Candace’s eyes have turned silver just imagining being in a place of beauty, but the imperfection of this plan is so clear. “You know what you are asking of me,” she whispers, staring at me with her hollowed eyes.

I nod. I do know. San Rafaela is not Tucson. The air on the Pacific coast is not oven hot; it is cool and fragrant and sometimes the morning fog is as moist and damp as a blanket made of rain. It is not the place for someone with consumption.

I squeeze her hand. “If your doctor thinks your condition is indeed worsening, even here, then where do you want to spend the rest of your mortal life?” I ask. “I know where I would want to spend mine. And I know who will give Kat the kind of home you want her to have, not just for now but always. I will.”

Candace and I sit that way for several long minutes, I imploring her silently to ponder my audacious solution and she bravely considering it. I am most likely asking her to cut her life shorter than if she were to relocate to Texas, and if that isn’t enough, I’m asking her to trust me with the raising of her child.

“I need to think about this.” Candace withdraws her hand from mine. “I’m tired.”

As I rise from my chair, I can see that she is exhausted in every way. I have laid too much on her.

In the carriage back to the hotel, Kat is more withdrawn than she has been in several days, and I wonder if she heard some of Candace’s and my conversation. Even though she was absorbed in her artwork several yards away, there is nothing wrong with Kat’s hearing, and we were the only ones out on the patio today. Candace and I kept our voices low, but Kat might’ve heard enough to understand that life is full of difficult choices.

The next day when we return to Las Palomas, the nurse comes out to the reception area and tells me Mrs. Hocking would like to speak to her daughter alone for a little while. There is nothing I can say except that I shall wait.

Many minutes pass before the nurse returns and says that I am also now welcome out on the patio. When I reach Candace at her lounge, Kat is sitting in the chair that I often sit in and I see what appears to be a look of satisfaction on her young face. Candace looks weary today, and yet there is a look of contentment on her face as well.

“Kat and I would like to come live at the Loralei with you,” she says.

A smile spreads itself across my face and I go to them, scooping Kat onto my lap as I take the chair, and then I lean in to Candace as close as I dare. “When would you like to go?”

Candace surveys the monochrome landscape on the other side of the shade, and a bouncing tumbleweed skips by. “The sooner the better. I’ll have my lawyer make all the arrangements. It will only take a phone call. I’ll take care of it.”