“I never forgot that afternoon,” he said.
“A lot of water has gone under the bridge since then,” I said, looking out the diner window at the gray clouds gathering over the grain elevator across the street.
“Water flows, but the riverbed stays the same,” he said.
“Why did you come back, Garrett?” I asked.
He picked up his coffee mug, taking a slow sip before he answered.
“Because I wanted to see if you still had that blue ribbon in your hair,” he said.
By twelve-thirty, the wind had picked up, blowing dry oak leaves across the asphalt of the church parking lot.
Garrett walked beside me, matching his long strides to my slower pace as we approached my faded blue Buick.
He reached ahead of me to pull the heavy metal door open, his hand steady on the handle.
“Thank you,” I said, sliding onto the worn fabric seat.
“Take care of yourself, Eleanor,” he said, leaning down slightly so his face was level with mine. “I will be calling you.”
