Page 87 of Shell Beach

“Seattle.”

“That’s quite a ways away.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Impossible to say. It could be as long as three or four months.”

“Or nineteen.”

“No, Noah. Not ever again.”

“Just the same, Jenna, I will miss you terribly.”

She nodded. “I’ve met with Sol’s wife. She’s offered me the position of head nurse in her surgical unit.”

When Noah did not respond, she said, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Jenna, I never want to come between you and your calling. But three months . . .”

“I know.”

“I really don’t think I should say more than that.”

“I understand.”

A gull flitted down, graceful as a feathered ballerina. Noah tossed a final bit of bread, and together they watched it dance away on wings turned molten by the sunset. “What was your late sister’s name?”

“Millie,” she replied. “That’s so strange.”

“What?”

“I was just thinking about her. While we ate I had the strongest sense Millie was here with us. She always loved her sunsets.”

“Millie would be a great name for our boat,” he said. “That is, if you and the others agree.”

She reached over and settled her hand on his.

“Let’s get married,” she said.

Because it was time.