“I know.” And if she forgot, there would surely be someone else to remind her. She didn’t know how to respond to all these people who seemed to actually care about her well-being. She didn’t like feelings. Admitting there was a trove of buried emotions underneath her happy-go-lucky exterior simply wasn’t good for her.

“If I’d lost you, well, that just wouldn’t do, now would it?”

Maggie’s gray hair was cut short, and she wasn’t fancy or elegant. She was down-to-earth and real. Maybe that was why Louisa liked her so much, why she’d been so drawn to her when she moved back. “Real” was hard to find these days. The older woman had always prided herself on speaking her mind.

Some of that had rubbed off on Louisa, and she was glad it had. It came in handy sometimes to be able to say exactly what she was thinking. Though it occurred to her she could never put into words what she was thinking about this morning’s events. Still too many feelings.

“Want to talk about your birthday party?” Louisa would love to talk about anything but her near-death experience.

Maggie grew quiet.

In the silence, Louisa heard the words the other woman didn’t say. This would likely be her last birthday, and to that end, Louisa had proposed a big bash—a fish fry down on the beach, maybe, or a clambake. A party to end all parties—a celebration of the life of Maggie Fisher.

“I haven’t thought much about it,” Maggie said. “And I don’t think now is the time for working. You need to rest, and that means turning off your brain.”

Louisa sighed. Sometimes she feared that if she turned off her brain, she wouldn’t get it to come back on.

There was a knock at the door, but nobody who visited her ever waited to be let in. Seconds later, Alyssa was standing in the living room.

“Is it true?” Louisa’s friend asked breathlessly.

“That she almost died today? Yes, it’s true.” Maggie harrumphed in the wicker chair, and it occurred to Louisa that she should get new cushions just to freshen up the room a little. It had been at least two years since she’d done any redecorating.

Ally waved the old woman off, pushed Louisa’s feet over, and sat down on the end of the couch, dropping her neat black purse onto the white wood-plank floor.

“Was it him?”

Louisa’s eyes widened in an effort to communicate to her friend to please shut up right now, but Ally wasn’t so great with nonverbal cues. Or shutting up.

“Was what who?” Maggie asked.