Addie began to consider the possibilities. And as Tye had said, why not? After hanging up, she spent the next hour and a half on her phone and computer, booking flights and explaining her plans to the administrator of her own hospital in Wilna Creek.

She was already thinking that she would buy a couple of new outfits when she arrived. Something in black would be best. She’d walk a lot while she was there, start losing some of the extra pounds. She had never been to Sweden. Stockholm was probably beautiful over the Christmas season. Tye had told her he’d arrange for her to attend one or two sessions at the conference, but only if she wanted to. She might want nothing more than to relax and be a tourist. She might want nothing more than to have breakfast in bed every morning.

She and Tye might give themselves another chance. Maybe they were ready. She had made the right decision. She was sure of this.

SHE ENTERED THE CHURCH from a side door near the front, walking behind Sybil’s family. The church was long and narrow, the pews almost full. Sybil’s family had lived in Greenley for generations, so it was no surprise that so many friends had showed up in support. Addie looked out over the sea of faces and wondered if she would know anyone apart from the people in the first two rows. Wondered who would understand what it was like: to be here, to have been with Sybil over this terrible journey—right through to its end.

And there they suddenly were, filing in, the members of her company. Hazzley and Tom and Chiyo and Gwen and Allam. They were sliding along the pew in the back row and taking their places. Cass and Rice were with them.

They will understand, she said silently, and felt herself enfolded by their compassion and concern. The combined strength of her friends moved through her as she took her place in the oak pew behind Sybil’s mom. They had been behind her the past four months, and they would be there for her in the months to come.

The service was brief. When the officiant spoke, she didn’t say that Sybil’s spirit would go on. She didn’t say that her consciousness, her personality, would live beyond the flesh. No. She said, “Sybil’s story will survive. Though the physical body dies, the story continues. Sybil’s story will carry on through the many people who knew her and loved her.”

Addie was thankful for this. Thankful for having known Sybil these many years. She said her own small prayer and released a long, slow sob.

A voice that is mine cries: Deo gratias—

For this awakening, for this life,

For these sweet lungfuls of grief.

Everyone rose, and while the organist played Bach, the pallbearers escorted the casket to the exit. Each row emptied in turn, everyone falling in behind the family. When Addie passed her friends in the back pew, she looked over to acknowledge them with a smile of thanks. And once again was filled with gratitude.