At the time, her dreams were bigger than a sleepy creekside town, even though she never really dreamed of anything more than out.

But now she's back. She's been out and dreamed dreams big and small and felt everything until there was nothing left to feel but home.

She stands at the end of the small dock; only it's not so small anymore, built up to support the B&B trade. She stands there because that's where she's supposed to stand, like some framed picture postcard you'd sent to a friend, scrawling a completely false 'wish you were here' across the back.

She stares out at the creek, watching the sun dance across the moving surface, glittering like diamonds on the water and she wonders, like she's sure she's supposed to, if it's the same water she first swam in, first rowed across, first sailed away on.

There it is.

She's been waiting for it the past few days. The first pang of regret, of sorrow. She tests the thoughts again like a tongue seeking out a sore tooth, trying to find out where exactly the pain is coming from.

She sits down; knowing she'll regret it later, knowing it doesn't matter in the now. She sits and dangles her legs over the edge of the silvery-gray wood and watches the water move some more. This is what she's come here for, after all.

"I've changed my mind."

"What?"

She winced as the pin jabbed into her skin, looking warily down at her sister. "I've changed my mind."

Bessie stood up, her hands on her hips, her irritation shining in her eyes. "I hope to God we're talking about what you want for dinner, because if it's anything else, Josephine Potter, I'm going to make you the world's tallest voodoo doll."

She bit her lower lip then raised her hand to her mouth to chew on the pad of her thumb. Her voice, when she spoke was soft, which didn't surprise her, but determined, which did. "I'm sorry, Bessie."

"Trust me, I'm the last person you should be apologizing to. I'm just the idiot who's paying for half of this." She deliberately didn't look toward the window, knowing Joey would do it for her. "You're getting married in two hours, Joey. You can't change your mind."

"Better two hours before my wedding than two hours after."

"It's nerves."

"It's a sudden attack of clarity."

"Pre-wedding jitters."

"I'm not in love with him, Bessie."

Bessie started to speak then stopped, closing her mouth and holding her hands up in surrender. "Just tell me one thing, okay, Joey? Before you disappear again without so much as a goodbye?"

"It's not about anyone else, Bessie." Joey took her sister's hands and held them tight. "It's just about me."

She glances over her shoulder at the white arch that stands with a perfect view of the water. Hundreds of people have been married under it by now, staring out at the creek, imagining their lives and dreams. Bessie and Bodie. Bessie and Doug. Jen and Michael. Grams and Mr. Burgess. She smiles and touches her ringless finger before turning back to the water and brushing her toe against the rough wood of her old rowboat.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Bessie peeked out into the hallway again then looked back at her sister. "I'm going to be drawn and quartered for aiding and abetting."

"Is the coast clear?"

Bessie looked again and sighed. "Yeah."

Joey pulled her jacket on and hurried to her sister's side, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're doing it because you know I'm right and it's what's best."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Thanks, Bess." Joey started down the hall, stopping just outside the kitchen. She looked back and gave her sister a grateful smile. "I love you."

"Whatever. Just get the hell out of here."

She slips onto the seat and it's foreign and familiar all at once. The oars are coarse against her soft palms, years of disuse having worn away the calluses of youth.

She sits, still tied to the dock, just feeling the water beneath, the slow rocking waves soothing her with their ancient, familiar rhythm.

Taking a deep breath, she sets the oars in the water, holding them both in one hand as she reaches up with the other and slips the rope free of its mooring.

The kitchen door creaked shut quietly behind her and she looked to her right before turning and hurrying along the left side of the house.

"Little early to be leaving the party isn't it, Potter?" His slow, easy drawl stopped her in her tracks. "Especially given that it's for you and it hasn't even started yet."

"It's not just for me."

"Oh no." He ran his hand over his tux jacket, smoothing it. "We boys love getting all dressed up in monkey suits on what's supposed to be the hottest day of the year in Capeside history. It's all about us."

"My dress weighs fifty pounds."

"Yeah. But you're not wearing it." He gave her a long searching look. "Where are you going, Potter?"

She shook her head, not in denial but in freedom. "I don't have a clue."

His slow grin was a sight to behold. "Paris?"

