“So.” Carlynn leaned forward in her chair. “You are little Shanti Joy.”

“Yes.” Joelle smiled. “But I go by Joelle D’Angelo now.”

Joelle thought she saw understanding in the older woman’s smile. “When did you change your name?” she asked.

“When I was ten. My parents and I left the Cabrial Commune then, and even though we were living in Berkeley, the name Shanti was just a bit much for me.” She grinned. “So I took a combination of my parents’ names. John and Ellen.”

“Ah.” Carlynn nodded. “That’s how I came by my name, too. Only Carlynn is a combination of my grandparents’ names—Carl and Lena.”

Joelle cocked her head to one side. “Do you remember when I was born?” she asked.

“Yes, certainly.”

“Do you think you really healed me, or do you think I simply started breathing, finally? Forgive my skepticism.”

“It’s difficult to know, Joelle,” she said, using her chosen name easily. “I put my hands on you. You began to breathe, whether it was a coincidence or not. Neither you nor I will ever know. But here you are, alive, looking lovely, and that’s what matters.”

“I guess so,” Joelle said. “But just in case it was a true…healing, I’m glad you were there.”

“I am, too.” Carlynn narrowed her gaze at her. “But what brings you here now?” she asked.

“I have a friend,” Joelle began. “Mara. She had an aneurysm that left her with severe brain damage. She’s in a nursing home, and she’s not expected to regain any more of her functioning. I know it’s a long shot, especially since I am, as I already pointed out, a skeptic—” she smiled at Carlynn “—but I thought it was at least worth talking to you about it, because there’s no other hope. Do you think there’s anything you could do for her?”

She expected Carlynn to smile with sympathy and tell her, as the woman over the phone had already made clear, that she no longer took special requests for healings. So she was surprised when the older woman settled back in the leather chair as though expecting a long conversation and said, “Tell me more about this friend of yours.”

Joelle was not certain what to say. What information would help a healer? “Well, she was a psychiatrist, and she—”

“No,” Carlynn interrupted her, but her voice was soft and kind. She stood up and, without her cane, walked slowly across the room to sit facing Joelle on the sofa. “Tell me about Mara through your eyes, Joelle,” she said. “What was your experience of your friend?”

Instantly, Joelle pictured her best friend in a collage of images. Laughing with her on a hike, talking with her about a case in the hallway of the Women’s Wing, holding Liam’s hand as she struggled to give birth to her son, lying in the nursing home asleep, her jaw slack, her head rolled forward.

Mara.

Joelle was going to cry. The sensation came over her suddenly, and she felt the liquid burn in her eyes, the swelling of her nose. She pressed her hand to the side of her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said as a tear slipped over her fingers.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Carlynn stood up again and walked over to the end table near the leather chair for a box of tissues, which she brought back to Joelle, setting it between them on the sofa. “She’s obviously someone you care for deeply,” she said, taking her seat near Joelle again.

Joelle could only nod, pulling a tissue from the box and pressing it to her eyes. “She was my best friend.” She choked the words out, and Carlynn nodded.

“Take your time,” she said.

It was another minute before Joelle could continue.

“I started working as a social worker at Silas Memorial ten years ago, when I was twenty-four, just out of graduate school. I was pretty green. The opening they had was in the maternity unit, so that was where I landed. The second day that I was there, I was given this difficult case.” Joelle smiled to herself. “At least, it seemed difficult to me back then. It was a woman who had lost a baby and was slipping into severe postpartum psychosis. I needed to get a psychiatrist in for a consultation. Someone recommended I contact Mara Steele, so I called her, and she came in to see the patient. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her. That she was an M.D., I mean. She was only twenty-six years old, but she was one of those kids who just flew through high school and college and then on to medical school.”

Carlynn nodded. “She already sounds quite special,” she said.

“Yes,” Joelle agreed. “Her expertise was in working with maternity issues—pregnancy loss, infertility, neonatal intensive care, that sort of thing. She was drawn to that type of work, even though she never wanted a baby of her own.

