I’m ready to live my life. Okay, maybe I’m a little scared, but in a good way. I want to discover who I am on my own, what I love beyond the obvious, and what I really want for the rest of my life.

At the west end of the city, I pass a suburban strip mall I remember from the day before, with the Crowning Glory Salon, the delicious-smelling Sweet Dreams bakery and the charity called New Beginnings. The charity is closed for the day but there’s a big metal donation box in the front. Under the web address for the charity is its slogan: “Comforting women and children in need.”

On impulse, I turn into the parking lot, go around to the back of the Suburban and open the gate. Molly’s observation drifts back to me: This is about your life, Mom.

I stand there for a minute, thinking about the woman I’ve been for the past eighteen years and wondering who I’ll be for the next eighteen. It’s a bit scary to contemplate, but exciting, too.

When I grab the parcel, my resolve wavers. Then I think, go for it. The true meaning of charity is to give freely, no strings attached. I have to let go, only trusting that my gift will be out there in the world somewhere, doing whatever it’s bound to do.

And then I push the bag into the drop box, having to shove its soft bulk inch by inch through the narrow slot. At first I worry that it won’t go down the chute, and I have to push hard. Then the last bit slips through easily and disappears.

Stenciled under the chute are the words, “Thank you for your donation.”

I return to the still-running car. Something stirs inside me, a sensation as empty and light as the curling, cup-shaped leaves lifted by the autumn wind.

Stopping at the last red light before the on-ramp to the interstate, I catch the blinding beam of the late-afternoon sun in my eye. The days of summer have grown shorter. The year is getting old already.

I flip down the sun visor, and a stray slip of paper drifts into my lap. Picking it up, I unfold it and see a little smiling cartoon face, corkscrew squiggles for hair, and a note that says, “I ♥ U. Love, Molly.”

Epilogue

Epilogue

The shop called Pins & Needles looks the way it always has, since its founding decades ago. Its brick and concrete façade glows in the evening light, the windows framed with swaths of fabric. The holidays are past and winter has settled in. The air is sweet and dry with the peculiar clarity that the winter cold brings. The shop is open late tonight, but there is no business to be done.

In the window is a hand-lettered sign: “Retirement party. Come celebrate with us.”