Deb met me at the State Street clock on Thursday at 11:30. She was early. We had made this date in the Pedway, when she told me she had never had lunch under the Great Tree.
She had never come in under the clock either. She usually arrives from the El and goes straight downstairs. We went through the front doors and past cosmetics, where the woman I know caught my eye and mouthed “Field's.” Then we went up to the seventh floor.
Deb looked up at the tree for quite a while. Her eyes filled briefly. She says they didn't, so I won't insist. “It's a lot of tree for the price of the pie,” she said.
We both ordered the pot pie and stayed for two hours. She told me about bringing her mother downtown to see the windows without going inside. “Inside was for the coats we didn't have,” she said. I told her about my grandmother's gloves. There was more to talk about than I had expected when we first met in the jury room.
I bought a box of Frangos so she could take some to each grandchild. She let me, although she said it was “Field's money anyway.” I didn't ask her to explain that.
We had our last tea and agreed to meet under the clock again next December. Then we went downstairs together.
— Ash