I took a deep breath. It was my turn to tell a tale. A fierce wind rattled the leaded windows in their frames. Flurries of snow concealed the earth in a wintry blanket. How many days had we sat here? Five? Seven? I'd lost count after the electricity zapped out, leaving us to pass the time telling stories.

"All right," I said to the nine expectant faces. "I'll tell you about Nora."

***

The tiny seaplane bumped and shuttered, jarring me from horrified daydreams of death by crash landing. I removed the battered note from my pocket and read it again.

Kelley

A free ticket begs for travel.

Love,

Nora

For the last ten years, I'd meant to visit Nora on Salt Spring Island, but life kept getting in the way. Then the certified letter arrived with a free ticket and the note nestled inside. Nora sure knew how to get her way. I smiled at her neat script and pocketed the note again.

Another bump shook the tin can on wings, and I wished I'd grabbed a shot of something strong and brown before boarding the flying coffin. I chanced a glance out the foggy, oval window, and the most spectacular view greeted me. For a moment I forgot my desire to scratch my last will and testament into the seat in front of me. I gazed out over the emerald beauty of the island reminiscent of Maxime Maufra's staggering landscapes.

A few minutes later, our tiny vessel skittered its pontoons onto the surface of Ganges Harbour and taxied to the dock where Nora waited.

She looked stunning. Bright streaks of silver highlighted her shoulder length hair, sparkling in the afternoon sun. A brick-red tank top and beige skirt hugged her trim waist. We'd both become obsessed with cycling back in college, and her firm, forty-four-year-old frame was a testament to her dedication to the two-wheeled machines.

"I'm so happy you're here!" she squealed. We hugged the hug of long-lost friends.

"Don't act surprised," I said. "You knew I wouldn't pass up a free ride. Blame it on the Irish. I'm told we're cheap."

After a long moment, we released each other and stood smiling like idiots. "I bet you're hungry. I have a nice lunch waiting for us at my place." She steered me toward her shiny, black Audi A5 coupe.

"The real estate business is booming." I eyed the car whose price tag was right around my annual income.

"I had a couple great commissions this year," she said, slipping behind the wheel. "Plus a showy ride inspires confidence in the big spenders."

I slid into the passenger seat and relished in the smooth leather interior.

She started the engine. "Congratulations are in order. I saw your book on The New York Times list. The publicity must be great for your other work." Nora pulled out of the small parking lot and passed me a white travel coffee mug from the center divider.

"Vanilla latté. Thought you might need a pick me up after the early flight."

I took the coffee, reveling in its deliciousness. "A major film company has approached me to turn it into a movie."

"That's fantastic! Would you be working on the script?"

"That's one detail to work out. My agent is ecstatic. She's finally making paper off me."

Nora laughed. "After lunch, we'll do a little celebratory shopping."

"Deal." I settled back into the luxurious leather seat and sipped my tasty beverage.

We had a quiet lunch on the sunny deck of Nora's craftsman home. After we'd eaten our fill, we headed back out for supplies. I spent too much but justified my maxed Visa on needing some professional outfits for meetings with Hollywood executives.

Over dinner, a lull in the conversation gave me a perfect opening. "Nora, I know you love me, but is the island so solitary you have to import friends?" This obviously wasn't the case. Everywhere we'd gone, people had greeted Nora, making dates for coffee and drinks. It was clear everyone liked and admired her.

Nora shook her head and smiled but it didn't touch her eyes. "Can't I do something nice for my dearest friend?"

"Sure," I replied, "but buying me a ticket is above and beyond."

"It was the easiest way to get you here." Nora took a large swig of her wine.

I waited, never taking my eyes from her.

"I needed to see you." Nora tucked her manicured toes under her on the sofa. She lifted her glass and drained the rest of her pinot grigio. "I have stage three cancer," she said it like she was telling me my tag was sticking out of my collar. "It's terminal."

I stared at her, blinking.

"It's ovarian cancer that's spread to my bones. I'm dying, and not in the typical sense. I'm scheduled to die in the next year."

"Year?" I manage.

"Nine months, actually. My doctor told me to get my affairs in order." She gestured. "So here you are."

"Oh my God, Nora! I'm so sorry. What did Henry say? Stephen?" I said, referring to Nora's ex-husband and college-aged son.

Nora shrugged. "Sometimes life gives you lemons, other days it punches you in the nose. As for the boys, neither will return my calls. You're the only person I've told, and it'll remain that way."

