the morning paper while his beautiful wife encircled her adoring arms around his waist—long, wavy tresses spilling over him like a shawl of spun gold. The intensity of the hatred I felt for a woman I had never even met alarmed me.
    The privacy fence’s wooden gate stood ajar, and I poked my head through. To my surprise, an English garden bloomed on the other side. Stepping inside for a better look, I marveled at its beauty. Stone paths led to scrolled iron benches. Ornate trellises dripped with flowered vines . . . and then I caught a strange sight that stole my breath.
    Large, paper-white cherry blossoms burst from otherwise-bare branches. Shocking. Lovely. . . . Wrong. This tree was an early spring bloomer, not summer. I stared at it, wondering if I were really here or if I could be dreaming.
    Maybe I was really fast asleep in my city apartment. The alarm clock would soon sound and I would throw off the covers, plant my feet on the soft chenille carpet, slip into my business suit, and call for Isabella to rise and shine.
    Maybe I had not gone home to my father’s. Maybe I hadn’t had a reason to. Maybe it was still just Isabella and me, the two of us, not needing anyone but each other. I wasn’t standing in David’s yard about to tell him he had a daughter. I wasn’t dying.
    Hope budded as I smiled dreamily.
    As I gazed at the blossoms clinging to bark, a feeling of déjà vu came over me, and I tilted my head, digging through the recesses of my mind, trying to recapture the memory on the tip of my consciousness. A sweet smell drifted by me on a whisper of wind. Vaguely familiar. Very comforting. Popcorn tree. That’s what I’d called it as a child. Popcorn tree.
    A mosquito landed on me. I swatted it and felt the pain. I touched the smear of red left on my arm and brought my fingertips to my nose. They smelled of blood, rusty and real. Not a dream. Not a chance.
    Dejected, I scanned the yard for signs of human life, past the morning glories opening their mouths to drink in the sunshine, the lavender swaying to a melody only it could hear, and the crow glaring down at me from the weather vane atop a small shed.
    And there, at the edge of the yard, on a hammock sandwiched between two maple trees, lay a man. An overturned coffee cup rested on the grass beneath him and an opened Wall Street Journal fluttered in the wind, held by his listless hand.
    The back of his head faced me, covered in curls the same shade as Isabella’s. My hand flew to my chest and time seemed to slow.
    David.
    He lay so still I began to wonder if he was alive. A grumble came from his direction as the newspaper dropped from his fingers. When he turned toward me, even my blood seemed to freeze in response. Closed. His eyes were still closed. I exhaled in relief.
    I hadn’t seen him since the night he’d broken up with me. My heart ached as I studied the familiar angles of his face, the lips I used to love to kiss. That I would have liked to kiss even now. Especially now.
    A sudden breeze launched the cherry blossoms from their branches. They floated through the air like fairy snow. Soft, fragrant . . . magical, twirling and fluttering left and right. I reached my hand out, but not one landed on my palm, open and ready.
    Not a single one.
    Carried by the changing wind, they fell instead over David. His eyes twitched. I tried to move, to back away, but my feet