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“What?” Abby said as she walked out of the bathroom and headed her way. “Can I search for something real quick?”

“Uh… Sure,” she replied and logged in, turning her computer to Abby as they both stood at the packing counter. “What are you looking up?”

“Them,” Abby replied.

“Huh?”

Quinn watched as Abby then entered a name that she recognized into her computer browser’s search bar.

“You’re looking up Deb?”

Abby turned her head to her quickly.

“Why did you call her Deb?”

“Why do you keep asking me why I’m doing anything?” she returned.

“Quinn, I’m serious. I just typed her full name. Why did you call her Deb?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know why I like blackberry pie, either. My mom never made it. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve even had blackberries outside of a pie. When I moved here, though, Mr.Potter brought me one in exchange for a stamp, and I’ve been addicted ever since.”

“You could’ve called her Deborah or Debbie, but you called her Deb.”

“Yes, and I told you that I don’t know why.”

Abby tapped enter, and the search for Deborah Mary Stevens, née Wilson, returned several results. Quinn watched as she scrolled. Some of the results were obviously not the Deb she was looking for, but it was a common name, so that made sense. Then, Abby stopped and clicked a link.

“This is her.”

Quinn moved in closer and breathed Abby in. The flower was still there, but there was something else, too. It smelled like pine. She got a vision of trees and a river. There was an old-style lantern with a blanket and a basket.

“Oh, my God,” Abby said, bringing Quinn back to the present.

“What?”

“They died together.”

“Huh?”

“I wrote the ending of my book. I have more to write, but I wrote the ending because I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind.”

“We’re talking about your book again?”

“We’re talking about my bookandthis.” Abby pointed to the screen. “Quinn, Deb was a real person. She married a man named John David Stevens. She had a son named John Paul, just like in my story. She also loved a woman named Harriet. Look.”

It was an obituary from the town’s only newspaper that had been around since the early 1900s.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Yeah, oh.”

“In a tornado?”

“The door on their cellar broke, according to this,” Abby said. “The two of them died. They were survived by their son, Paul.”

“Weren’t you just telling me that you’d prefer a tornado to an earthquake?”

“I don’t even know why I said that. It felt weird. But the truth is that Iwouldprefer a tornado to an earthquake. The moment I said the words, though, it felt wrong to say that out loud. I can maybe guess why now. But, also, in an earthquake, what are the odds that I’d die in the arms of the woman I loved?” Abby asked as she continued to stare at the screen. “They were found holding on to one another.”