She also wondered if she’d be the only one to have visibly aged. For the longest time, all of them had fallen into that category of doctor who had to fend off comments about appearing dangerously young to be practicing medicine. In her case, however, those remarks had fallen off lately. She knew why, even if she couldn’t quite see it herself. When she took in her own reflection in the mirror each morning, it appeared to be composed of the same constellation of circles as always: round hips and bust, widely spaced round eyes, a round forehead atop round cheeks bisected by a roundish nose, and the kind of fair, easily flushed skin that offered the impression she was wandering around in a state of perpetual agitation.

“Hannah!”

She looked up to see her friend Georgia in all her resplendent glory: feathered red hair, flared jeans, some kind of long hand-crocheted coat. She, at any rate, appeared exactly the same.

“Babe!” Georgia threw down her handbag, flung up her arms, and abandoned her wheeled suitcase as she reached Hannah. The combination of her forward momentum and the slight downward slope of the street sent the suitcase careening away from them toward a group of elderly tourists. Startled exclamations issued from its members as the runaway suitcase kneecapped an old guy from behind; he stumbled forward, arms pinwheeling at the unexpected attack.

Darting toward him, Georgia retrieved the man’s fallen hat, one of those Austrian numbers with a jaunty feather. “Sorry! I came in a little hot, my dude. But it’s my friend! My friend!” She lifted Hannah and spun her around, kissing her cheeks. The tour group, charmed, waved away Hannah’s attempts at another apology.

Georgia set her down and gave her an affectionate punch on the shoulder. “How are things in Del Mar?” she asked. “How’s Harry?”

“Harry’s Harry,” Hannah said. Georgia nodded, accepting this as a sufficient description; the extreme extroversion of Hannah’s husband, Harry, made him memorable to everyone he’d ever met.

“Where’s everybody else?”

“We’re the first ones.” She indicated a nondescript blue door behind them, leading to the flat they’d rented. “I thought we’d wait out here ’til the others get here.”

Hannah had been hopeful of spending more time with Georgia on this trip; as the only two of their group to live on the West Coast, she figured they’d share flights and layovers, thereby lessening the tedium of such a long journey. But Georgia had broken up the trip with several overnights in Charleston, visiting her old stomping grounds before arriving in Europe.

“Was it good going back to Charleston?”

Georgia didn’t answer immediately. She pursed her lips, accentuating the sharp definition of her cheekbones, and stared at the sky. “I guess,” she said finally.

“Georgia! What does that mean?”