"I don't understand. You have to tell Stephen. He's your son. He'll be heartbroken."

"Stephen is going through a phase. He's pissed at Henry and I for even conceiving him. He's punishing us by bumming around Asia for the summer. I don't where he is, and I literally can't wait for him to grow up."

More wine, I needed more wine. I wandered into the kitchen and pulled a bottle from the fridge, and found the corkscrew on the granite counter. Its arms up like a hairy underarmed hippy at a music festival. I returned to the living room, open bottle in hand. "What about radiation? Chemo?" I asked, filling our glasses.

"If they'd found the cancer earlier." She shrugged. "Once it spreads that's it." Nora gazed at me, her cheeks flushed. "I have other plans, and I need your help."

"What sort of plans?"

"I want you to help me die." As Nora uttered the words, a gleam of excitement flashed in her eyes. She loved breaking the rules.

"Shut the hell up," I whispered.

Nora leaned toward me. "I've seen those poor souls dying in the cancer wards. I watched my aunt waste away in hospice. You experienced your dad's failed battle with cancer." She took my hand. "Kelly, I have no one else. I need you."

I understood what she meant; bedridden, wracked with pain, your senses dulled by medication. It was no way to die.

"I'm still not sure I understand. How can I help?"

Nora sighed and looked guilty. "It's my life insurance. My death has to be natural or accidental. It can't be suicide, and I need the money to settle my estate after I'm gone."

Nora, the pragmatist.

"I need someone I can trust. I need you. My friend and top-notch liar." She smiled.

I flopped back onto the love seat, closing my eyes. "I knew that ticket wasn't free."

We were quiet for a time. "Kelly, I know it's a lot to process—"

I opened my eyes, sitting up.

She sighed. "I need you to be there. I don't want to die alone."

I held her gaze. "Okay, I'm in. What's your plan?"

A huge smile spread across her face. Nora launched into her scheme. I agreed, it was good. We ran through it again and again, revising it until we both agreed it was foolproof.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked.

"I think you're one sick puppy. It's a good thing you got into real estate instead of a life of crime. When do you want to do it?" A lump rose in my throat.

"In a few days. I want to spend time with you. We can explore the island, eat fried things, drink." She used her 'no pressure' voice reserved for clients reluctant to view a listing at the top of their price range.

I raised my glass. "To friendship."

"To friendship."

* * *

For the next three days we explored Salt Spring. We kayaked and swam in the beautiful calm waters surrounding the island, hiked through Ruckle Park, and mountain biked up Mt. Maxwell. In the evening we stopped by Moby's Pub to share a pitcher of beer and eat delicious fried things before bee lining over to Harlans for gelato. By week's end, Nora felt the pace. While she kept her discomfort to herself, I caught her popping Vicodin like candy.

On Saturday night, I watched Nora ease herself onto the sofa like one riddled with arthritis. I took a seat next to her. "What do you say we take Tallulah out tomorrow morning?"

Nora choked back a sob. "You sick of me already?"

My throat tightened. "If I continue like this, I'll develop type-2 diabetes before the week ends. It's been three days and my pants are getting snug."

Nora brushed away tears. "I think Tallulah is just what I need."

* * *

The next morning, we rose before the sun and packed for our time on the bay: snacks, bottled water, ice, and wine (of course). We drove to the marina and loaded up Tallulah. Being a real estate agent gave Nora foreknowledge of unoccupied properties. She chose one with a secluded, private beach.

We arrived at our destination and dropped anchor, our eyes darting along the shoreline looking for any signs of life.

I popped the cork on a bottle of Shiraz, hoping it would ease the tension in my neck. My hands shook as I poured. Nora placed a hand on mine. The serenity in her eyes made me realize she'd checked her fear. The strength of her conviction to control when and how she died reinforced my resolve. With grace, she seated herself on the padded bench at Tallulah's stern and gazed out over the water toward the island.

We'd discussed the possibility of Nora wanting to back out. She'd instructed me to say nothing that would encourage her to head for home. I looked at her now, the peacefulness of her soul reflected in her face. She wouldn't change her mind.

After a few sips of liquid courage, I felt much more relaxed. I leaned against Tallulah's starboard side, eying Nora. I followed her gaze. The water rippled against Tallulah's hull, rocking us. The sun rose over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the world. A wisp of fog meandered above the water's surface. Salt Spring looked like a fairytale kingdom.

