Page 82 of Summer Light on Nantucket

And she had, hadn’t she?

Her phone pinged. It was Roland, and she was delighted to emerge from the swamp of her thoughts.

“Hello, Blythe. How are you? How is our patient?”

“I’m well. I saw her briefly this morning and she was sleeping.”

“If you return to the hospital at any time today, I’d be grateful for a ride. I’m on Lily Street, not far from your house.”

“Of course. Want to go now?”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“See you then.”

When she pulled into the driveway at Roland’s house, he was standing on the front porch, waiting for her. He was a tall man, slightly hunched by age, and still handsome. He’d dressed carefully in khakis and a button-down shirt.

They greeted each other, he buckled into the car, and Blythe headed toward the hospital. Roland sat very straight, but his face was strained.

“Are you okay, Roland?”

“Oh, you know, just worried about Celeste.”

“She’s strong. She’ll recover.”

“I hope so. If I may say something, Blythe…”

Blythe laughed. “Now youhaveto say something!”

Roland shifted uncomfortably, straightening his seatbelt. “Celeste told me that when Bob and Kate and you and all her grandchildren were safe and settled, she wouldn’t mind dying.”

“Oh, my God!” Blythe wheeled the car into the emergency parking lot so fast the tires squealed. “Roland, why was Celeste talking with you aboutdying?”

Roland chuckled. “Blythe, old people are always talking about dying. Like, have you bought your plot at the cemetery yet? What do you want on your headstone?”

“Isn’t that…I don’t know…morbid?”

“It’s being prepared,” Roland said calmly.

Blythe slotted the minivan in between two other cars and killed the engine. She stared at the older man sitting next to her and forced herself to concentrate on him, on his careworn face with wrinkles and creases and hair sticking out of his ears and his nose. Age spots dottedhis face and hands. She could tell by his bright blue eyes and his easy smile that he had been movie-star handsome when he was younger.

Roland reached over and took Blythe’s hand. “Dear girl, Celeste and I have both had full lives. We’re more worried about being a problem for our children than we are about dying.” He grinned, as if telling Blythe a joke. “Celeste has written in her will that what she wants engraved on her headstone is ‘I Had a Great Time.’ ”

Blythe burst into tears. Roland unsnapped his seatbelt and moved closer to Blythe, hugging her against him, one arm holding her close while he slowly smoothed her hair as she cried into his shoulder.

Blythe choked out a sound that was half-laugh, half-cry. “I don’t want Celeste to die,” Blythe blubbered. “I need her. My children need her.”

“I know,” Roland said quietly.

When she was all cried out, Blythe said, “Thank you, Roland.”

He said, “You’re welcome, Blythe.”

As they left the car and walked toward the emergency entrance, she said, “If Celeste lives, I hope you marry her.”

Roland laughed. “Let’s go one step at a time, shall we?”

And then they were through the sliding glass doors, searching for the desk, noticing the number of chairs filled with people.

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