“Well, that it took you long enough to realize that we’re all just a bunch of dented cereal boxes.”

Sherri gives this some consideration. She is beginning to see how much stock she’d put in a certain idea of perfection—that Arthur had been perfect and blameless, and that she alone was responsible for his death. It isn’t so black-and-white; it never had been. Is this why she keeps saying no to Bayard’s proposals? He is perfect in his own way. He’s loyal. He adores her. They have fun together and make each other laugh before they fall asleep each night. Who would have thought that this trip to Wisconsin would free her to say yes? She’s almost giddy.

Roberta continues, “I’m sorry Arthur died and all that, but I never liked that guy. I had a feeling about him when I was at your party. You left me alone with him when you went on your boat ride, and you know what he did? He went right inside and read a book. He just left me out there by the campfire. And then that summer, he came to Giles with his wife and kids. He didn’t even recognize me. So you know what I did? Oops! I spilled coffee all over his lap.”

“Berta!”

“It was real hot, too.” She smiles. “I was going to warn you about him, but then you blew me off for Mitch at the Allman Brothers. I was so angry with you, Sher.”

“I could tell. I deserved it. That was an awful thing for me to do. I was so caught up in it all. Actually,” Sherri says, brightening. “That reminds me. I have something for you.” She reaches into her bag—she’s a regular Mary Poppins with her enormous shoulder bags—and fishes around until she feels it: the maxi pad. She pulls it out and sets it on the bar.

“Um, I haven’t needed those for about a decade, Sher, but thanks.”

“Open it!” Sherri said. “I’ve kept it all these years.”

“Open the pad? What are you smoking in California?”

Impatient, Sherri grabs it and unfolds the wad of cottony tissue. “Look,” she says, excited.

Roberta seems confused. “What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?”

Sherri flips it around and can’t believe her eyes. Gregg Allman’s signature is so faded she can’t even see it. All she sees is a dark blue stain on the middle of the pad. She begins to laugh. “That was—” She can’t talk she’s laughing so hard.

“What?”

Soon Roberta is laughing, too. Sherri hasn’t laughed like this with anyone in ages. It feels good, cleansing. “That was Gre—” Sherri knocks her drink over and Roberta begins to wipe it with the maxi pad. “No! Don’t!” Sherri gasps, trying to catch her breath. “Gregg Allman signed that for you!”