The violent waves of ordinary life never broke upon her shores. She seemed to float, un-touched, serene. Bad things just didn't happen to her. She was immune somehow. She was Tranquil Girl.

"Look at that dress! I'm sick with envy."

"She broke his heart, you know."

"His father's a millionaire. She could have had anything she wanted."

"What does she want, anyway?"

"No one knows."

She was pretty. More than that—beautiful. A wide face with brown eyes big and deep—the kind you only see in anime and swear can't be real—tapering to a small chin, triangular. The smile, hypnotic, was seldom absent, and seemed to invite. But you got a sense of something not there.

"Did you hear? Her brother just died. A drug overdose."

"She must be devastated."

"Doesn't look it. Just look at her dance! Like she doesn't have a care in the world."

"She hides it well."

"Maybe there's nothing to hide."

"Don't be cruel."

She dated in high school, but not seriously. The usual traps could not hold her and she emerged unscarred. In college she had her first serious affair—and escaped a minor case of pregnancy—without lingering side effects. Her friends, among whom she reigned as uncrowned queen, never knew her. She shared her heart with no one. Their problems could not touch her, though she said all the right things, the sympathetic noises that pass for real.

"I just found out she's graduating with honors."

She had an offer from Grey & Stadler, turned it down cold."

"What's she going to do?"

"Her own business, a start-up. Seems pretty casual about it."

"Where's the money coming from?"

"A grandfather. Left it to her in his will."

"Some people have all the luck."

"Tell me about it."

For a short time she held the world in her two small hands. She worked hard, made money, but didn't love it. Her girlfriends got married, had babies. Visiting, she noticed their sagging flesh, said nice things about the babies, sipped tea. They always asked: When are you getting married? She always laughed: I don't know. Leaving, she swore she'd never end up like them.

"Look at her! I'm so jealous."

"I swear she hasn't changed a bit. Still looks 20 and I'm a fat cow."

"It's not fair! She has it made. Does whatever she wants."

"I wonder if she's happy."

"What do you think?"

But the perfect smile began to look strained. Alone, the mask slipped, and a puzzled look would come into her beautiful eyes. The endless horizon had shrunk, the chaff had burned away, and what was left? Questions never asked emerged unbidden in her mind, seeking answers.

"I got an e-mail from her yesterday. She's retiring."

"That's ridiculous. She's only 38, for God's sake! What's she going to do, did she say?"

"Travel. See the world. Didn't seem all that enthusiastic about it, though."

"Who can tell? Maybe she'll finally meet the right man."

"No one's ever been good enough for her. I think she's a secret lesbian."

"That would explain a lot."

"But not everything."

She slipped over the side one night on a cruise ship bound for Jamaica. No note was ever found, and her parents were broken by the news. Friends consoled each other at the funeral, told stories, saying only good things. Much later, in the quiet comfort of their suburban bedrooms, they made their own answers, found closure, put it in a neat box, slept soundly.

Far away on the swelling sea, Tranquil Girl floated, serene, untouched. It was her final wish.