She doesn't seem to notice my approach, not at first anyway. Then she looks up, and for a second a shadow flickers over her face, as though she is a bit cross that her privacy has been violated, perhaps more than a bit , then quickly shoves it under a cheery and welcoming smile.
"Well, hello, Christopher. Do sit down, please." She gestures to the other bench. "Isn't this a lovely little grotto?
"If you can call it that."
"Well, perhaps not exactly a grotto, but I am sure that you know what I mean. And that magnolia is simply enchanting. Here it isn't yet the middle of May and already it is beginning to bloom. For a southern magnolia, very early, and most unusual, I would say."
"What book are you reading?"
"Wuthering Heights. I just adore the Bronte sisters. And how about you? How ARE you getting along?"
I understand what she is getting at. "I am feeling a lot better now. Thanks for asking."
"Think nothing of it dear. We were, I was, so frightfully worried about you the other night, but you really seem to have come around. You said you had amnesia when you came here? How very frightening that must have been for you."
"My father's death must have left an impact. And other matters as well. How are you doing?"
"I'm muddling through as usual." She puts the book face down beside her and rubs her eyes with the knuckles of her right hand. She still hasn't put the rings back on.
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