Then she asked, “Will you do it for me?”
Jenna had no idea how to respond.
Millie seemed to approve of Jenna’s silence. She went back to examining the yacht overhead. “You need this. Almost as much as I want it. Consider it my last and final bequest.”
“That’s a big ask and you know it. Huge.”
“Who else could I possibly trust with my lifelong dream?”
“Except your twin sister. The one with a different mom.”
“Two halves make a whole.” Millie closed her eyes. “I’m hereby bequeathing you my pretend boat. Your job is to make it real. Go somewhere really, really nice.”
They never mentioned it again.
* * *
Four days later, Millie started going absent.
Jenna’s focus in her master’s studies was end-of-life care, and she had come across numerous firsthand accounts of such times. Millie wasn’t asleep, nor was she actually present. Most specialists had their own way of describing such periods. The term Jenna preferred came from her favorite professor, who described it as, “Elvis is looking for the exit.”
This period proved especially important for them both. Millie had spent her entire life fighting. Now, however, she was grimly tasked with learning how to let go.
Jenna came fully to terms with what she knew now was her career path. She observed. She noted. She cataloged. She fit what she was witnessing inside the texts and lectures framing her university course. She made all the required steps and in the process saw herself becoming comfortable with what in truth was just another line of nursing. Her job was different, of course. Hospital care, especially surgery, was all about repairing. Saving the life. Rebuilding the body. Here, in her new field, it all came down to helping the patient let go.
But still.
At some core level, for Jenna the nurse, it was very much the same. Doing her best by the patient, keeping them comfortable. Being the steadfast and professional caregiver. Doing what was required.
Millie had several online groups, all of them focused on final days and preparing the patient and family for the departure. Jenna was gratified to discover she remained both calm and dry-eyed when she informed the groups that her sister was in full departure mode.
Their response was a pure astonishment.
Within hours, Jenna was offered three new live-in opportunities—faster than she was willing or able to accept. But clearly the need for her services was both real and urgent. In the end, though, she decided to hit the pause button. Give herself a break. Then decide.
Every day led to new discoveries. There was the mundane, such as taking care of Millie’s basic needs. This proved, well, nothing really. Jenna did what was required with a matter-of-fact distance that surprised her.
Then there were the other elements. Such as how their bond deepened into a love so intense Jenna feared she would be struck dumb by the loss.
The final day proved relatively smooth and straightforward. The times when Millie was absent had grown to dominate their shared world. But in the hour before dawn, Millie came to full wakefulness. Such times were very brief now. And more precious as a result. “Will you do something for me?”
Jenna pulled her chair in closer. Reached for her hand. “Anything.”
“Take my ashes to Miramar Bay.”
Jenna leaned over, not in sorrow, simply so she could rest her face on the thin arm, so she could kiss the skin with its spackle of bruises. “All right.”
“It would be nice to think maybe some part of me could have what you said.”
“A second chance. The myth of my hometown.”
“There you go.”
Jenna straightened so she could caress her sister’s cheek. Share a final openhearted look. And wait.
Millie closed her eyes. Her breathing was slight, a feather’s push. A long pause. Another tiny breath. Then she whispered, “Here goes nothing. Bad joke.”
She was gone.
