She told me about her children, her years in emergency nursing, and the garden she had planted after reducing her hospital hours. I told her about my father and the peach cobbler my aunt had insisted on sending to the hospital.
We laughed.
Then the conversation grew quiet.
Ruth looked toward the window.
"Somebody came by last week."
I sat upright.
"Who?"
"A man I didn't recognize."
"What did he want?"
"He asked whether I was the woman who filmed the deputy."
My expression hardened.
Ruth continued.
"I told him he needed to leave."
"Did he?"
"Eventually."
I took a breath.
"Did you report it?"
She nodded.
"Yes. The investigators came. They took my statement."
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.
Ruth watched me.
"Renata, I'm not helpless."
I looked toward her.
"I know."
She smiled faintly.
"But I appreciate you worrying."
I looked down at my tea.
"That day, I thought he was going to shoot you."
Her expression changed.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she nodded.
"So did I."
The admission hit me hard.
She had looked so steady behind the fence.
Her voice had been clear.
Her phone had remained raised.
I'd convinced myself she must have been less frightened than I was.
Now I understood that she had been terrified.
She had simply refused to let fear decide everything.
Ruth leaned forward.
"I've worked in emergency rooms most of my life. I've seen people come in after things nobody should have to survive."
She paused.
"Sometimes they tell you what happened. Sometimes they can't."
I listened.
"And sometimes the people who hurt them are the same people everybody expects them to trust."
Her eyes filled.
"I wasn't going to stand on my porch and pretend I didn't see what he was doing to you."
I looked toward her.
"Thank you."
She shook her head.
"Don't thank me for not looking away."
I smiled through tears.
"Then let me thank you for being brave."
Ruth considered that.
Then she nodded.
"All right."
For a while, we sat quietly.
Then I asked whether she regretted filming.
She looked toward the window.
"No."
"Even with somebody coming to your house?"
She shook her head.
"Especially now."
I studied her.
She continued.
"If they wanted me frightened enough to stop telling the truth, then I guess they misjudged me."
I laughed softly.
She smiled.
"Besides, my daughters would never let me hear the end of it if I backed down."
The laughter helped.
But before I left, Ruth said something I never forgot.
"Renata, when I saw you sitting on that road, I didn't know what job you had."
I nodded.
"I know."
"I didn't know your car was worth a million dollars."