She jumped to a sitting position. Her doorbell rang—the scraping sand was only the couch where she’d slipped from the pillows. She rubbed at her tear-salted face, believing for one moment it was the salt of the sea. She stood, unsure of place and time.

She walked down the hall to the front door. Carol Anne’s face peeked through the cut glass from outside. Even through the distorted view, etched lines of concern on her friend’s face were evident.

Amy waved at Carol Anne and reached above the doorframe for the key, moving in slow motion. She opened the door, smiled.

“Okay, that is the worst fake smile you’ve ever manufactured.” Carol Anne hugged her.

“Well, thank you.”

Carol Anne looked past Amy into the house. “Are you going to make me stand outside or let me in? You hiding something in there?”

“I’m sorry. Come in. Not that you need me to tell you to.”

“Okay, what exactly is your problem?” Carol Anne leaned against the huntboard table in the main hall.

Amy noticed a gaping seam in the antique wallpaper; she licked her finger, pushed the paper to the wall. “Oh, look. The wallpaper is peeling there.”

“Your whole house is peeling, Amy. You love that.” A crease of unease formed between Carol Anne’s eyes. “You’re out of it. What’s going on?”

Amy looked at Carol Anne. “Not that I’m not glad to see you and all that, but why are you here?”

“You are out of it. We have plans to go Christmas shopping, remember? It is Saturday, two o’clock, right?”

Amy looked up at the grandfather clock, leaning precariously as it had done for eighteen years since she’d bought it at an art auction with Phil. She’d wanted that clock too, right? She’d agreed with Phil, hadn’t she?

Yes, it was two o’clock, and suddenly her dream of the sea and the oyster shells felt far more vivid, authentic, than Carol Anne standing in her hall, reminding her it was time to go and do.

She wanted to return to the dream, to the floating and celebration. She wanted to know where the dream, the sea would carry her.

“I don’t feel like it today. I’m tired.”

“Well, you are going. I can’t stand you like this.”

“No. I really don’t want to. I can finish my Christmas shopping on the Web. Really. I’m sorry I forgot . . . maybe I’m catching that winter flu going around.”

“You aren’t catchin’ anything but a sickness of the heart. I won’t allow this to happen again. No way.”

“What are you talking about?”