The second woman glanced at my ring finger. “So how did you convince your wife to let you go? Or did she come with you?”

“You lost her,” the first said. “How did you lose her?”

I looked at her quizzically. “How did you know that?”

“Yes,” the second woman said, turning back. “How did you know that?”

“He’s wearing a ladies’ wedding ring around his neck,” she said. She turned to me. “If you were divorced, you wouldn’t be wearing it. If you were still together, she’d be wearing it, and if it belonged to another woman, your wife wouldn’t let you wear it.”

“Aren’t you the Sherlock?” the second woman said. “Is she right?”

I nodded. “She passed away last October. Two days after her funeral, I began my walk.”

Both women just looked at me. Then the second woman said, “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Tell me about the Red Hat club,” I said.

“… Society,” the second woman corrected.

The first woman began, “It started when Sue Ellen, our queen mother—”

“You have a queen?” I asked.

“That’s what Sue Ellen calls herself,” she replied. “The society started when she bought a friend of hers a red hat for her fifty-fifth birthday. There’s a poem about a red hat. I won’t recite the whole thing, but it goes like this.” She straightened herself up a little.

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple,

with a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we’ve no money for butter.

“And I’ll learn to spit,” said the second woman.

The first woman nodded. “That’s in there too. It means we’ve spent our lives playing by the rules and being fuddyduddies, now we’re going to kick off our shoes and have a good time.”

“And we have fun,” the second woman said.

“My wife would have been a Red Hat woman,” I said.

The first lady shook her head. “She’s not old enough.”

“She would be a Pink Hat lady,” the second said. “Those are our younger members.”

“She would do that,” I said.

I lowered myself in the water one more time, then rose back up. “I think I’m boiled enough.” I stood. “Nice meeting you.”

“So nice meeting you,” the first said.

“Good luck on your walk,” the second said.

“Thanks.”

I climbed out of the tub. I dried myself with a hotel towel, then put my robe back on and walked to the elevator. The lobby was not quite as crowded, but still boasted an impressive number of red hats.

As I walked toward the elevator I could see two of the red-hatted women inside. One of them, a very tall brunette with a red fedora, said, “Hold the door, Doris. Here comes some man candy.”