"Dear God, no. Paris is overrated. I was thinking Brazil. New Zealand. Greece." She noticed they'd begun walking that he was carrying her bag. "You won't tell?"

"And be on the receiving end of his reaction?" Pacey tossed her bag in the back of her car. "Not in a million years."

"You're not taking some sort of perverse pleasure in all this, are you?"

"Should I be offended that you think so little of me?"

"Pacey."

"Hell yes, I'm taking pleasure, perverse and otherwise, in this. You're walking out on your wedding. To Dawson. To run off like some irresponsible idiot to destinations unknown. If you weren't an engaged woman, Potter, I'd kiss you."

They both stopped, frozen by the words, by the moment. "You taught me well." She slipped the ring off her finger and handed it to him. "Thanks for the reminder, by the way. Give that to Bessie?"

He nodded, stepping back as she climbed into her car. "Will do."

The water's smooth, but it's slow going, the movements remembered and not all at once. The oars slide and cut through the small waves easily, her mind navigating the way, relying on current and memory to guide her.

"Where are you?"

"I'm not sure." She was practically shouting to be heard over the noise surrounding her. "Turkey, I think." She glanced over at her guide and smiled, silently thanking Andie's friend at the American Embassy for the tour guides suggestion as well as the coveted stash of condoms. "What are you doing?"

"It's Christmas!"

"What?"

"It's Christmas! And we're celebrating!" Bessie laughed, protesting as the phone was taken from her. "Bodie!"

"Jo?"

"Hey, Bodie."

"Get your butt home for Valentine's Day. Your sister's getting married."

"Yeah? Who's the poor sap she roped into that?"

"Just be here, kiddo."

It comes back eventually, the movement and feel of it. Muscles in her back and shoulders protest slightly, but it's not such a long trip. It had seemed forever so long ago.

Not that long really. Like yesterday when she'd run into someone from high school. Someone she hadn't known but who'd known enough to be malicious.

Funny that, to some people, it still mattered after all these years.

Funny it still mattered to her.

"Again?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Bess, you're not getting any younger. You and Bodie just got divorced…"

"Two years ago."

"And you and Doug just got married…"

"Over a year ago."

Joey sighed. "Don't you think three kids…"

"Four."

"Three."

"Four."

"Twins?"

"Apparently they run in the Witter family."

"You mean there could have been two Paceys?"

"Yup."

"Oh, God."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Jo?"

"Shut up." Joey laughed. "How's the proud papa?"

"Annoying. He thinks his sperm should get some sort of medal or something."

"More than I need to know about my brother-in-law."

"Where are you?"

"Wales."

"When are you coming home?"

"Soon."

She stops and rests, relaxing, feeling the water. She closes her eyes, forgetting one boy's memories for a moment, letting herself remember the other's.

The waves barely move her, bringing to mind not the ocean but the fragile sway of jerry-rigged hammocks, hung just as much on desperation and desire as on the nails he'd stolen from the boathouse.

She looks down at the water, sees quick flashes of green and silver, celluloid and mermaids swimming beneath her.

"Happy new year!"

"Do you know what time it is?"

"It's midnight here!"

"Joey…"

"I saw Dawson's film. On a marquee over here."

"Where?"

"Indonesia."

"Joey…" She could hear Bessie yawn. "It's late. Or early. Take your pick."

"I'm coming home, Bess."

"When?"

"A week?" She shrugged out of habit. "Two?"

She was good at keeping disbelief out of her voice by now. "Bring a gift."

"A gift?"

"Yeah. Your brother in law of sorts is getting married."

"What?"

"Pacey's getting married."

"Oh."

"She's nice. You'd like her." There was a soft mumbling and Bessie laughed. "Or Doug says you would if you didn't have that weird protective thing when it came to Pacey." She paused, listening to the silence. "Jo?"

The sounds from the shore catch her attention and she heads toward them. The big white house doesn't seem so big anymore and it's been painted a pale gray. There are people on the lawn and a small speedboat at the dock.

The smaller house off to the side is a bustle of activity, summer families moving things in, preparing for a three-month vacation from whatever reality it is they come from.

She watches for a while, the sleek silver SUV looking nothing like the taxicab that changed her life.

