“I took some time off school. When I came back, I switched majors. Then I got a job in the admissions office at one of the colleges around here. Met Rex out one night with my colleagues. I always thought that being up here would just be a chapter in my life. But Rex is a good man. He didn’t go to college, wasn’t like all the prep school intellectuals, whose idea of rebelling against their Wall Street daddies was calling themselves socialists. He wasn’t like any of the guys I’d dated before. But he treated me well, and we were together a while before we had children. And here we are. Happy.” She smiles, and it’s genuine, reaches her dried eyes.

And then I take a deep breath and tell her what I found, about Anneliese, what I have spent the last few months learning and relearning and unlearning. She covers her mouth when I tell her about the bracelet. Her entire body deflates, sinks into her chair, and she’s crying again. Louder and harder this time. People are looking but she doesn’t seem to care. Gavin runs over and gets more napkins, and soon I’m crying as I finish up the story.

We’re all silent for a moment after I wrap up, our soft sniffles the only sound in our corner of the cidery. We’ve both been weeping for so many minutes now that the rubberneckers have drifted back to their pizzas and pastas, indifferent to our breakdowns now that we seem to be staying put.

“I blame myself,” Georgia says finally. “I read about Nick’s death, and I thought I should reach out, but I worried you wouldn’t want to hear from me. I realize now, that was cowardly. I was scared of your rejection.” She lets out a trickle of a laugh. “Over forty and still afraid of rejection.”

I begin to protest, but she shakes her head. “I remember Anneliese. It even crossed my mind that she could have taken the bracelet. But I idolized your mom so much that I didn’t think she would have poor enough judgment to hire someone like that. Now that I’m a mom, I know that there are only so many ways you can protect your kids. We always have our blind spots.” She blows her nose, pocketing the napkin afterward.

“What was she like? Anneliese?” They’re Gavin’s first words in the nearly two hours we’ve sat here, and I put my hand gently on his knee, scooting closer toward him, bracing myself for Georgia’s answer.