When she makes it to our table, I get to my feet and we hug. Probably for far too long. Long enough that Gertie feels a need to comment: “Is everything all right, Abby dear? You seem so sad.”

I take a deep breath, struggling not to cry. These are the first kind words I’ve heard all day. “I’ll be fine. How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know…” Gertie smiles and pats her puffy white hair. “Retirement has its benefits. I’ve been getting to spend more time with my little grandson. What a handful he is!”

“That’s wonderful.”

“We spent three hours yesterday playing with Legos!” she sighs. “I never thought I was capable of playing with Legos that long! They’re actually sort of fun though. What a great idea for a toy. Although I’m not entirely sure how they managed to make so many movies about them. I mean, they’re just blocks, aren’t they?”

I force a smile. “Yes.”

“Anyway, you’re going to have your hands full with that new baby, Abby! I’m so happy for you.”

A lump rises in my throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Abby.

“And how’s your husband Samuel?” she asks. “He was such a sweet man. He must be very excited too.”

I know she thinks she’s being polite, but I can’t do this anymore.

“Listen,” I say, “there’s something I need to ask you.”

“Of course, dear.” Gertie places her wrinkled hand on mine. “What it is?”

I take a deep breath. “Do you remember the day you fell down the stairs at work?”

She winces. “Of course I do. It’s hard to forget something like that.”

I feel a stab of guilt. The last thing I want to do is dredge up bad memories for her. But I need to know. “You told me you thought someone pushed you.”

“I didn’t mean that though. It was just, you know, the usual pushing and shoving.” She laughs lightly. “Show me a young person who isn’t pushing or shoving!”

“If I show you a photograph,” I say, “could you tell me if that person is familiar to you?”

Gertie never had the opportunity to meet Monica. If she recognizes the photo, then that means there’s a chance Monica was in the stairwell that day. And maybe it will jog her memory about other things too.

Like that Monica was the one who pushed her.

I pull out my phone and bring up the one photo I’ve got of Monica, taken in the waiting room at our first OB/GYN appointment. I wanted to take a photo to commemorate the whole thing. In retrospect, it seems so stupid. Who knew it would all go so horribly wrong?

Well, aside from Sam, Shelley, my mother… well, everyone but me.