“I bet it’s something spiritual,” Juliet says. “You say Luke was spiritual … well, he got that from you.”

“Hmmmm,” Charlene considers.

“Maybe a psychic?” Laurie suggests.

“Damn. I didn’t think my fortunes would have this kind of impact,” Jeannie says.

“It came to me while Allie was talking.”

Allie brought her eyebrows together. “Talking about peace?”

“About darkness and light. About anticipating spring’s renewal. I know I’ll never be the same. The gift is partly how I’ll be different. Reborn.”

“It’s that you’ve survived,” I say. “You endured and are still here and talking. And aware that there’s still fun in life.”

“And giving us something from your own hands that you know we love,” Allie says. “I’m still thinking that love’s immortal. T.J. always tells me that. You know, in the Jewish religion, you live on in the acts of goodness and mercy you perform, there really isn’t a heaven or hell.”

“Maybe love is another way to say goodness and mercy, maybe they both spring from love,” Charlene says. “I’ll figure it out as I go on.”

“Be a minister.” Sissy’s head is slightly tilted and her eyes are on Charlene. “Lead others through the valley of the shadow. You have the knowledge.”

We sit stunned by this suggestion. It doesn’t seem to fit with the old Charlene and yet as she is now, her lips slightly parted, a wise but somber expression in her eyes, it seems to suit her completely.

“Yes,” Allie says.

Charlene frowns slightly, but other than that small movement, she remains immobile as we watch her think. “I don’t really believe in one denomination over another. Or even in one religion as having all the answers.”

“Maybe ecumenical?” Allie says. “Maybe for a hospice?”

“Maybe for abused women, and people in jail.” Vera meets Charlene’s eyes and they nod at each other. Charlene’s brows lift.

“Maybe,” Charlene says slowly, her attitude one of completion.

“Wouldn’t that be one helluva gift that Luke gave you? Being a minister?” I say.

“I sense it in you.” Sissy hasn’t moved: her head remains tilted, her palms rest on her knees. “I been thinking about it for myself, the next step in my nursing ’cause medicine is only a part of the healing.”

“It’s a good idea, Sissy. Thank you.” Charlene sits down, leans against the back of the chair, her arms resting on the arms and her palms draping over the ends. She sits like a lioness or a sphinx, motionless, the jaguar-printed jacket now perfect for her pose.

I know it’s my turn next. When I look outside, there’s no wind. The snow has individual, fluffy flakes. Each one is the size of a nickel. They come straight down. Everything is still except for the snow falling to the ground.