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bad for a long time. It had taken a while for me to find much joy in things. Probably, I thought, that’s why, after being shot in Boston, I had taken my police disability money and moved to the Vineyard. Down here I knew I could do simple things that might heal me: fish, keep my garden, hunt ducks and geese and deer, be onthe beach at sunup or sunset or midnight. And I didn’t have to talk to people about the turns my life had taken: the loss of my wife, the addition of a bullet near my spine, my private encounters with the void.
    And the island magic had worked. Prospero had waved his wand and made me better. Not perfect, but better. The sea is a great redeemer, after all. And then I’d met Zee and had gotten better still.
    But now Aunt Emily thought it was time for Zee to start mingling with “proper society.”
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘proper society’?” I asked, trying to act as if I didn’t know.
    â€œAunt Emily thinks it’s time I started mixing with men and women again. That it’s time to leave Paul behind and get on with my life. Aunt Amelia thinks so too. She’s had to do the same thing since Uncle Ray died, and she says that divorces and deaths are a lot alike for the survivors. I think she’s right.”
    So did I, having experienced both kinds of loss. Joy was still possible, but you had to seek it and then open yourself up to it. You had to take a chance on suffering other losses, because that was better than living in old sorrows. I believed that the Buddha was right when he said that life is suffering, but I had never liked people who dwelt on their own. They had some kind of self-pity in them that was distasteful to me. I considered myself an expert on self-pity, having engaged in more than my share from time to time.
    Zee said, “Of course Aunt Amelia and Aunt Emily don’t agree at all about who I should be mixing with. Aunt Emily wants to introduce me to some very proper people who will be at the big event on Saturday. Aunt Amelia thinks that you’re more the type for me.”
    Good old Aunt Amelia! I brightened inside.
    â€œYou’ve helped me more than anybody,” said Zee, surprising me. “You and Aunt Amelia. You’re both proliving, antideath people. A lot of women like me feel guiltywhen things go wrong in our lives; we think we’re to blame. My mother’s that way, but Amelia doesn’t think that and neither do you. Because of you two, I’m beginning not to think it either.” She turned her head and smiled at me. God, she was beautiful.
    But I was uneasy with such talk. “Everybody gets knocked down sooner or later,” I said. “Some get up again and some don’t. You did. Your Aunt Amelia’s right. Now it’s time for you to forget Dr. Jerk and move on.”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œTell me about the emeralds.”
    â€œAh yes, the emeralds. Well, the fact is, I don’t know much about them. Aunt Amelia never talked about them, really, maybe because Uncle Ray, being the good Azorian man that he was, didn’t have much place in his life for a wife with an emerald necklace. He and Amelia were both more interested in gardening and each other than in her past or his. She does have an old scrapbook with newspaper clippings and photos of when she was a young deb in Boston. That was before she left the debutante society to marry a Vineyard farmer. I never saw the scrapbook until after Uncle Ray died. There are some pictures and articles in there about the emeralds. Would you like to see them? I’m sure Aunt Amelia wouldn’t mind. She likes you.”
    I liked Amelia too. She was one of the people to whom I took bluefish when I was catching them. I’d never thought of her as the owner of an emerald necklace.
    â€œYes,” I said, “I would like to see that book.”
    â€œWhen we finish our tea, I’ll phone her and find out when would be a good