As I got to know Susan, I was increasingly amazed by how much we seemed to have in common. When I learned that she was also a confirmed lover of chai, I knew ours was destined to be a deep and lasting friendship. Now my daily chai is spiked with an extra spice of love.

Susan turned me on to chai. I’d enjoyed it before, but seeing how much she loved chai led me to have it more often. I make lattes at home every day, so when visiting a coffee shop my default is to order a chai (often a dirty chai).

When Susan entrusted me to copy-edit her draft of “Finding Eleanor,: I was struck by her detailed recollections (supported by notes, no doubt) of the telling details of her journey. She’d write about how she and Jack visited a source or site, how that place appeared, and little observations about the people who helped her find lost relatives.

Very often, those notes mentioned stopping for chai before or after a visit to a hospital, library or other site. I chuckled as I read each successive incident, and perhaps suggested leaving out a few (not so much out of concern that purveyors of other beverages would feel slighted, but to keep those chai moments rare and special).

Now, each cup of chai–hot or cold, dirty or straight–is a tribute to the one who taught me to love it. It’s one of Susan’s lesser lessons to me, but a sweet and rewarding one.