Later, when our breakup was over, I wondered if it would have made a difference if he’d told me the awful story from the beginning, if I hadn’t heard it from Mother. My insecurity over our solid relationship, something I thought as secure as the world anchored in space, rocked me sideways. I had believed there was nothing significant he had ever kept from me or from my heart. Somehow this one omission wormed its way into my soul like a virus of doubt. If this, then what else?

What if I hadn’t met Rusty right after that weekend? What if I hadn’t felt the ridiculous want to have someone else need me? Or maybe really nothing would have made a difference—as if Fate had decided we weren’t meant to be and it didn’t matter what order or how events were told or said or done.

Hutch walked into the bar, glancing around and then waving at me. He wore jeans and a white, slightly wrinkled button-down. He gave me an awkward hug, and we followed the hostess to the table, our words overlapping as we searched for a rhythm of conversation.

“Yoo-hoo, Ellie,” I heard behind me. I twisted to see Belinda and Eve waving at me from the next table. I excused myself and greeted them with a hug.

“Who is that?” Belinda asked in a whisper.

“An old friend doing that history center show about Mother.”

“Ohhh.” She glanced at Hutch and then me. “Well, have a lovely lunch.”

“You two also,” I said.

I returned to the table and sat across from Hutch.

“Friends?” he asked.

“Yes, friends and megaphones.”

“Huh?” He opened his menu.

“Meaning everyone, by two o’clock today, will know I was at lunch with you.”

He looked up at me with those brown eyes. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

“No problem at all.” I shook my head, pulling out the Xerox pages of Mother’s journal from 1960 and 1961. “So here’s what I have. It isn’t much. She mostly writes about heartbreak.”

He raised his eyebrows and his smile lifted at the same time. “Your mother was heartbroken?”

“I know. I know it doesn’t seem possible, but it’s true. It seems there was a group of friends that were involved on the fringe of the civil rights movement. For example: They’d meet protesters at the end of the Freedom Rides, but they didn’t go on one. She did a sit-in and went to planning meetings, but I don’t think she was ever in danger. Mostly I think she was obsessed with this man who happened to be involved. The first summer was quiet, nothing really. They met in ’60, and then she went back the next summer to be with him and that’s when she got involved with the movement.”