Before I could answer, Brenda called from the other side of the fence.

“Looks like a good harvest this year, Patrick.”

She stood between two branches, perfectly dressed even though she claimed she had been gardening.

Brenda had grown up around Patrick.

They had dated briefly when they were young.

He told me that years earlier, after she inherited her parents’ house next door and moved back to Maplewood.

I had never cared much.

Twenty-seven years is a long time.