I was torn between playing along and wanting to avoid her finding it missing and accusing me of having taken it, especially because she would have been half right. “I can’t take your lucky penny.”

“But aren’t we friends?”

“I . . . I have a hole in my pocket. It’ll fall out on my way home. Will you keep it safe for me and I’ll come back and get it tomorrow?”

I could say that because neither of us really knew what “tomorrow” meant. She beamed at the responsibility.

That night she had the first stroke. Rose told me it wasn’t too bad, and when I came to visit I found her sitting up with her eyes open wide, like she was looking at something she couldn’t quite believe. Her eyes darted to me in the doorway and followed me as I settled into the chair next to her.

“It’s just so sad about the teacher.” Her sigh was almost a groan. Her wrinkles all sank downward, like she was disappointed in God.

“Your teacher?”

“I don’t know what they wanted to go to space for anyway. Why can’t anyone just stay here? Just stay, just stay.”

Nothing I said would get through. Helen and Nancy came later and said she must be talking about a space shuttle that had exploded, sometime before I was born. Like she was stuck on that event and couldn’t stop reliving it. “What’s a school teacher need to go to space for, anyway? Why didn’t she just stay here? Just stay . . .”

Her second stroke followed just two days later and the Swans had a meeting in the chapel.

I walk up the big staircase that leads to the porch and the entrance to the Oceanic. It’s almost grand, as grand as Shaker buildings can be, I suppose. Lots of space and air and light. The foyer has high ceilings, a wood floor, and white walls that make the room feel comforting instead of sterile. Gretchen comes out of one of the ground-floor rooms, the one they use for checkups and stuff. She’s not technically a youngster, but she’s only seventy-one. She moved here with a much older guy she was seeing. He died in the Oceanic two years ago. That’s what Rose told me, and she knows everything about everyone on Swan.

“All right, lovely? Here to visit the Duchess?”

I nod. “Can I do anything, help with anything?”

As usual, Gretchen considers my offer seriously. She ducks into her office for a moment and comes back with a tiny pair of spring-loaded scissors. “Her nails are getting a bit long. Be careful.”

“I know.” As if I would hurt her. I would never.