Just Before Sunrise by Carla Neggers
Prologue
Annie Payne crossed the square of gravel where her cottage had been and stood on the rocks above the bay, listening to the tide coming in and the November breeze rustling in the hemlock and pine. It was just before sunrise, her favorite time of day, and the eastern horizon had taken on a deep lavender cast. Before long, the spectacular colors of dawn would spill across the sky and glisten on the quiet water. But she would be on her way by then, Annie thought. Out of Maine altogether by noon.
Otto, unaware of their impending departure from the only home either of them had ever known, bounded down onto the rocks. He was a muscular rottweiler, undaunted by Maine's treacherous coastline, but Annie knew he wouldn't get too close to the incoming tide. I Ic hadn't been much interested in water since she'd plucked him from the bay as a puppy, the victim of somebody's sick idea of dealing with an unwanted litter. He was about fifteen weeks old, gangly, friendly, not a rottweiler of stereotype and, therefore, probably not easy to sell. The vet had said it was a miracle he'd survived. Annie chalked it up to his intrepid soul. Three years later, Otto was as big and muscular and fierce-looking as any rottweiler she'd encountered, but he had a gentle, slightly goofy temperament. He seemed to understand how close he'd come to death and took each day as a gift.
Annie was trying to adopt that attitude herself. She'd gotten out of her cottage before the nameless October storm had swept it into the bay five weeks ago. She'd managed to save Otto, two photo albums, the framed picture of her parents on their wedding day, and Gran's painting. Nothing else. No clothes, no furniture, no mementos of her trip to the British Isles or anyplace else. None of her plants. Not a piece of jewelry. All of it went.
"Come on, Otto. We have to go."
He stopped on a boulder and angled his massive head back toward her, his brown eyes soft and confused. Annie felt the tears brimming. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry. She had no real family left in Maine since Gran had died a year ago. Her job as the director of a small maritime museum had long since failed to engage her. Her friends would stay her friends, no matter where she lived. With her cottage gone, there was nothing to keep her on her little Maine peninsula, nothing to keep her anywhere.
Turning away from the bay, she walked over to the gravel driveway where she'd parked her rusting station wagon. It was packed with her few surviving treasures and the clothes and essentials her friends had given her in a post-storm party. She'd left just enough room for Otto. Her friends weren't worried about the two of them heading cross-country together. One, Otto was a deterrent to anyone who might have ideas about her or her meager possessions. Two, most figured she'd turn back before she hit the Mississippi. A few thought pure stubbornness would propel her all the way to San Francisco and a taste of life there, but when reality caught up with fantasy, she'd head back home. They gave her three months, tops.
Annie squinted back at the water. "Otto. Come, boy."
He stood atop a massive granite boulder and watched her with the lavender sky at his back. She wondered if he sensed her ambivalence. San Francisco and an unknown life lay ahead. She had plans, dreams. Maybe they'd work out, maybe they wouldn't. Maybe she was being a little crazy and impulsive. She'd banked her insurance settlement instead of rebuilding, and ten days ago she'd found a buyer for her coveted property with its picturesque views and privacy. She had enough money for her new life. But she wasn't sure about anything except that her father had died when she was a baby, her mother when she was sixteen, and now Gran was dead and her cottage was gone—and if she didn't do something, maybe she'd be next. She'd latched onto the idea of San Francisco and opening her own gallery, starting over, and now she was going.
She opened the back liftgate, hoping that would coax Otto up off the rocks. He loved to ride. But if Otto didn't want to do something, she couldn't force him. He weighed five pounds more than she did.
"Come on, buddy. This'll be an adventure. You and me driving west. Over hill and dale, from sea to shining sea, amber waves of grain, purple mountains. We'll see it all."
Otto plopped down on his rock, tongue wagging. He loved autumn in New England, even chilly November mornings with fallen leaves coloring the ground gold and rust and the taste of winter in the air. Annie frowned, trying to push back any doubts. What if he didn't like California? What if, on some instinctive dog level, Otto already knew this entire adventure of hers was lunacy?
But she had made up her mind. "You'll love San Francisco, Otto. You'll see." The wind was coming in off the water now, catching the ends of her hair, biting into her cheeks. She shivered in her fleece jacket. "Otto. Come."