“Whatever you do,” I said, “do not ask them about this. If they want us to know, they’ll tell us.”

“But…” she whined.

“But nothing, Olivia. Promise me.”

“Well…”

“If you don’t promise me right now, I’m going to quit sharing these fun secrets with you. When I see something scandalous, I’m just going to keep it to myself.” We both knew that was a lie. What was the fun of even knowing a secret in the first place if you didn’t have a best friend to tell?

Falling quiet, we both knew what the other was thinking: this phase of our lives was about to be over. Well, no, not entirely. Charles and I were only moving one hundred yards to the east. But I would no longer be calling Olivia from precisely the same places I had called her from since we were kids.

Ever upbeat, she tried to bolster me. A good portion of Olivia’s childhood memories, too, were tied up in Dogwood, maybe just as many as in her own home. Nothing would change. But so would everything. But neither of us said it, so the thought just lingered in the air, each of us picking it up and putting it back down again, letting it float off into the dark night.

“Fine.” She sighed. “I won’t say anything.” She paused. “But do you think it could possibly be true?”

I had cried myself to sleep for several nights after Amelia broke up with Harris. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to find a man who could love her the way she deserved to be loved. And I’d thought he was the man who could do that.

I couldn’t fathom why she had broken up with him. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, and yes, as much as I hate to admit it, I had been a little ugly to her about it. But I’m her mother, and I know best. At least, I thought I knew best. I had been bugging Amelia for weeks, mercilessly, about why on God’s green earth she had let that perfect man go. And now, watching her kiss the boy next door in the dark, in the sound, knowing I should look away, I finally understood.

Greer JUNE 17, 2016

THINGS WITH AMELIA DIDN’T GO exactly as I had planned. I don’t know what I thought would happen. I guess I thought she would jump up and down, throw caution to the wind, be absolutely thrilled. But she wasn’t.

She said, “Why don’t you just tell them you can’t do it?”

I had scoffed at that. I was here because I was pretty sure she understood me better than most people. But if she had really known me at all, she would have known that I would never say I couldn’t do something. Even this. Even now. I knew I shouldn’t have put it off. I knew I should have dealt with it sooner, but even though I knew logically that I was dying, I don’t think I had quite accepted it yet, and now I was running out of time.