Carrie sighed wearily. "Please? I need you to do this for me."

"Oh, God," she whispered. "You're sick, aren't you?"

Carrie nodded. "Yes." She patted the seat beside her. "Come."

Jill took a deep breath then sat down, her eyes searching Carrie's. "How bad?"

Carrie took her hand and brought it to her lips. "Bad. It's bad, Jill."

"Oh, God. Your headaches?"

Carrie nodded. "They found... they found tumors, Jill."

Jill stared, unable to breathe, unable to look away. "No." She shook her head. "No."

"I've been thinking. You know, it's not too late. You can stay with Craig, you can try to

salvage your marriage."

"No! No, no, no," she said loudly. "I don't want him! I don't want my marriage! I just want

you."

Carrie looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, God, Carrie. I'm sorry," she said around her tears. "I'm sorry." She drew Carrie to

her, her lips moving without thought before burying her face against Carrie.

"I love you so much," Carrie whispered. "I'm sorry."

"No." Jill cleared her throat then pulled away. "We'll get through this." She took a deep

breath and wiped at her tears. "So... what do they say? The doctors... what do we do?"

Carrie shook her head. "You don't understand. There's nothing to do."

Jill's eyes widened. "What do you mean? No treatment?"

"No. They're inoperable, Jill."

Her words sunk in and Jill slowly shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No. I won't let you

give up."

Carrie took her hand again, holding it tight. "I'm not giving up. There's nothing to give up,

Jill. There is no chance."

"There are treatments. There are always treatments."

"No. No, I won't go through that. And for what? To prolong this for another month at the

most? No. I don't want my last days on this earth to be in a hospital, hooked to machines,

stuck with needles... sick as a dog. No! I won't do it."

Jill stood, moving away from her, her eyes wide. "I call that giving up."

Carrie closed her eyes, shaking her head. "No, darling. It's just accepting reality, that's

all." She stood, slowly walked across the room to Jill. She took her hands again. "There's

not much time left," she said softly. "I know it. I can feel it. Don't make me go through

chemo." She shook her head again, finally giving in to the tears Jill knew she had been

hiding. "Don't make me do that for you."

Jill broke down then, her sobs shaking her whole body, and she clung to Carrie, taking

comfort, trying to give comfort.

"No, baby, no. Don't cry," Carrie murmured. "This won't help anything. Don't cry," she said

again. "Your tears are too valuable to lose."

"Don't leave me."

"It's not up to me."

"But—"

"No. No," she whispered, her lips lightly brushing Jill's mouth. "Please stop crying. Please?

I can't bear to see you like this."

"I'm sorry," Jill said, her tears still falling.

"We don't have much time, Jill. Not much time at all."

"Oh, God." Jill wiped at her eyes, trying to get herself under control and failing. "I'm

sorry."

"No. I'm sorry." She tried to smile. "I don't suppose there's ever a good time or place to

tell someone news like this." She took a deep breath. "I'll have to tell them tonight."

Them meant her family and the reality of their situation—of their relationship—hit home.

This was what they had. One hour each day. Even now, during this time of sorrow and angst,

that's all they would have. One hour. Her tears fell anew.

"I know, darling. I know," Carrie murmured. "As much as I want to spend my last hours with

you, we both know I can't. I'll be with my kids instead. But know my thoughts will be of you.

My last thoughts will be of you."

"No, no, no," Jill whispered.

"Please don't be sad. Look at me, Jill." Jill raised her face, ignoring the tears that flowed

freely down her cheeks. "Our souls, they're connected. We'll be together again. Just like

before. Just like now, in this life. There'll be others."

"I so want to believe you."

Carrie wiped at Jill's tears then brought their mouths together.

"Then believe."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

"You want to talk about it?"

Jill turned, startled. She shook her head, putting the swing in motion again, but he walked

closer anyway.

"I ordered a pizza for dinner," he said.

Jill cleared her throat. "I didn't feel like cooking." She knew her voice was still hoarse

from crying but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything right now.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

She sighed. "It's nothing." God, it was everything.

"You've been out here all evening." He walked out of the shadows, the moon casting the

only light. "You've been crying."

She closed her eyes. "Please, Craig. I just want to be alone."

"Is it something I've done? Something I haven't done?"

"Craig, it has nothing to do with you, with us." He stood there with his hands in the pockets

of his shorts, still watching her. "Really. I just want to be alone."

"Okay. Well, I'll let you know when the pizza is here."

"Fine."

She leaned back in the swing, her eyes closed, wishing— hoping—for a different outcome to

the day. She was beyond numb, beyond drained, beyond... empty.

They'd taken the afternoon, after she had called in to Harriet. There were questions but

none that Jill could answer. She'd simply told Harriet to shut down her computer and lock

her office. And then she'd hung up and the tears came again. So they walked to the pier

and sat. Just sat. They didn't talk much. They sat, they touched, they cried.

And at five, Carrie had gathered her close, had told her goodbye. Her eyes had been filled

with pain, pain she'd tried to hide from Jill.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

Carrie nodded. "Sure. Same as always."

Jill had driven away, her eyes glancing again and again into the rearview mirror, seeing

Carrie standing on the driveway, watching her. The feeling that she would never see Carrie

again was like an ominous premonition, one she tried to dispel as she drove away.

But now, sitting here in the dark—alone—that feeling came to her again. Much like all those

months ago when she'd first met Carrie, when she felt their meeting was preordained,

their affair inevitable. Much like that, she knew deep in her soul that she would never see

Carrie again.

And again, the tears came.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

She'd thought... maybe... Carrie's van would be there. But she wasn't really surprised to

find the driveway empty. Because she knew.

She was surprised, however, to see the roses on their table in the sunroom. Roses and a

bottle of wine. Her breath caught and she covered her mouth, trying so hard not to cry at

the sight of the lone wineglass.

"Oh, Carrie."

She stood at the door for the longest time, gathering herself, her eyes moving over the

table, seeing the papers, seeing the note. She finally moved, walking closer, instinctively

bending to smell the flowers.

"Why did you do this?" she whispered.

But the note drew her and she sat down, her eyes glancing at the words, reading them

quickly before her vision became blurry with tears.

I won't make this long. You don't need that and I'm not sure I could manage it. There are

just some things you need to know. First, the cottage. It's as much yours as mine. And it

didn't become a home to me until you came into my life. So I've transferred the title to

your name. All you need to do is sign the paperwork I've left for you. My attorney's card is

there. I've given him all of your information. He'll be in contact with you. Also, there's a

bank account that I opened in your name. It's not a huge sum, Jill, but it was mine and I

wanted you to have it, not James. It was the money from Joshua and from his land.

I know how hard this is for you. I came into your life and turned your world upside down,

and now I'm leaving you. But it doesn't hurt so much, Jill, knowing we'll be together in

another life, another time. As brief as it was, I couldn't have laved you more even if we'd

had twenty years together.

Please don't cry for me. I'll be with you. You just have to look for me. I've asked for my

ashes to be spread at the park, near the pier, where you and I walked and talked, where we

fed the ducks... where we met.

There was another sentence or two, but Jill couldn't go on. She cried out then with one

swing of her arm, she knocked the roses and wine to the floor, glass shattering on the tile

from her fit of grief. There amongst the mess stood the lone wineglass, undisturbed by

her fury.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Present Day

Jill shifted on the bench, her gaze sliding from the old woman back to the countless

headstones that dotted the landscape. "And just like that... she was gone." Jill dabbed at

her eyes, her tissue in shreds and she dug in her purse for another one. "I never saw her

again. And three weeks later, I read the news... in the paper," she said, tears again falling.