"Soon," I said, guessing why everyone was so eager.

A few minutes later, Emma called with the same question. I rushed to get home right away. As soon as I walked in the door, the girls began jumping up and down.

"SURPRISE!" they called out.

"Oooooh!" I said as they grabbed my arms and dragged me into the living room. The shiny blue bike stood in the middle of the room, and the girls had tied a big red bow on it.

"It's perfect!" I said, admiring the leather seat and handles and the big basket in front. They'd picked an old-fashioned beach bike, just what I needed to go riding with them.

After I admired the bike and hugged each of the girls at least twice, Emma suggested we go on my first spin around the block.

"Sure," I agreed.

Alyson wanted to come, too, but I hadn't been on a bike in ages, and I figured one girl at a time was all I could handle.

"I'll come back and get you," I promised Alyson.

Emma raced off to change from flip-flops to sneakers and to put on her helmet. We'd made safety rules long ago and they were inflexible.

"Where's your helmet?" Emma asked me when she came back ready to ride.

"I don't have one yet," I said, new to the game.

"Maybe you should wear your ski helmet," she suggested, ever careful. "And you should change your shoes, too. If I can't wear flip-flops, you shouldn't wear those."

"I'll be okay."

But I should have listened to Emma. White bell-bottom jeans and sandals with high wedges aren't proper garb for bike riding. We'd barely gotten around the block when my pants leg got caught in the chain and I fell over.

"Whoa!" I called as the bike tipped and I landed on the ground. I wasn't hurt, and when I started to laugh, Emma did, too. I came home with torn jeans, a dose of humility, and a promise to do better. After that, I bought more practical biking outfits and rode everywhere with the girls. In part, I wanted to supervise them and keep them safe. But I also just liked being outside with them and feeling like a kid again on my cushy leather seat.

Now I couldn't imagine that I would ever ride that bike again. I wanted to donate it to a charity, but Warren insisted I keep it.

"Why shouldn't I give it away?" I asked him.

"Maybe you'll ride it again," he said. "You never know."

I didn't know where he thought I'd ride the bike-or with whom. But I left it in the garage, a sad reminder of a happy time.

I'd always made sure that birthdays were a big deal in our house, but I couldn't imagine my birthday this year would be anything but misery. Turning thirty-nine, the famous Jack Benny age, didn't mean a thing to me. I decided not to observe the occasion in any way, not even the usual lunch or dinner with friends.

So it was completely unexpected when my friend Maria, the hospice nurse, came over that afternoon and gave me a birthday hug.

"There are some people here to see you," she said.

"What? What's going on?" I asked as about ten women suddenly filled my kitchen. They came from different parts of my life, and I couldn't imagine how they all knew each other-until I realized that since the accident, they had connected through me.

"A birthday gift. From all of us," Maria said, handing me a box. I opened it, and inside was a necklace with the letters EAK in diamonds.

For what felt like the first time in my life, I truly couldn't speak. All the exclamations of "Thank you!" and "That's so generous!" and "It's beautiful!" got caught in my throat. Overwhelmed, I just looked at my friends in wonderment.

"Happy birthday," Maria said.

The others joined in a chorus of good wishes, and then headed to the door.

"Wait, can I get you something to eat? Or drink?" I asked, trying to recall my manners.

But, not wanting to make me endure an extended emotional scene, they just waved and left. I stared at the EAK necklace and then plopped onto the sofa, thinking about the incredible kindness of my friends. Even in the midst of my despair, I recognized how lucky I was to be constantly buoyed by their compa.s.sion and goodwill. And their gift had extraordinary meaning. They knew I had EAK bracelets and beads and logos and T-shirts, and the initials were even in my email address. Now I could have this beautiful symbol of my girls around my neck, hanging close to my heart, every day. I spent the next several days writing each of them a thank-you note, expressing the grat.i.tude I'd been too overcome to share.

With Warren's cross and my friends' EAK diamonds, I now had the two most beautiful-and meaningful-necklaces in the world.

I had a thoughtful husband and caring and attentive friends. Comfort and love wherever I turned. The support helped me get through every day, but how could anything fill the hole in my heart? What could possibly make up for what I had lost?

With the Hance Family Fun Day in May getting closer, everyone I knew seemed so busy with preparations that I worried that their jobs and kids and dinners were being given short shrift. I tried to partic.i.p.ate because it was the right thing to do, but my heart wasn't in it.

Warren, on the other hand, threw himself into the planning. He and his friend John Power, the landscaper, led a major effort to clean up the Centennial Gardens in town. John brought his crew of some twenty gardeners to clean, weed, and to plant shrubs, and other volunteers joined in. We built a stage on one side of the gardens where bands could play at our event and at other occasions throughout the year.

"You should come help," Warren said eagerly, before one of the days of cleanup and flower planting.

"I don't want to come," I said, as always resisting his efforts to make me see the positive.

"But it's going to look great."

"I'm glad."

I stayed home, but throngs of people, including Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, parents and children, and groups of teenagers, showed up to weed and clean.

"The gardens look amazing!" Warren told me excitedly that night. "In addition to everything else, we've given a great gift to the town."

I was glad that having a mission seemed to be helping Warren's mood. It wasn't doing as much for mine, but I knew I had to keep up a good front for everybody who was doing so much. My public persona was a lot better than what Warren got stuck with at home.

The week before Family Fun Day, Heather invited a big group of women to her house for a two-night party with a purpose. As always, I tried to keep a smile on my face. But mostly, I wandered around aimlessly both nights while my artistic friends arranged raffle items decoratively in big baskets, wrapped them with cellophane and colorful bows, labeled them, and made a booklet of what was for sale.

Despite all the sorting and wrapping and packing, everyone milling around Heather's bas.e.m.e.nt seemed in high spirits. Maybe they felt the euphoria of doing something for a good cause, the satisfaction of creating hope from horror, meaning from misery.

"You brought everyone together," one of my friends said as she sorted through a pile of donated stuffed animals. "People are making new friends and working together. Everyone's having fun. It's so great."

Great, I thought. My girls were dead, but people had made new friends. Was that supposed to be a silver lining? I looked around at all the women working hard and I tried to remember that they were doing this for Emma, Alyson, and Katie. But the noisy chatter in the bas.e.m.e.nt pounded in my ears and the cheerful voices grated.

I tried to ignore the screaming voices in my head telling me to run away. I couldn't do that. I had to stay and partic.i.p.ate. I would honor the feelings of the people who were trying so hard to do something good.

By the time we finished, we had 120 baskets. It had been a lot of work, but it also meant a lot of money we could raise.

"How are you doing?" my friend Deana asked, coming over as I stood staring at the booklet where I was supposed to be writing down basket numbers. So far, I hadn't written a thing.

"Just fine," I lied.