“I’m not sure this was a good idea,” Tricia said. She was grateful that she had insisted on a public place. She suggested a Seattle’s Best Coffee.

But Herman said, “We’ll never get a table at Seattle’s Best, and if we do, the noise will make good conversation impossible. Let’s meet at the library.” He made sure to arrive first so he was waiting for her in front of the tiny library entrance, notebook in hand. “I reserved the community room where we can talk.”

They settled into the room and Tricia, who wearing jeans and a new beige sweater, repeated what she’d said in front of the library. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Yes, I know. You said that already and I understand. But Tricia, we were close once, even talked marriage. We’re getting older now, some would say we’re already old. Technology has blessed us with the option of reconnecting.”

“But why, Herman? What good can come of this? What difference does it make now which path we took and which one we walked away from?” Feeling a bit self-conscious, she removed her glasses. 

“I walked away, not you. It took me about ten years to realize I made a terrible mistake. I should have married you.” Once a thin man, Herman’s protruding belly was impossible to miss.

Tricia looked at him, searching his eyes, wondering if perhaps he was a bit off now, so many years later. Perhaps, he was just being silly, channeling life’s regrets into one fateful decision, as if everything would have been perfect if only he had married her. “Herman, you said you were married twice. You’re still married, 25 years now, right? Haven’t you been happy?”

“Sure, I’ve been happy. I can’t complain, but I’m sure I would have been happier with you.” He pulled an envelope from his notebook and handed it to her. She found a photo of the two of them, sitting on the beach. “Didn’t we look happy?” He asked.

She studied the photo. “I remember this picture,” she said. “It was taken on my twentieth birthday at Boulder Beach. We had a terrible fight on the way home. Do you remember that?”

“No, I don’t think that’s correct,” he said.

“Herman, I don’t want to be rude, but I am a very happily married woman. Even if we made a mistake so many years ago, there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

“I made the mistake, Tricia. Before I die, I want you to know that. I think about you a lot. Not every day, of course, but often.”

Tricia was beginning to get nervous now. She eyed the door. “When you got in touch with me, I thought, what a pleasant surprise. You seemed to be doing well and you were upbeat. I was happy for you.” She handed him the photo. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“Do you ever think about me, you know, once in a while, a what if kind of thing?”

Tricia wanted to tell him the truth, that she wasn’t terribly upset when he broke up with her, that she’d quickly moved on. Would that satisfy him? She wanted to be charitable, but she had no desire to extend their little reunion any longer than necessary. She should have trusted her instincts and put him off. “Herman, that was so long ago. We were young, both of us impetuous. I don’t think it’s healthy or helpful to look back.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. “Did I tell you I’m a writer now? I have a book coming out soon.”

“Yes, you mentioned that. I’ll have to buy a copy as soon as it’s available.”

“You would do that?” He asked. He opened his notebook. “May I have your address, Tricia? I want to send you a signed copy.”

She stood then and buttoned her coat. “Sorry, Herman, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why? I would never intrude on your life. I just want to send you a copy.”

She walked to the door, relieved that Herman didn’t get up. She put her hand on the doorknob and said, “It was nice to see you again, Herman. Maybe it will be easier for you if you think of our reunion this way. I’m breaking up with you this time. I hope that gives you closure.”

As soon as she was gone, Herman reached into his jacket, pulled out his smart phone and pressed stop. He smiled. His writer’s block was over; he had the first scene of his next book. He pressed the play button and started writing.