"God, I love this place." Nora sighed.

"It's breathtaking."

We watched the sun climb into the sky. It was a lazy Sunday morning, and the island still slept. Nora grabbed a glass and joined me in toasting a glorious morning. We settled into our familiar friendship. After a time, Nora suggested we go for a swim.

"Oh, that sounds nice," I replied. The morning was warming into afternoon. We stripped down to our bathing suits and floated in the rich, blue water, enjoying the company. Our conversation didn't wander to why we were there, or how I'd leave without her. We possessed the moment, relished it.

After half an hour of splashing, thirst overcame me. "I need water."

"Will you grab me a bottle too?" Nora floated on the bay's salty surface.

"Sure thing." I swam back to Tallulah, pulled myself onto the ladder, and padded over to the ice chest.

"Hey, Nora, you hungry?" I called over my shoulder, uncapping my water and taking a long drink.

Nora didn't answer. I turned, her name on my lips. A smooth ripple traveled across the surface where I'd left her. Every fiber of my soul itched to jump in after her, to pull her back to the surface, beg her to live. But that wasn't the plan. Instead, I counted to a thousand before radioing the Canadian Coast Guard. I gave them my location and told them I feared Nora had drowned.

They arrived twenty minutes later, took my statement, did a cursory search for Nora's body, and towed me back to the marina. There the police detained me for several hours while I explained again what had happened.

Fishermen discovered Nora's body two days later. An autopsy found she'd drowned, and her death deemed an accident.

That evening, Stephen appeared on the porch, dirty and road-beaten. His eyes downcast with contrition. I took a breath to steady my nerves and told him of his mother. How she'd drowned while we were out on the water. He cried into my shoulder, words of regret, anger, and sorrow punctuating his grief. I saw the boy he was and the man he would become.

The following Wednesday, I laid Nora to rest for the second time. Many of the island's residents came to pay their respects. I stood by Stephen side as he released her ashes into the rich, blue water.

I flew back to Madison, back to my routine, back to fried cheese and frozen custard. For a week, I dreamed of Nora sinking into the murky ocean, her eyes staring at me as she disappeared into its dark depths. I would always wake breathless, covered in sweat.

Two weeks after Nora's death, I received a call from her lawyer.

"Hello, Mrs. Donovan? This is Nora Cunningham's attorney, Jake Adams. I'm sorry to bother you, but Nora instructed me to wait two weeks before I read you her will. She wanted to give you some time."

"I don't understand. Did Nora leave me something?"

"Yes, she did. She left you her home on Salt Spring, and Tallulah her boat."

"What?" I stood shocked. "Shouldn't her son have those? Are you sure you've called the right person?"

"About a month before she died, Nora came and changed her will. She didn't think Stephen possessed the maturity to be a homeowner, and she didn't want her ex-husband to have the house or boat." Mr. Adams chuckled under his breath.

"That sounds like Nora. What about Stephen?"

"Nora's life insurance will take care of his final year of college, and pay off the house, and her car, which she's donated to a local children's charity."

My head spun. "Do I need to come back to sign papers?"

"That won't be necessary. I've sent the documents to a colleague in your area. She will contact you soon. Also, per Nora's instructions, I have sent you a letter explaining everything."

***

When the post arrived that afternoon, I found the letter the attorney had mentioned, Nora's meticulous handwriting on the front.

When the post arrived that afternoon, I found the letter the attorney had mentioned, Nora's meticulous handwriting on the front.

My dearest Kelly,

I've already asked a lot of you, and I'm sorry, but I need one more favor.

I want Stephen to have the house and Tallulah, but not until he grows up. I can't thank you enough for all you've done.

I love you more than you know,

Nora

Every year on Nora's birthday, Stephen and I met on the island, and spent the week retracing her steps across the island. We'd take Tallulah out and toast his mother and my best friend. When Stephen married several years later and started a family of his own, I signed Tallulah and the beautiful craftsman home over to him. I promised myself to one day tell Stehpen how his mother had possessed the strength to choose the time of her death with dignity and poise. To tell him how she'd loved him too much to put him through the torment of watching her waste away. Tell him Nora was the bravest and most fearless woman I'd ever met.

***

I stopped and gazed around the inn's fire-warmed den. My nine compatriots sniffed and dried their eyes on sweater cuffs.

"Nora sounds like a good friend," one said, blowing her nose.

"The best," I said, fingering the note in my pocket. "The very best."