On a Thursday in May I had lunch with Harriet Cross.
She had been in my mind since the day she had come forward, the woman who had stood on a path by the river and seen the woman on the bridge and carried it for seven years. We had stayed in contact, not regularly, but enough. A check-in at the holidays. A message when the Sorel verdict came through.
She wanted to meet for lunch and I made time for it.
She was, in person, exactly as I remembered. Neat and direct and carrying something quietly that she did not show on the outside.
We ordered and talked and somewhere in the middle of the meal she said, "I watch the news about Carter Group. You've done a great deal since I saw you last."
"It's been a busy year," I said.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "Genuinely."
People did not often
