Page 92 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

I continued to ruminate over when to go public with my medical prognosis. One thing I knew for sure: I had to wait till after Labor Day. I loved the symbolism of telling people at a time when the engineers were draining the life out of Magic Pond, and it gave me an eerie sense of optimism knowing that when the dredging was done, Eleanor Majek’s gift to Heartstone would have a new life and bring its restorative powers to believers for generations to come.

Monday, August 14, was a beautiful summer day, and I still felt well enough to tackle the task of running my city. I was driving to the office when Misty called.

“I need to talk,” she said.

“What’s going on?”

“Not on the phone. In person.”

“Sure,” I said. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“I’m free now,” she said. “Can you meet me at Corky’s for coffee? Please.”

Ten minutes later I walked into the diner. Misty was sitting in a booth at the rear. “Thanks for coming,” she said.

“You sounded upset. What’s wrong?”

“Ever since we were kids, we’ve trusted each other like sisters. There are no secrets between us,” she said. “Until now.”

No secrets. Until now. She’d found out, and I held my breath, dreading what she’d say next.

“Remember Hunter Wilding?” she said. She didn’t wait for an answer. “The hedge fund guy. Wilding Capital. I completely redid their offices when they moved to the Freedom Tower last year.”

“Of course I remember.”

“I’ve been dating him for the past year. I desperately wanted to tell you, but he was in the middle of an ugly divorce, and if his wife knew that he was having an affair while they were still legally married, she’d have taken him for a couple of hundred million more than she got. As much as I wanted to share it with you, I had to keep it private.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was having an affair and keeping it hidden from her best friend. I completely understood.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t feel good about keeping secrets from you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just curious—why are you telling me now?”

“Because his divorce finally came through, and now I can open up. You’re the first person I had to tell about Hunter.”

“Wow. What is he like?”

“Kind, gentle, funny, thoughtful, super nice.”

And super rich. “How serious is it?” I asked.

“Very. That’s the other thing I wanted you to be the first to know.”

Her left hand had been on her lap, and she put it on the Formica tabletop.

“Jesus,” I said, staring at the diamond ring on her finger. “That rock is as big as a Steinway.”

“I know. It’s obscene, but that’s the way Hunter is. Generous to the max.”

“So, you’re... you’re getting married.”

“Yes. Next year this time,” she said. “And I want you to be my maid of honor.”

PARTTHREE

ALL GOOD THINGS MUST COME TO AN END

FIFTY-FIVE