SUNDAY, I ROSE EARLY AND DROVE RYAN TO CHARLOTTE-DOUGLAS International. Outside the terminal, we hugged. Said good-bye. Didn’t speak of the future.

At eleven I dressed in a dark blue blazer and gray pants. Allen Burkhead met me at the entrance to Elmwood Cemetery. He was holding a key. I was carrying a black canvas bag.

The new coffin was already in place in the tomb. Shiny bronze, a sprightly cradle for a very long slumber.

Burkhead unlocked the casket. I took Susan Redmon’s skull from my bag and nestled it carefully above her skeleton. Then I positioned the leg bones. Last, I tucked a small plastic sack under the white velvet pillow. Precipitin testing had shown that the brain was human. Maybe it was Susan’s, maybe it wasn’t. I doubted she’d mind sharing eternity with another displaced soul.

Weaving back through the tombstones, Burkhead told me he’d done some archival research. Susan Redmon had died giving birth. The child survived, a healthy baby boy. What happened to him? I asked. No idea, Burkhead said.

I felt sadness. Then hope.

In dying, Susan had given life to another being.

My next stop was Carolinas Medical Center. Not the ER, but the maternity center. This time my bag was pink and carried a large fuzzy bear and three tiny sleepers.

The baby was café au lait, with a wrinkled face and wild Don King hair. Takeela had named her Isabella for her maternal great-grandmother.

Takeela remained cool and aloof. But when she gazed at her daughter, I understood why she’d phoned to accept my offer of help. Seeing her baby girl, she’d resolved to reach out. To take a chance for Isabella.

Driving home, I thought about death and birth.

Things end and others begin.

Susan Redmon died, but had a son who lived.

Rinaldi was gone, but Slidell was entering into a new partnership.

Cuervo was dead, but Takeela had a new baby girl.

Pete seemed ended. Was I about to embark on a new beginning? With Charlie? With Ryan? With someone new?

Could Ryan and I go back, start over again?

Could America find a new beginning? Could we return to a time when we all felt safe? Protected? Confident in our values and our purpose? Tolerant of customs and belief systems we didn’t understand?

Charlie?

Ryan?

Mr. Right?

How would my sister, Harry, put it?

No way of knowing which hound will hunt.