Why was she asking this of me, of all the beings in the known universe? In concept, it sounded like the absolute pinnacle of civilization, the best humanity could hope for. How would it work out in reality? The more I thought about it, the more I thought that it might be a gesture that could free Stefan from the endless cycle of genuflection, something he could point to—at least privately: If she of all people can forgive me, so can you, and maybe even so can I.

“Does it feel like time for that?” I said.

“I think so. I don’t want to be held back emotionally. It keeps you from other chances in life.”

“Are you getting married again?”

Jill shook her head, startled. “No,” she said, almost with a snort. “I’m not seeing anybody. I think about it sometimes, though. I think about it more than I used to.”

“I thought maybe that was why you wanted to see me. Although now that I say it, there’s probably no reason on earth you’d want to share that information with me, of all people.”

“Well, no, it’s not.” She turned her face to the failing sun, and I saw how beautiful she was, how like Belinda, clearly something I didn’t want to think about every day. “But it’s kind of like that. I wanted you to know that I’m thinking of adopting a child.”

“You are?”

“Yes. This prison chaplain I met, he said something that really got to me. I was talking about how all the love that I had for Belinda, I poured love into Belinda, and that it was all gone now. And he told me not to think that way. He said no love is ever wasted. No love is ever wasted. I didn’t ever really think of it like that.”

She shrugged her shoulders and walked a few paces away from me, looking toward the dappling light around the trees. She told me about some of the research she had done, looking into adopting from Uganda or Jamaica, a slightly older child, five or six years old maybe, a girl or maybe even a boy. It was difficult for her to think about learning to love another child, but the adoption social worker she’d spoken to said some initial fear was normal, especially for someone who had suffered the kind of losses Jill had suffered. It would be strange, in fact, if she didn’t feel some worry.

“That’s probably true,” I said, still wondering why this particular chat was something she felt moved to share with me, although it might once have been something she would have brought up, on those occasions when we would sit on her porch and drink coffee, when we were friends. Perhaps it was part of her attempt to open her spirit to forgiveness. I asked her then, “Are you still a golf pro?”