“With permission.”
“Good clarification.”
He laughed.
Then grew serious.
“I stop it right before I told you detention might happen.”
“What do you ask recruits?”
“What crime I had established.”
“And what do they say?”
“Usually none.”
Simone nodded.
Keller looked toward the security line.
“I thought being called meant there was probably a crime.”
“That happens.”
“I know.”
He paused.
“I was angry with you afterward.”
Simone almost laughed.
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You made me feel stupid.”
He raised one hand.
“I know how that sounds.”
Simone waited.
“I told myself you embarrassed me by asking legal questions.”
He looked at her.
“Eventually I realized I was embarrassed because I didn’t have answers.”
Simone nodded.
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“I’m sorry.”
No cameras.
No investigation pending.
No audience.
No reason except memory.
Simone accepted it.
They shook hands.
Then returned to separate lines.
Not friends.
That was fine.
Every conflict did not require friendship to end properly.
Simone saw Meredith again years later at a charity auction.
Meredith approached cautiously.
Her hair was shorter and almost completely silver.
“Simone.”
“Meredith.”
They stood awkwardly.
Meredith attempted a joke.
“I promise I’m not going to accuse you of stealing the paintings.”
Simone stared.
Meredith’s smile disappeared.
“Too soon?”
“Possibly forever.”
Meredith laughed nervously.
“I deserved that.”
They spoke for a few minutes.
Meredith mentioned her granddaughter studying criminal justice.
“She saw the video.”
Simone winced.
“That must have been pleasant.”
“No.”
Meredith looked down.
“She asked whether I would have called police if you were white.”
Simone waited.
“What did you tell her?”
“That I don’t know.”
Simone appreciated the answer.
Not because uncertainty was admirable.
Because pretending certainty would have been easier.
Meredith continued.
“She said if I truly don’t know, then I should stop insisting race had nothing to do with it.”
Simone smiled faintly.
“Smart granddaughter.”
“Unfortunately.”
They parted politely.
No hug.
No friendship.
No dramatic reconciliation.
Distance and changed behavior were enough.
At sixty-one, Simone published a memoir.
Her editor insisted the Manhattan boutique needed an entire chapter.
She resisted.
“The story is overexposed.”
“That’s why people will buy the book.”
“I hate publishing.”
“You signed the contract.”
The editor proposed a title.
The Day She Called Police on the Wrong Woman.
Simone threatened to remove the chapter completely.
Instead, she called it:
Before They Knew My Name.
The chapter focused on the minutes before Andrew appeared.
Meredith’s assumption.
Patrick’s hesitation.