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At the end of the party, Mr. Willard asked for her forwarding address. Several people swore to keep in touch, but it was only the director who made good on his promise.

* * *

At the beginning of September, when Augusta got to Florida, a small bundle of mail was waiting for her, including a statement from her new bank and a greeting card postmarked from New York. The inside of the card was inscribed with a message penned neatly in navy ink. "Dear Ms. Stern," the inscription read. "I wish you the best of luck in Florida. Please also accept my warmest wishes for a very happy eightieth birthday."

Augusta tossed the card in the trash. Her birthday wasn't for a month yet. Did he really have to rub it in?

* * *

The first night she spent in her new condo, Augusta felt an unfamiliar flutter of nerves. The move had exhausted her physically, but her mind was restless, and when sleep would not come, she searched through the cardboard boxes in her living room until she found her father's battered copy of the U.S. Pharmacopeia. There were several more recent editions, of course, but she liked the way the old book felt—thick and heavy in her hands. It was the book she had used in pharmacy college, and though she had committed much of it to memory, it soothed her to see the catalogue of drugs, their effects, descriptions, and dosages in print. She whispered their names like the names of old friends, and they kept her loneliness at bay.

After a quick bowl of cereal the next morning, she dug out the first swimsuit she could find and walked to the Rallentando pool. A glossy photograph of this azure oasis had featured prominently in the Rallentando Springs brochure—the one Augusta's niece, Jackie, had foisted upon her several months ago.

In New York, Augusta swam three times a week at an indoor swimming pool run by the city's Department of Parks and Recreation. She did not much like the chemical smell, the chilly locker room, or the thin, scratchy towels provided by the sour-faced attendant. Still, she enjoyed the activity itself—the propelling of her arms and legs through the water, the peace that came to her when her body was busy and her mind was free to wander at will. It was good for her; it kept her strong. She reasoned that the towels and the stench of chlorine were a small price to pay for such obvious benefits.

Augusta's niece knew that her aunt always dreamed of having a swimming pool of her own. Of course the Rallentando pool wouldn't be 'hers'—it was for all of the residents to enjoy. But it was only a brief walk from Augusta's apartment, and she could use it whenever she liked. She could swim or read or order her lunch from the cute little snack bar set off to the side. These were a few of the features her niece had used to argue for Rallentando's appeal. But when Augusta arrived at the pool that morning, she discovered what was perhaps the best feature of all: piles of neatly folded towels—thick, sweet-smelling, and marvelously soft.

Although the pool looked slightly smaller than in the photo, the water was clear, the patio well-kept, and the perimeter peppered with comfortable lounge chairs, wrought-iron café tables, and cheerfully striped yellow-and-white umbrellas.

There were only six people in the pool area when Augusta arrived— two men and a quartet of women playing canasta in the shade. When Augusta walked by, the men didn't bother to look up from the books they were reading. The women were too engrossed in their game to notice the new resident among them. Augusta did not mind in the least. After leaving her towel and her tote bag on one of the chairs, she tucked her hair up into her swim cap, pulled on her goggles, and slipped quietly into the water.

Back in New York, the pool teemed with swimmers, but here, she had every lane to herself. Here, there were no splashing toddlers, no shouting mothers, no other distractions. Lap by lap, Augusta swam forward, her heart pumping contentedly in her chest. Thirty minutes later, when she emerged, her face was flushed with satisfaction. She removed her goggles, pulled off her swim cap, and let the morning sun warm her skin. In the time it had taken to complete her workout, several of the empty lounge chairs had been filled. She walked the perimeter of the pool, trying to remember where she'd left her towel.

She had just spotted her sandals and bag on a chair when she heard a man calling to her from behind. "Goldie!" said the voice. "Is that you?" Augusta froze solidly in place. Despite the heat and the sunshine, she shivered visibly in her swimsuit. Goldie? She hadn't allowed anyone to call her that for more than sixty years.

Impossible, she told herself.