We planned to be on Martha’s Vineyard in March for my husband’s spring break from the university where he works. Unlike many who seek the warmth of the Caribbean or Florida, we enjoyed our annual off-season visit to the Island in mid-March. Our intention was to visit for ten days and then head to New Jersey to attend the wedding of one of my oldest and dearest friends, Maria Trice. But then the pandemic hit and events began to get canceled. Maria called to say they had decided to cancel the wedding in light of the pandemic, and that they planned to elope and would have a big celebration at a future date.

I didn’t even know that she and her betrothed went to a Justice of the Peace and tied the knot on Monday, March 23.

On Tuesday, March 24, Gary Jenkins, my friend’s husband of less than 24 hours, began to feel sick. By that evening he was admitted to the hospital with Covid-19. His status quickly deteriorated and by Sunday, March 29, he was gone.

From the time Gary was admitted to his passing, Maria and I spoke daily so I could check on both of them. That Sunday, our call was interrupted by an incoming call from the hospital. Later that evening, as I was climbing into bed, I realized I hadn’t heard back from her, so I texted to ask what the doctor had said. Her response: “Gary is in heaven.”

That was moment the pandemic went from something in the news to something personal.

About a week after Gary passed, I was in attendance at Inkwell Chapel. I looked up at the pew, well actually the bench where Gary always sat above Inkwell Beach, the last bench before the lifeguard stand. Gary was a lawyer and he always held court from that bench. He was a big and jovial guy with a boisterous voice and a loud belly laugh. His voice wafted in the air, easily detectable by beach patrons.

I glanced at his bench and spoke to him. I told him “our girl” was hurting and needed a sign to let me know that he was okay and that she too would be okay.

Six years earlier, I lost my nephew to cancer. His mother says she feels his presence on the Vineyard. She visits a particular beach spot they frequented and often finds heart-shaped rocks that she considers signs from him. For years, I have searched for even a single heart-shaped rock but have never found one.

Reminded of her rock findings, I asked Gary to send me a sign in the form of a heart-shaped rock. Almost instantaneously I looked down and saw one. But it wasn’t a small rock; it was big, about the size of my open hand. Before I left the beach, I found two more sizable heart-shaped rocks. Now I had one for him, one for her and one for her son whom Gary adored as if he were his own. I put them in a box and mailed them to my friend.

For almost a week thereafter, my pup and I would venture to Inkwell Beach and each day I would find more heart-shaped rocks. One was so big I had to drive back later to pick it up. Before I knew it, I had almost 30 heart-shaped rocks. It was dumbfounding and I loved sharing the news of my daily bounty with Maria.

One day, during a longer walk down Vineyard avenue in Oak Bluffs, I passed the cemetery. I seldom notice the headstones, but on this particular day I noticed a heart-shaped one. I also thought I saw the name Gary inscribed on the headstone. I kept walking, thinking things were starting to get a little creepy, but then felt compelled to go back and check out the engraving. Lo and behold, it not only said Gary, it said Gary J.

My friend Maria ultimately battled the coronavirus herself and was extremely ill for quite some time. She and her son stayed in their home in New Jersey convalescing, with no one to comfort them during their grief. I snapped a picture of the headstone and my collection of stones and sent them to her. We both felt that Gary had let us know that everything would somehow be all right, that he was at peace, and that someday she would find peace, too.

Naina Williams lives in Oak Bluffs.