Now the coffee was just as crappy as the music, though Meadow had drank it down to the sludge. The empty mug sat on the table in front of her, next to her lighter and pack of cigarettes.

   Regine slid into the booth across from her with a sigh. She sat rigid in her seat, back straight, hand still on her purse. 

   Meadow thought maybe Regine was comparing, triumphantly, their lives: Look who made it, Meadow. Look who was right. 

   “So,” Regine finally said, her words calm and carefully considered. “Why are we here?”

   Meadow laughed. Ran her finger along the rim of her mug. “Well, isn’t that the question?” she smirked.

   “I am sorry,” Regine said suddenly, as if remembering she should address it. “I said that to you at the funeral, but I doubt you remember, the blur of it all. I’m so sorry.”

   “I do remember it,” Meadow said. Then: “How is Elle?”

   Regine stiffened again. “You should know. She’s with Rilynne all the time now.” The words were spoken with a barely concealed disdain. Meadow nearly laughed again. The irony, it must have been for Regine, who never approved of Tucker, that Elle should become close with another of Meadow’s children after Tucker’s death.

   “I don’t see my daughter very much,” Meadow said in reply.

   There was quiet. The waitress came over. Meadow ordered another coffee, Regine nothing.

   “Why did you ask me here?” Regine said when the waitress left.

   Meadow took a breath and leaned forward, about to speak, but the waitress had returned already with the coffee. Meadow thanked her as she walked away, then, when she was out of earshot, leaned across the table again. 

   “There are strange things going on.”

   Regine didn’t say anything, but fixed Meadow with a narrowed stare.

   “I just…” Meadow’s eyes flitted around. She tapped her fingers again. “I haven’t seen any ghosts around.”

   Regine shifted uncomfortably. “Why do you think I want to hear about that.” Then, in a lower, grave voice: “We agreed to leave all that in the past. Never to discuss it again.”

   “Yes, but you see,” Meadow said urgently, leaning forward so much that her gold cross necklace grazed the tabletop. “I was wondering if you’ve felt anything. Anything different, or odd.”

   Meadow leaned back again and took a sip of her coffee. Regine’s perfectly polished mask of indifference had crumbled ever-so-slightly, and Meadow knew - for once you learn to read someone, it is often easy to do so even decades later - Meadow knew that Regine had, indeed, been feeling something a little off.

   Just as soon, Regine regained her composure and said, evenly, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. All those childish games ended.”

   “We were not children,” Meadow said.

   “We were acting like children.”

   “It’s not over for me. It never was. I can’t just turn it off.”

   “Well, it’s over for me.”

   Meadow took another sip of her coffee, watching Regine. “And how did you manage that? Did you just flip a switch?”

   Regine paused. “It just went away.”

   “Went away? When? A few months ago?”

   Regine didn’t respond.

   “Something’s wrong, Regine.”

   “So what if you don’t see your ghosts anymore?” Regine said, exasperated. “Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what you want?”

   Not if it means I cannot see my husband anymore, Meadow did not say.

   “I’ve had enough of this. This was a waste of my time.” Regine grabbed her purse and stood. She looked down at Meadow. “I’ve left the past in the past. I’ve repented for my sins. I continue to. Every day. Do you?”

   She turned and walked away.

   Meadow looked into her coffee, saw her warped reflection stare back at her.

   “And ensure you keep Elle out of this - whatever it is you and your daughter think you’re doing.” Regine had stopped a few feet away and turned back.

   “Rilynne doesn’t know anything. I told you, we don’t speak.”