Still, as the month wore on, there were times when her illness was unbearable for me, and I’d need to leave the apartment and go for a walk to clear my head. As grateful as I was to get to know her, part of me felt greedy for more. I wanted to show her around my hometown in Indiana; I wanted to dance with her at my wedding to Abigail. I wanted a photograph of her holding my son or daughter, joy shining in her eyes. I hadn’t known her long, but at some level I felt as though I knew her as intimately as I knew Abigail or my parents. I wanted more time with her, more years, and in the stretches when she slept, I sometimes broke down and wept.
Maggie must have sensed my grief. When she woke, she offered a tender smile.
“This is hard for you,” she croaked out.
“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through,” I admitted. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Do you remember what I said to Bryce about that? Not wanting to lose someone has its roots in fear.”
I knew she was right, but I wasn’t willing to lie to her. “I am afraid.”
“I know you are.” She reached for my hand; hers was covered in bruises. “But never forget that love is always stronger than fear. Love saved me, and I know it will save you, too.”
They were her very last words.
*
Maggie passed away later that night, near the end of February. For her parents’ sake, she’d arranged for a service to be held at a nearby Catholic church, even though she’d insisted on being cremated. She met the priest only once before she passed, and per her instructions, he kept the service brief. I delivered a short eulogy, though my legs seemed so weak that I felt like I would topple over. For the music, she chose “（I’ve Had） The Time of My Life,” from the movie Dirty Dancing. Her parents didn’t understand the choice, but I did, and as the song played, I tried to picture Bryce and Maggie sitting on the couch together on one of her final nights in Ocracoke.
I knew what Bryce looked like, just as I knew how Maggie had looked as a teenager. Before she passed, she’d given me the photographs that had been taken so long ago. I saw Bryce holding the plywood as he was about to board up a window; I saw Maggie kissing Daisy’s nose. She wanted me to have them because she thought that I, more than anyone, would appreciate how precious they were to her.
Strangely, they were almost as precious to me.
*
Abigail and I arrived in Ocracoke on the morning ferry, and after getting directions, we rented a golf cart and visited some of the places Maggie had described in her story. We saw the lighthouse and the British Cemetery; we drove past fishing boats in the harbor and the school that neither Maggie nor Bryce had attended. After asking around, I even found the site of the shop where Linda and Gwen once made biscuits; it now sold tourist trinkets. I didn’t know where either Linda or Bryce had lived, but I drove every street and knew I must have passed by both of their houses at least once.
Abigail and I had lunch at Howard’s Pub, then eventually made our way to the beach. In my arms, I carried an urn containing some of Maggie’s ashes; in my pocket was a letter that Maggie had written to me. Most of her remains, in another urn, were with her parents in Seattle. Before she’d passed away, Maggie had asked me if I would be willing to do her a favor, and there was no way I could say no.
Abigail and I walked down the length of the beach; I thought of the many times Maggie and Bryce had been there together. Her description had been accurate; it was austere and undeveloped, a stretch of shore untouched by modernity. Abigail held my hand, and after a while, I brought us to a halt. Though there was no way to be certain, I wanted to pick a place where Bryce and Maggie might have had their first date, a place that somehow felt right to me.
I handed the urn to Abigail and pulled the letter from my pocket. I had no idea when she’d written it; all I knew for sure was that it was on the small table beside her bed when she’d passed away. On the outside of the envelope she had scrawled instructions, asking me to read it when I was in Ocracoke.
Opening the flap, I pulled out the letter. It wasn’t long, though the writing was scratchy and sometimes difficult to decipher, a consequence of medication and weakness. I felt something else fall out as well, catching it in my hand just in time—yet another gift to me. I took a deep breath and began to read.
Dear Mark,
First, I want to thank you for finding me, for becoming my wish somehow made true.
I want you to know how special you are to me, how proud I am of you, and that I love you. I’ve told you all of these things before, but you must know that you’ve given me one of the most beautiful gifts I’ve ever received. Please thank your parents and Abigail for me again, for allowing you the time we needed to get to know, and love, each other. They, like you, are extraordinary.