She was quiet.
Then she said, "I wish we'd done this years ago."
I considered the words.
"So do I."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then I added, "But you're doing it now."
Eleanor smiled.
"Yes."
She took a breath.
"Yes, we are."
The last time I saw Patricia Holloway in person, it was at a grocery store outside our neighborhood.
Nearly three years had passed since the pool incident.
I was standing near the produce section choosing oranges when I noticed a familiar figure several aisles away.
Short platinum-blonde hair.
A pale cardigan.
Dark trousers.
No bright-pink outfit.
No oversized sunglasses.
She looked older.
Not unrecognizable.
Just tired in a way I had never seen before.
For a moment, I considered turning down another aisle.
I had no desire for a confrontation.
But she looked up.
Our eyes met.
She stopped.
So did I.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then she approached slowly.
"Mr. Reed."
I nodded.
"Mrs. Holloway."
She looked toward my shopping basket.
Then back at me.
For a moment, she seemed uncertain.
Finally, she said, "I heard you're still living in Cedar Ridge."
I nodded.
"Yes."
Her expression changed slightly.
"Good."
I studied her.
There was no sneer.
No command.
No attempt to speak as though she possessed authority over my life.
Just an older woman standing in a grocery store.
She looked down.
Then said quietly, "I hope the pool is all right."
I almost laughed at the understatement.
But I didn't.
"It's fine."
She nodded.
For a moment, I thought she might apologize again.
Instead, she looked toward the floor.
"I made a lot of mistakes."
I waited.
She continued.
"More than I wanted to admit."
I nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Her eyes filled.
For a moment, she seemed hurt by the bluntness.
Then she accepted it.
"I know."
We stood in silence.