It’s been two years since I moved out here with Mom. I’m the midwife, also known as the crazy dog lady by the locals. I have my own dog Tramp, a rescue from the streets. Tramp’s been neutered, vaccinated, and undergoes regular flea treatments. He sleeps at the foot of my bed. I started my own unofficial rescue operation, funded by my earnings. At any given time, I feed and care for up to ten dogs who all get the same medical treatment and food as Tramp.

There’s a hand-painted sign that hangs over the front door of the tiny cottage I call my home—Jane & Maggie’s Dog Rescue. The locals know to bring the most pitiful of the street mutts to me. Whenever someone asks who Jane and Maggie are, I tell them they were two ladies who had a soft spot for cats but wouldn’t hesitate to help a dog in need. If they ask where they are, I tell them they’re in Heaven with the angels because that’s what most people around here would want to believe.

En el cielo con los ángeles.

Mom lives down the street, and we see each other every day at work and at home. The clinic was built with enough money left over to build a new school. Occasionally, I fill in as a substitute teacher. I keep a copy of The Wizard of Oz by my bedside because it reminds me, like Dorothy, that grace wasn’t something I had to seek—it was there all along. All I had to do was believe in its power, in my power to forgive and to love, myself as well as others.

A few weeks ago, Luke sent a newspaper clipping about Carly’s arrest by the FBI. How her lawyer claimed she had been set up, and none of the charges were true. How they would fight it every step of the way and eventually prevail. How they knew things about illegal wiretapping and who was behind it. I threw the article in the garbage and emailed Luke, asking him to never send me news about Carly or her case again.

Sometimes I miss California and think that one day I might like to return. But then I look at my life and wonder if I could ever find anything to complete me in the same way my life completes me now.

But I miss the long walks through Golden Gate Park when the fog moves in and a stillness descends that seeps straight to the heart. I miss standing at Land’s End and watching the waves crash against giant boulders while huge freight ships glide by as silently as cats on velvet paws. I miss the daffodils springing forth from the anonymity of winter, their improbable sudden appearance alight with the vibrancy of life. Reminders of the eternal and unfathomable optimism that resides somewhere within us all.