Unity unlaced her work boots at the door and walked into the kitchen. Dagmar set a bottle of red wine on the counter and got out two glasses, then opened her refrigerator. She pulled out a fresh veggie plate, two containers of dip, a bowl of hummus and some pita chips. By the time Unity had removed the cork and poured them each a glass, the snacks were set out on the island. They each took a stool, then Dagmar held up her glass.

“Tell me what happened.”

Unity briefly recounted her conversation with Phyllis. “It feels really arbitrary and, at the same time, incredibly personal. She never liked me.”

“That’s because she needs to be the queen bee and with you kicking her bony ass, that was never going to happen.” Dagmar sipped her wine. “You could take her advice and join a league with people your own age. Take Ellen with you. She can be your partner.”

Unity smiled. “Ellen doesn’t believe in organized sports. Or exercise.”

“What about your other friends?” There was something in Dagmar’s tone as she asked the question. Something Unity couldn’t put her finger on.

“You mean outside Silver Pines?”

Dagmar’s brown eyes turned sympathetic. “Yes, dear. Your friends not getting social security.”

Unity let her gaze slide to the window. “I have Ellen. Everyone else is pretty much, you know, here.” She turned back to Dagmar. “I like the activities here. I like being busy.” Her full calendar made her feel less alone. “Besides, I enjoy the people here. I think they’re interesting and fun and well traveled. I have an old soul.”

“What you have is an inability to move on with your life. Darling, I love you as much as if you were my own daughter, but come on. What are you doing? Pickleball with old people? The knitting club? Do you do anything with people your own age, ever?” She held up a hand. “Excluding Ellen and Cooper?”

Unity grabbed a slice of red pepper and took a bite.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Dagmar sighed. “It’s been three years, Unity. You’re thirty-four. You’ve been in mourning nearly 10 percent of your life.”

Ten percent of her life? Unity had never thought about it that way. Not that it changed anything—time wasn’t the issue.

“I’ve buried four husbands,” Dagmar told her. “I loved each of them and the end was always painful, but you have to keep moving forward or you stagnate and die.”

Unity shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s different for me.”

“Because you loved Stuart more? You had a greater love? I’m a terrible person for finding someone else?”

“No, of course not. It’s just—” She looked at her friend. “I only want to love Stuart.”

“He’s not coming back. Would you rather mourn him and be alone than risk the chance of finding happiness again?”

Yes. Unity didn’t say it, but she thought it and knew it to be true.