Then she thought, Everyone dies, absolutely everyone, there is no escaping it, so the only reasonable option was to focus on the time she had left.

Dr. Rohatgi had urged her not to look too far ahead. Take things a moment at a time, he’d said. He had given her some literature, which she stuffed into her purse, and a prescription to ease her pain. She thought of Clen, Box, Agnes, Nina Mobley, Riley, Celerie, Vaughan Oglethorpe, Diana at the pharmacy who made her coffee, people she cherished, the people who made her who she was. She would tell no one. But was that feasible? She was holding in so many secrets now. How long would it be until she burst, like a dam?

Dabney’s life had been safe with her mother, and then not safe. Then safe again, and then when Clendenin left, not safe. Then safe for a long time, but now, not safe. Everyone’s life had moments of both. She liked to believe she was special because of what she’d survived, but this last thing she would not survive. Incomprehensible. The literature in her purse was supposed to help her grapple with being terminally ill, but who wrote such literature? And how did they know the best strategies for grappling? Nobody knew what happened next.

She was relieved when Nantucket came into view—historically preserved homes and lighthouses, ponds and moors, the blue-and-white ribbon where the ocean endlessly hit the shore. The only thing Dabney had wanted, all day long, was to be back home.

In the car driving home, she decided that she would wait until Monday to tell everyone the news. She thought of Dr. Rohatgi saying, Take things a moment at a time. She wanted to go to the Levinsons’ Backyard BBQ on Saturday night, she wanted to dance, she wanted to drink wine and laugh and have fun.

She wanted to have one last perfect summer weekend.

Box asked first, and then Agnes, then Nina, then Clen: How did it go at the hospital?

Dabney said, “I had a lot of tests. One thing I know for sure is that I do not have a wheat allergy.”

Dabney would someday be too sick to go to a party, but she wasn’t too sick yet, and so on Friday morning she signed out of the log, writing errands—but instead of going to see Clen, she went to Hepburn to buy a new dress. She selected a white Dolce Vita sundress with a racerback and fringe around the waist that would swing when she danced. Despite her fear and confusion, she decided that she would dance. This, after all, might be her last chance. She bought new white sandals to match the dress—flats, nothing fancy. Dabney loved the new sundress and the new sandals and she hung the dress on the door of the closet, where she could look at it. When she woke up in the middle of the night, she saw the dress glowing white; it looked like a ghost.

Would she haunt this house after she was gone?

She supposed anything was possible.

Box brought a glass of wine up to the bedroom as Dabney was getting ready for the party.

“Here you go, darling.” Box set the wineglass on her bureau. “A dressing drink.”

Dabney moved into an embrace with her husband and clung to him in a way that probably qualified as histrionics, but what did it matter now? Surprisingly, Box reciprocated. He said, “It’s nice just to hold you.”

Dabney squeezed her eyes shut. There was no pink with Box, there had never been pink with Box, but he was a good man.

He led her over to the bed, and she worried for a second that he had intentions, possibly he wanted to try to make love to her, an endeavor that would surely embarrass them both. But Box sat on the bed next to Dabney, with her hand in both of his.

He said, “I have a confession to make.”

“You do?” she said.

He said, “I have been dreadfully jealous of Clendenin Hughes. Since the minute I learned of his existence, really. But even more so now that he’s back on Nantucket.”

Dabney stared into her lap.

Box said, “I know your past relationship with him is complicated, possibly beyond my limited understanding. I’m sure you still have still some residual feelings for him, and although I don’t know what form those feelings take, I want to apologize, because there have been some anomalies in my behavior this summer that have to do with my jealousy of him.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dabney said.

“I just want you to know that I am not as hard-hearted as you may think. Nor am I unreasonable. You should work out your feelings for Hughes, and when you come to a resolution and sense of peace regarding your relationship with him, do let me know so I can finally put the green-eyed monster to rest.” Box patted Dabney’s hand. “I’m sure it’s difficult to have him back on the island.”

“Well, yes,” she said. It was a relief to finally speak a few true words about Clen. “It is, actually.”

“Thought so,” Box said. He stood up. “Let’s go have fun tonight, shall we?”

At the party, there was valet parking; a pretty blond girl from the catering company was stationed at the entrance next to a table of deep-orange cocktails. Dabney was so entranced by the color of the drinks that it took her a second to realize the pretty blond girl was Celerie.

“Dabney!” Celerie shouted.

Dabney startled, then tried to recover quickly as Celerie gave her a power squeeze.

Dabney said, “You’re working for…?”

“Nantucket Catering Company!” Celerie said, her hands forming a V in the air. “And Riley is here, too! He’s playing the guitar in the garden!”

“Oh,” Dabney said. “How did you…?”

“My roommate works for NCC and they needed extra hands tonight, so I said I’d help out, the money is great, and I hooked Riley up.” Celerie beamed. “When the Levinsons found out we both worked at the Chamber, they were so excited! They love you! They said you matched them!”