"Bess? I got your message. I'm sorry it took so long to call. What's wrong?"

"Joey?" Her voice broke halfway through her name.

"Bessie? What is it? Are you okay? Doug? The kids? Tell me."

"Jen."

"Jen?"

"Jen and Michael were in a wreck. A drunk driver…"

"No."

"It was instant for them, but Caitlyn…"

"Is she okay?"

"She was alive when they found her, but they weren't…"

"Oh, God. Grams?"

"She had a heart attack, but she's okay. She's getting older though, so…"

"I'll come home for the funeral."

"Joey, it was last week."

Tears sting her eyes, regret and sorrow. Jealousy. She laughs through the saltiness. In the end, that's what Jen made her do.

She brushes the tears away and focuses again on the house that was her only destination other than 'out of here'.

Voices carry over the water, laughter as a group of kids chase each other across the slightly sloped lawn.

"Bessie?"

"She's sleeping, Jo."

"Doug?"

"Yeah?"

"I just heard."

"She's been waiting for your call."

"Why did she wait so long to tell me?" She stopped, knowing the answer. "Is she…Is there anything I can do?"

"Come home."

There's a splash not far away, startling her. She jerks back, watching as two teenage boys start splashing each other, tossing mild taunts at one another. Two girls, she laughs, a blonde and a brunette, stand on the platform, watching them with a mixture of disgust and amusement, tinged with desire. A heady concoction, if she remembers correctly.

"Had you talked to him since…?"

"No." She stared at the paper in disbelief. "I never even tried."

"Where are you?"

"Mexico."

"There aren't a lot of details. Some lunatic, Oliver something-or-other, got onto the set and mowed everyone down."

"I knew him. Oliver."

"He said Dawson stole his movie and his soul."

"How bad?"

"You really don't want to know."

"Were there any survivors?"

"Dawson's mentor, what was his name?"

"Todd?"

"Yeah. He was wounded, but survived. Says he's going to make a movie out of it as a tribute to Dawson."

Joey laughed thickly, sniffling. "He'd like that."

"Yeah. I thought so too."

"How's Pacey handling it?"

Doug sighed. "Okay, I think. You know my little brother. Showing emotion isn't always his strong suit."

She blinks rapidly at the fading sun, shivering as night begins to fall. She flexes her fingers, stretching her arms as well before grabbing the oars and placing them back in the water, taking her first stroke toward home.

"So, one of these days, I want to see this infamous passport." He coughed roughly. "You know, the one you were so petrified you'd never fill."

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, I guess I should have listened to you, huh?"

"Of course you should have. I've been telling you that all along."

"As I recall, the few times I've listened to you in my life, I got into a hell of a lot of trouble."

"But you had a hell of a lot of fun, didn't you?"

She smiled, hoping he'd sense it. "You know I did."

"Of course I do, Potter." He paused, coughing away from the phone so she wouldn't hear the ratchety sound. "When you comin' home?"

"Soon."

"Make it quick, Potter. Otherwise you won't get to kiss me goodbye."

She stops in the middle. She thinks it's the middle. It feels right, comfortable and, since the middle is where she always seemed to be, she trusts her instincts.

She got off the plane a week ago to see nieces and nephews for the first time in forever and a few of them, for the first time in anything more than a photograph or phone call.

She'd missed Doug's funeral by two weeks but she knows no one is surprised. Jack is running the B&B with Alex, the other three kids leading lives she knows nothing about.

"You didn't tell me I was being selfish." She says the words aloud, not sure who they're meant for. Bessie would have told her she deserved it for herself. Dawson would have used it against her. Pacey would have made her figure it out for herself. Jen, she decides. Jen would have told her. But she wouldn't have listened.

She closes her eyes again and lets the not so quiet sounds of a no-longer so quiet town wash over her.

She's old and for over two thirds of her life now, she's been selfish. Her passport is full of colorful stamps; her life is dulled by absence.

She steadies the boat as she nears the dock, holding it and hissing softly as she slips from its safe confines to the cold water of the creek. She walks away from the dock, letting it seep into her bones, freezing flesh and freezing memory.

She's going home, she thinks, in her one last selfish act.

And she'll be there soon.

3/28/03