Chapter 5 #2
The first time she’d opened one of the books in the Possibility Wing, she’d glimpsed another life. An actual version of herself, living a life she might have lived if she’d gone to undergrad at Collister and met a guy named Aaron.
It had felt impossible, and yet…
Maybe that was what this library did. It didn’t prompt imagination, but it revealed. Not stories, but possible alternative lives.
Cora drew a slow breath and touched the edge of the archway. The air felt warmer here, charged, like she stood near the threshold of a secret.
She hesitated only a moment more before stepping into the corridor.
The light shifted—soft, golden, impossibly alive.
And somewhere inside the Wing, only a few steps away, Cora knew, a book waited for her.
The air was cooler here, touched with dust and memory.
She glanced toward the shelf. Last time, only Volume II had revealed itself. The others had lingered in shadow, their titles blurred beyond reading.
Now the first volume stood clear—the same soft green binding she’d noticed before, its lettering visible at last: Volume I. The edges were gently faded, the kind of wear that looked less like age and more like waiting.
Her pulse quickened. She stepped closer, sensing the same hum in the air that she’d felt before along with the sweet scent of lilacs.
Volume II still rested in its place, quiet and still, its gold lettering dulled to bronze.
Cora hesitated only a moment before slipping the second book from the shelf and carrying it to the table. The weight of it felt right in her hands, inevitable.
It fell open. The title page unfurled in handwriting she recognized now—graceful loops and curling strokes, the ink sweeping across the page with quiet confidence.
Cora Summerbell: If She Stayed.
She stared at the words, a rush of anticipation mingling with unease.
What did that mean? If she’d stayed in GraceTown? In one place? In one version of herself?
Cora drew in a steadying breath. Then she lowered her gaze to the page and let her fingers rest lightly against the paper.
The air shifted.
The stillness thickened.
The room blurred.
And the world tilted—
She stood on a sun-warmed porch in a gauzy summer dress, Aaron’s arm draped around her shoulders, familiar, steady, impossibly right. The wood beneath her feet was warm, the air humming with cicadas and the faint scent of charcoal.
“I’d better tend to the grill,” Aaron said with a smile, brushing a kiss across her lips. The gesture felt effortless. Familiar. Right.
She laughed, looping her arms around his neck for one last moment before stepping away. “Can I help?”
“I told Aaron I’d supervise.” Daniel Grace crossed the deck to clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Last time, he burned the steaks. Not letting that happen again.”
His wife, Jenna, adjusted the baby strapped to her chest and grinned. “You’re never going to let him live that down, are you?”
Daniel chuckled. “Not in this lifetime.”
There was no sharpness in his teasing, no hidden edge. Just warmth and friendship.
“Hey, Cora, you’re looking good.” Daniel shot her a wide smile. “Looks like ten years of marriage to this steak arsonist agrees with you.”
“It’s wonderful,” she said—and meant it. Her voice was light, certain.
Aaron’s gaze found hers, filled with affection so open it made her heart squeeze.
“That goes double for me,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine my life without Cora.”
“That’s how you know it’s right,” Daniel added, glancing fondly at Jenna.
“And then when you have a child…” Aaron’s eyes lingered on Cora’s. “Or two.” His tone softened. “The love just multiplies.”
It was sweet and a little sappy—and something inside her melted in response. After all these years, this man still did it for her. Simply seeing him across a room felt like coming home.
“Where are the kids tonight?” Jenna asked, glancing around.
“With their grandparents,” Cora said. “Probably getting all sugared up.” She met Aaron’s glance across the porch, her smile answering his. It still amazed her sometimes how natural this all felt, how his family had opened their arms and made room for her.
When the men turned to the grill, debating the Orioles’ chances against the Rays, Cora reached for a frosty pitcher beaded with condensation.
“Would you care for a watermelon slushie?” she asked, lifting the pitcher. “I know you’re still nursing, so there’s no alcohol. Just watermelon and lime.”
“I’d love some,” Jenna said with a grateful smile.
They sank into the wicker chairs, the air fragrant with citronella and grilled corn.
“Your housewarming last Saturday was amazing,” Jenna said, taking a sip. “Everyone’s still talking about it.”
A smile touched Cora’s lips. The image came easily—friends she and Aaron had known for years and others they’d met along the way filling the house with laughter. She’d made the centerpieces herself, organized the seating, planned the menu down to the color of the napkins.
She liked details. Always had.
“Organizing keeps me sane,” she’d told Aaron once, and he’d teased her about her lists, but he also handed her cases at the office that required patience and precision.
Working part time as a paralegal in his firm suited her perfectly.
She liked digging into research, connecting the dots, smoothing the chaos.
And the hours meant she could be home when the kids got off the bus, bake cookies for the Friday night games or spend a slow Saturday morning on the porch with coffee and Aaron’s hand covering hers.
Her life wasn’t flashy, but it fit.
“I didn’t even get to ask about your second honeymoon,” Jenna said, eyes bright. “How was Maui?”
Ten days in Hawaii. With a man who adored her. A life filled with love and everything she hadn’t known she needed until she’d found it.
“Actually, it was our first honeymoon,” Cora said with a small laugh.
“When we got married, we were both in college, and there was no money for a trip. I didn’t mind.
We were together, and that’s what mattered.
But renewing our vows on our tenth anniversary and taking the trip—it was amazing. Highly recommend.”
“I remember you saying something once about meeting in high school?” Jenna’s expression was full of curiosity, that soft envy reserved for couples who made it last.
Cora let her mind drift back. “Freshman year. He walked into algebra class, our eyes met, and that was it.”
“You never dated anyone else?”
Cora smiled, stirring the slush in her glass. “No. We were each other’s firsts—first kiss, first love, first and last everything.”
“That’s amazing.” Jenna sighed, smiling. “Like it was meant to be.”
Cora nodded. “If my mom hadn’t stayed here after the divorce, I wouldn’t have been in GraceTown, and we never would’ve met.”
Her gaze drifted out to the yard where the kids’ bicycles leaned against the fence, sunlight catching on their spokes. The thought sent a pang through her, sweet and deep all at once.
She couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t contain Aaron, or this house, or the quiet joy of this porch.
And she didn’t want to.
“Cora?”
Her head lifted at the sound, soft but clear, echoing through the air like it came from far away.
Adelaide’s voice.
“Cora, I need your help, please.”
Cora blinked. The porch shimmered, the edges of everything thinning like watercolors in the rain. When she blinked again, the light had changed. The scent of lilacs was gone, replaced by the faint must of paper and dust. She was back in the library.
Her pulse skittered. “Adelaide?”
No answer.
Only a rolling cart stood in the aisle, stacked high with returned books. A folded note rested on top. Please reshelve.
Cora exhaled a shaky breath, half relief, half confusion. She reached for the first stack automatically, letting the familiar rhythm of shelving steady her hands.
But as she worked, her mind replayed what she’d just experienced—the details of this second life that felt as real as her actual life.
Aaron’s hand brushing hers. The sound of children’s laughter not far from that weathered porch.
And before that…the other version. The one where she’d met him in college, here in GraceTown.
Two stories. Two beginnings. Both hers—and neither hers.
She slid another book into place, her brow furrowing. Why would the same book show her two versions of her life that didn’t exist? What was it trying to tell her?
For the first time, she wondered if the stories weren’t just what-ifs.
Maybe there were alternate versions of her.