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still seemed in that serene state. Until Brigitte intruded, Jenna seemed almost . . . what? I reach for one of the down pillows on the sofa and wrap my arms around it. I search for the right word or emotion to describe what I saw on Jenna's face.
    Ethereal.
    Yes, that was it. As though she'd been transported to another world.
    Whatever she's taking, I want a dose!
    As for Brigitte's exchange with Jenna? Ha! "Now, that was something! Anyone who'd pull that act with me would be sorry." Sam, who's sitting on the back of the sofa looks at me, disinterested. I reach forward and let my hand rest on his back. I feel the vibration of his purring begin. Why didn't Jenna stand up to Brigitte? What's wrong with her?
    After a few minutes, I drop all thoughts of Jenna. There's time. I'll figure her out.
    I get up and walk to the windows and look at the view of the East Bay. I guesstimate where Alameda Island and the naval base are in the sea of lights. The base closed in 1997—the same year I graduated from the University of San Francisco's business school—the closure changing the island forever. But for me the island—and all it represents—lives on just as it was when I was growing up. It represents my past. My present. My future.
    I stretch my neck, putting ear to shoulder, and feel a satisfying pull. I turn my head and stretch the other way—my gaze never moving from the imagined locale of the island and the memories it holds. It's this view of the East Bay that sealed the deal on my decision to purchase the penthouse. It's this view—or, at least, the knowledge of the island's presence out there beyond the bay—that reminds me.
    Drives me.
    I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and speak to the universe the empowering vow I made so long ago. "I will never forget . . ."
    A dull ache—that void inside—nags. I place my hand on my chest and feel the beat of my heart—the assurance that I live. I am. Despite what happened there.
    "I am. And I am all that I need." I push a niggling sense of doubt down—down into the void and attempt to seal it with the reminder of the sweet irony my view offers. It is the reverse of the view I grew up with. My life is here now, part of the skyline I stared at and dreamt of belonging to for so many years.
    "Yes, I am. And I am exactly where I planned to be."
    Yet the void nags.
    I turn from the view, grab for the remote still sitting on the coffee table, point it at the blinds, push the button, and watch as they close out the city below. I walk around the back of the sofa and reach for Sam and heft him into my arms. I pull him close to my chest and hold him there. When I reach to pet his neck, it is damp.
    Damp, I'm disheartened to realize, with my own tears.

Let God be the Master over your heart. Be open to whatever He has to teach you, whether that word comes directly from Him, or through others.
    JEANNE GUYON
CHAPTER THREE
Jenna

    I STEP OFF the curb and wave. The cab cuts off another car, switches lanes, and pulls up alongside me. Cars honk and whiz past. I open the door and slide into the back seat. The inside of the cab smells like curry, and the back of the turbaned head in the driver's seat nods. "Where to, Mrs. Bouvier?"
    I glance at the driver's identification displayed on the dash and smile. I reach over the back of the seat and place my hand on the driver's shoulder. "Ahsan?" Dark eyes smile back at me from the rearview mirror. The driver turns and looks at me over his shoulder.
    "It is good to see you. Are you well?"
    "Yes . . . I'm fine. I've just come from another doctor's appointment."
    "Good news?"
    I shrug my shoulders.
    "Going home, then?"
    "No, not yet." I need time. I glance at my watch. I won't be missed, I hope, for another hour or so. "Head to the park, Ahsan, and drop me at the tea garden, wait for me, and then take me home. All right?"
    "Very good."
    "Oh, Ahsan, take Lincoln Way out to the beach and then drive back in through the