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Was it real? She didn’t have that kind of luck. Paula kept checking the paper to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. Her mother read the numbers back when Paula called. It was real.

What to do with this newfound freedom? Paula had no idea how it felt to get up and not have to go to work. Now she had the time to write, and hopefully become the author she wanted to be.

Paula searched the internet and found the perfect house, in the perfect place. For the three summers Paula spent with her grandparents, as a teen, were some of her happiest times. No cars racing around. Golf carts were the form of transportation. She packed what she could and her and Sherlock, her Great Dane, made that seven-hour drive south.

The ferry ride over was like a trip back in time. She was fourteen again and going to spend her first summer with her grandparents. Being trapped on an island all summer wasn’t Paula’s ideal of fun. Now she saw it as her serenity

She stood looking at the house holding Sherlock’s leash, photos on the computer didn’t do the place justice. The house was gorges looking over the marina.

Paula turned her head to the dog, “We’re home, Sherlock.”