I turned to look at Jamie. His square jaw was peppered with the stubble of a missed morning shave. His lips were red and chapped from the chill wind but smiling still.
“God, it’s beautiful,” he’d said, his voice a clear and reverent whisper. “The edge of heaven. Even the air is just . . . Can you smell that?”
I could—juniper and ice, sunlight and pine, and the mineral-flavored bite of dust in a cold and freshening wind—the clean perfume of life above the tree line. I squeezed his hand.
A fringe of brown brows peeked out over the top of Jamie’s sunglasses. He lifted his arm, inviting me to move closer. I did and put my head on his shoulder.
“I’ve got an idea,” he’d said. “Let’s stay here forever.”
“Okay. Let’s.”
We sat there, not forever but for a long time, until the sun started to dip toward the horizon.
At our trailside camp, after a dinner of freeze-dried stew and wine, Jamie gave me my anniversary present, the beautiful watch, silver and gold with a mother-of-pearl and three small, sparkling diamonds floating behind the glass.
“Do you like it?” he’d asked, laughing when I’d gasped and threw my arms around his neck in answer. “I bought it months ago. I wrote you a card, too, but I can’t find it now. I think I might have accidentally packed it into one of the boxes.”
I hadn’t really heard that part, not then. All I’d said was, “I love it, Jamie. I love you. And I am never taking this off.”
And now, after all this time, here it was in my hand, the message he’d written to me. Jamie was bothered that he’d mislaid it. I remembered him saying something about it as we were starting off the next morning, on our last hike. But his message to me, hidden from view for so long, was more precious to me now than it could possibly have been back then because his words came to me fresh and at the moment I most needed to hear them.
Ten months after we got married, I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t live until our first anniversary, so I wrote you another note and gave it to my mom to give to you if I died. I wrote to say how much I loved you, and how I didn’t want you to be sad after I was gone, because you made me happy and my life amazing, and how I wanted you to find someone else to love after I was gone, someone who would love you the way I did—one hundred percent, all-in, forever and ever.
I’m so grateful that you never had to read that note. In spite of all my brave talk back then about beating the odds, I didn’t really believe we’d get to this day. But you gave me a reason to keep going when I thought I couldn’t. You made me want to live and, because of you, I did. Every extra day I’ve had with you has been a gift, like opening a great surprise package every day for ten years.
The great thing about almost dying is that you are constantly aware of how incredibly priceless and completely uncertain every moment is and that, when you find what you really want out of life, you’ve got to go for it because you might not get another chance.
But, come to think of it, maybe I knew that even before I got sick. From that first day we talked, I also realized we were supposed to be together. But you were so shy and self-conscious, and it seemed kind of crazy, even to me. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince you, but I’m glad I didn’t talk myself out of trying. You’ve made me so happy and I love you so much. Every mile I walked to make you mine was worth it a thousand times over.
If tomorrow were my last day, I’d have no regrets. That’s the gift I really wish I could give you, a life with no regrets. But that’s something you have to do for yourself, so I’m giving you this watch instead, to remind you of all the good things I want for you and that I love you—
“One hundred percent, all-in, forever and ever. Jamie,” I said, reading the last lines aloud. I clutched the card to my heart and looked up. “Thank you, babe. Message received.”
A few minutes later and more awake than ever, I climbed back into bed, bringing my laptop with me. The sound of the computer booting disturbed Maisie. She opened one eye and glared at me.
“Sorry, punkin. I just had an idea,” I said, typing the words “business plans” into the search bar. “Go back to sleep. This shouldn’t take long.”
Twenty-seven hours later—only five of them spent sleeping—I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to tell somebody, somebody who actually knew something about running a business. It took six rings for her to answer.
“Monica? Are you up?”
“That depends,” she said groggily. “What time is it?”
“Six o’clock.”
“I would have been, in about half an hour. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . . I had an idea.”
“An idea? You woke me out of a dead sleep to tell me about an idea?” Monica groaned. “This better be good, Grace.”
“It is,” I said. “I really think it is.”
Chapter 25
Monica
“Twelve dollars a pound. For branzino? You’re kidding, right?”
Tony, my seafood wholesaler, shook his balding head.
“It’s been a bad year. The catch was way down, so the prices went up.” He shrugged. “What can I tell you, Monica? Supply and demand. At twelve bucks a pound, I’m practically losing money on that fish.”
“Sure, sure, Tony. I get it. Everybody’s got to make a living. But the median price point for my
