SATURDAY. My last one. The sun was shining. Odd. I always pictured this day in the cloud, in the rain or snow. In the late afternoon, Lacey sat on the sofa sipping a glass of wine. A stack of photograph albums was piled on the coffee table in front of her. She had laboriously carried these to the living room, and had sat for hours during the last few days, reviewing her life: the joy, the sorrow, the achievement, the seasons passing before her as she sought meaning one last time for the life she had lived and now must leave. Once again, she pondered her knowledge of the Universe, the Planet, and the human race, and her still unanswered question about a possible divine hand that was directing it all. I guess I'm not the only one who wonders, right to the end, what life is all about. On the floor, next to her, were her books. These too, she had fondled and looked at, one by one. She'd re-lived her own life, as it was when she had created the girls and women that lived in her pages. Silent, soft tears slipped down her cheeks, in gratitude for having been able to write these books so many people had wanted to read.

And on the sofa beside her were Jana and Scott's wedding pictures. There was her radiant daughter, resplendent in her wedding gown. Scott looked distinguished, paternal, and very happy. And there were her babies, Alyssa and Erica. Those two had been the stars of the show in their pink lace dresses and tiny tiaras, as they had sprinkled rose petals along the pathway to the wedding lectern. Lacey clutched a photo of Charlie tight to her chest for a moment, remembering how odd she had felt to be looking up at her now tall grandson. She had been so grateful to see him, and Lisa, for one last time.