“Oh, Mom . . . Poor Meredith. I wish I could have made that bracelet for her instead of . . . well, I was thinking of it as a memorial bracelet for you, but now . . .”

“I know. You’re so sweet, Addie.”

“So are you. You’re being a good friend. Meredith would be glad you’re going to be there for the service tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she would be.”

If the tables were turned, Landry knows, Meredith would be the first to get on a plane. That knowledge has been a motivating factor.

“Who all is going for sure?”

Landry told her the two she’s certain about: A-Okay and Elena. Jaycee has a business commitment in New York and can’t possibly get away.

“I know it’s going to be a sad weekend for y’all, but it’ll be nice to meet your friends in person, Mom—don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it will be,” she said, because that was the easiest answer.

In truth—she’s not so sure.

Everyone’s ambivalent about meeting under these circumstances. All this time, whenever they’ve talked about arranging an in-person get-together, Meredith was at the heart of the discussion. It’s impossible to imagine meeting at last without her there.

Landry spoke to A-Okay again on Thursday, and to Elena as well, after Meredith’s daughter posted the weekend funeral arrangements on her mother’s blog.

Elena, with her thick New England accent, was a pleasant surprise when she called that afternoon. They don’t have much in common—Elena is a decade younger, never-married schoolteacher—yet they chatted for over an hour, not just about Meredith, but about Landry’s kids and Elena’s first grade class, about travel and food and clothes and books and the sad state of Elena’s love life.

“When you live in a small town and work in a small town elementary school, it’s not easy to find a decent, eligible guy without baggage—especially when you have more than your share of it.”

“Of . . . ?” She was having a hard time following Elena’s rapid-fire speech and thick New England accent.

“Baggage. It’s hard for a guy to deal with the fact that I’m scarred—in more ways than one.” She pronounced hard and scarred as “hahd” and “scahd.”

“Everyone has baggage,” she said. “And the right guy will be able to deal with it.”

“I guess. But I haven’t found him yet.” Elena sighed, then changed the subject back to the memorial service. “If you go, I’ll go.”

“I’m going.”

“Then I’ll get a flight. There are some great fare sales out of Boston right now. I just can’t go until Saturday morning. I have a staff banquet Friday night.”

Landry assured her that was fine, then hung up and called A-Okay, who picked up this time on the first ring.

That conversation was more stilted, but only because Kay isn’t as outgoing a person as Elena. She’s friendly in her own reserved way, though, and before they hung up, she said she’d drive down to Cincinnati on Saturday.

“Drive? Really?”

“It’s only a couple of hours from here.”

“Wow. I guess I don’t know my midwestern geography very well.”

“It’s okay. I don’t know my southern geography either. I’ve never even been south of Indiana.”

“Really? You’ll have to come down and visit sometime,” Landry heard herself offering.

Kay was noncommittal. “That would be nice. I’ll have to do that sometime.”

All they have to do is get through this weekend in Cincinnati. If the three of them hit it off, great. If they don’t, they can go back to being online acquaintances, as long as the lack of anonymity doesn’t change things going forward.

“Jittery about flying?” Rob asks, glancing over at Landry as he flicks the turn signal for the airport exit.

“Me? No! I’m not afraid to fly.”

She used to be, years ago, for a while. After September eleventh.

Before cancer.

Once you’ve had cancer, phobias over mundane things like commercial air travel tend to fall by the wayside. You no longer worry about being killed in a plane crash. In the grand scheme of things—when you’re in the midst of fighting cancer, uncertain about what lies ahead—that might seem like the more merciful option.

Thank goodness those dark days are over.

As far as I’m concerned, remission is the same thing as cured, Meredith wrote once on her blog.

It isn’t really. Not as far as most doctors are concerned. Cancer is a complicated disease; far too complex to be discussed in simplistic terms.

But Landry knew what she meant.

And now that she’s been in remission for years, and her odds for a recurrence are low and shrinking by the day . . .

Yes. She’s as cured as she’s ever going to be. Her illness is behind her now. She’s stronger than she’s ever been.

She refuses to live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder as if a deadly predator is gaining on her. She’d rather focus optimistically on the future, with every reason to expect to live a long, healthy life just as her grandmother did.

Family history is in her favor. So are medical statistics for stage one cancer detected as early as hers was.

“Good,” Rob is saying as he guides the SUV onto Airport Boulevard. “You shouldn’t be afraid to fly. We’ve done enough of it over the years.”

Yes. All those winter ski trips to the Rockies, spring beach breaks in the Caribbean, long weekends in Mexico, summer vacations in Europe . . .

They may not be jet-setters, but they’ve certainly done their share of traveling.

Together, that is.

“I’m just not used to going off alone,” she tells him.

“I know you’re not. But it will be good for you. All you ever do is stay home and take care of the kids and me and the house . . .”

“I like doing those things.” Ordinary days. Ordinary nights. They’re a blessing.

“I know you do,” Rob says, “but everyone needs a change of scenery.”

“It’s not just that. It’s not like this is a pleasure trip. It’s something I need to do.”

Every time she feels a hint of misgiving about what lies ahead, she remembers something she learned in Sunday school as a little girl, and later taught her own children as well.

When faced with a difficult decision or challenging situation, it can be helpful to ask yourself what Jesus would do if he were in your shoes. The answer might just guide you to the right path.

Now, for Landry, the question had become not just, What would Jesus do? but also, What would Meredith do?

Meredith was no saint—Landry knows she’d have been the first to laugh at that notion. But she was centered, and judicious.

Five minutes later she and Rob are out of the car in front of the terminal, the rear flashers blinking red in the darkness. Rob wanted to park and come in with her, but that seems silly.

She already checked in for the flight online. The printout containing her boarding pass is folded in her pocket, along with all the details of her car rental and the hotel reservation for Cincinnati. All she has to do inside is go through the TSA checkpoint to the gate. It’s not as if Rob can accompany her down there and wait until she boards.

“I’d rather you get right back home to the kids,” she tells him, as if the kids aren’t going to sleep for at least another couple of hours, even Addison.

Now that she’s leaving, she just wants to leave. A prolonged good-bye would make it even harder.

Rob takes her rolling bag out of the back, sets it on the ground, pulls up the handle. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” She removes her boarding pass from the packet of papers and shoves the rest back into her pocket. “Tell the kids I said good-bye, and I’ll call y’all when I land.”

“Call me when you get to the gate,” he says. “Just so I know you got through security okay.”

“I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. Don’t you worry.”

“I’m not worried,” she returns, but allows herself to lean on him, briefly, when he hugs her good-bye.