“Anyhow, it was late in the day after she’d seen the patient, and she suggested we get something to eat and discuss the case over dinner. Dinner lasted four hours.” Joelle smiled at Carlynn with the memory. She and Mara had talked about the patient, yes, but that conversation had segued into everything else under the sun. Joelle told her about Rusty, whom she had married only weeks before. How she had met him in graduate school, how he had dropped out to pursue a career in computers. He was making more money than she would ever make as a social worker, and she knew it had been the right move for him: he’d never been cut out for working with people. Rusty and machinery were a far better fit. She’d been attracted to his intelligence, and perhaps, as she later admitted to herself, to the fact that her parents thought he was completely wrong for her. She should have listened to them.

Mara had talked about her lack of a social life. The previous years had been dedicated to her education and to getting a private practice off the ground, and she’d had little time for men. Joelle knew that Mara would have trouble finding a man who was not threatened by her intelligence, education and beauty. Back then, Mara had worn her shimmery dark hair to her shoulders. She had intense, large, dark brown eyes, clear fair skin, and was undeniably extraordinary-looking. Sitting with Mara in the restaurant that night, Joelle had felt physically small, girlish and simple, although Mara did nothing to intentionally cause that feeling in her. She treated Joelle as a peer, and by the end of the evening, they had made a date to go hiking together over the weekend.

“We hiked for hours that Saturday, and we got so close, closer than I’ve ever been with another friend,” Joelle said to Carlynn. “I knew I could tell her anything. I really admired her and held her up on a pedestal, but as time went on, our friendship became much more of an equal partnership. She was like a sister. I’d never had a sister, and Mara met that need for me and then some.” Joelle hoped that the mention of a sister would not bring back bad memories for Carlynn, but it was the truth. The forever bond that sisters possessed best described what she’d had with Mara.

She noticed, with embarrassment, that she had twisted the tissue into a long rope, and she set it down on her lap. Did Carlynn really want to hear all this?

“Have I told you enough?” she asked the older woman, who shook her head.

“You’re just getting started,” Carlynn said.

That pleased her, because she was finding an unexpected comfort in this telling.

“I fixed her up with her husband,” Joelle said. “There was this guy who started working in the social work department a few years after Mara and I had become friends. His name is Liam. He’s attractive, smart and just a nice guy—” she felt her cheeks growing hot and quickly continued “—and he played folk music semiprofessionally at some of the clubs in town. Mara was also into folk music. She played guitar and she sang, but just as a hobby. I knew Liam was single and hoping to meet someone, but he seemed resistant to being fixed up. So I had a party and invited both of them. I told everyone to bring musical instruments, even if it meant a comb with tissue paper over it, which it did in my case.” Rusty had hated the idea. He’d endured the get-together rather than enjoyed it. Remembering how poorly he’d fit into her social scene made her cringe.

“So everyone came,” she said, “and we had a great time. By ten o’clock, Liam and Mara were singing and playing their guitars together, which was exactly what I’d hoped would happen, and by midnight they were off in another room, working out different songs, teaching each other their favorites. By one o’clock, they’d put down their guitars and were deep in conversation. Everyone else had left, so I just closed the door to the room they were in, while Rusty and I cleaned up and went to bed. They were gone in the morning, but that was the start of their relationship.”

Liam and Mara had thanked her over and over again once they realized her role in bringing them together. They’d never stopped thanking her.

“I’m telling you way too much,” Joelle said.

“No, honey, you’re not.” Carlynn moved a bit closer and took her hands, holding them on her knees. The older woman’s hands were delicate and bony, with a yellowish cast to the dry, warm skin. “Tell me about their wedding,” she said.

“Well,” Joelle said, feeling only a bit awkward with the new intimacy between herself and the healer. “They were married a couple of years later, on the beach at Asilomar. I was their matron of honor.” She recalled her happiness at seeing her two friends together, a happiness that was tinged with envy because she knew she and Rusty would never have the sort of relationship Mara and Liam enjoyed. “They started playing together at clubs then. They called themselves Sommers and Steele, and they had a real following.”

Occasionally, she would be in the audience at a club where they were performing, and they would play the song they’d written for her—a funny, poignant song of teasing gratitude for fixing them up—that would make her blush and the audience laugh.