up to our hips.”
She went on to tell her she’d collected several flawless sand dollars. “Jarvis didn’t care about that stuff, but he knew it was a perfect day for me. Excited with my bounty, I waded back to the boat but stepped on the sharp edge of that shell.”
She removed her shoe, showing Amanda the scar in the middle of her foot. “It bled like a shark had bitten me, blood pooling in the water around my calves.”
“That sounds so painful.”
“It was. Jarvis picked me up and carried me to the boat. He took off his shirt and wrapped my foot to slow the bleeding. Then he grabbed a roll of silver duct tape and slapped it on the gash to hold it together until he got me to the hospital.”
“Oh. My. Gosh.”
“I bet you’re wondering if I dropped my sand dollars.”
Amanda laughed. “Actually, knowing you, I’d be surprised if you did.”
“You’d be right. I didn’t drop any, but a few ended up with bloodstains that I never could get out. They’re in the window in my special room.”
“That’s a story.”
“Jarvis was so sweet, sitting with me for hours in the emergency room, holding my hand and getting me cups of water. He was good about things like that. That shell was a symbol of how much he loved me. How he’d take care of me. I knew if I fell ill, I’d be in excellent hands with him. Never had crossed my mind that he’d be the first to go, or that it would be with no notice.”
Amanda waited while Maeve seemed to gather her thoughts.
“I hate that we didn’t get to say proper goodbyes, but I know it was better for him that way. I hope for the same for myself—to just not wake up one morning.”
“I can see why that shell was so special to you. But what made you write that message, and how did Becky end up with it?”
“Do you remember I told you about taking out the boat in the rain? After Jarvis died?” She cast a questioning glance at Amanda. “Out of the thin air that night—the night I couldn’t go on—I took action. I took that shell down from the mantel, where it had been since the weekend we found it. I sat at the table on our sunporch under the light of a single bulb and carefully wrote a note to Jarvis.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“I can still feel the marker in my hand that night. My skin was so dehydrated from having laid in bed, trying to die—no food or water—that my skin sort of hung to the marker. That’s when I wrote, ‘I can’t wait to be with you, but until then know I’m gathering treasures and stories to share.’ ”
“So how did Becky get that shell?” Amanda leaned in.
“I honestly can’t say. I dropped it in the water. I watched it sink. But that one—for Jarvis and the first shell I ever deposited—like so many of them, came back. Not directly to me, but it was a sign of some sort. Maybe that all of our lives are intertwined.”
“Maeve, my life intertwining with yours has been a gift.”
“And you and Hailey and Jesse are gifts to me.”
Amanda let the story soak in. She held her hand to her heart. She ached for Maeve, and for her own loss. It is her. It’s always been Maeve. “The other shells? Were you behind them all?”
Maeve smiled gently and nodded. “Even the ones that you found. On the dune and by your mailbox.”
Amanda recalled the words from the shell that had been by the mailbox: “Interrupt worry with gratitude.”
“But, Amanda, not every shell I wrote landed where I thought it would. I did find that shell the day I made the decision to go to Judy’s; however, I didn’t write that one for me. I don’t really remember who I’d written it for or where I’d left it, but I think it was my handwriting. And I needed that message at that time.”
“Your advice has helped so many.”
Maeve shook her head. “No, Amanda, I wasn’t the messenger. I was just the shell collector. I found the treasures and shared them when I thought someone needed to be reminded of hope, but when and where those shells were found was out of my hands.”
“Those shells were your gift. It is truly amazing, Maeve. The note in Becky’s shell was so perfect for you to Jarvis—and Kimmy and her new twins. Does