Chapter Three
“It’s a truth universally acknowledged that when a grown woman goes home and stays in her old bedroom, she might as well give up and become a child again.” Isabelle surveyed her room, which was filled with the detritus of the past, as if the outgoing tide had left it behind.
Old lip glosses, movie tickets, textbooks, a shaggy purple beanbag chair, Harry Potter books, a ukulele, the yearly Rocky Peak Lodge brochures, her favorite Raggedy Ann doll that Mom had made for her. A closetful of ski pants and hoodies and boho skirts from her faux-hippie phase. Twinkle lights in the shape of skulls from her goth phase. A holographic image of a snake-haired goddess from her “spiritual” phase.
She’d gone through a lot of phases.
“Are you talking to yourself or being haunted by Jane A
