By: Linda Barrett

               The two women bumped into each other as they unlocked their respective mailboxes in the Chateau’s retirement community’s lobby. The tall red-haired woman moved backward while the short blonde woman also moved backward.

               “Sorry” they chorused at the same time.

               Turning around, they faced each other in the placid, gilded, and ornate lobby. Their eyes met. For the longest minute they stared, and the 60-year-old memories came rushing back.

               “Debbie Dinsmore,” the blonde woman moved her mouth before the voice expressed its thoughts.

               “Allison Plotnink,” the redhead mouthed the words.

               Rage flamed within them, but they were too polite to show it. They tried to be pleasant, but the anger grew hotter.

               “It’s…. It’s Morton,” Allison stammered.

               “Yes,” Debbie said, breathing down her disgust. “Sam Morton. Where is he? Your loving husband?”

               “You know what happened to him. He married me.”

               “You stole him from me. I had his baby, but he married you. What did you do to get him? Pretend to be pregnant so he’d marry you?”

Allison’s wrinkles deepened around her round face.

               “He never told me you had his baby. Is that why you dropped out of high school? Knowing you, it could’ve been any guy’s baby. All those guys in the class of 1964 chasing after you. Is your hair still red or do you dye it so you can attract men here?”

               Debbie grasped at her mail and pressed it to her chest. She fought the urge to reach out with both hands and scratch out Allison’s eyes.

               “You spread that rumor about me, you bitch!”

               Allison barked a sardonic laugh.

               “I was only telling the truth,” She sneered.

               “At least I could have children, you sterile slut!”

               “You take that back!” Allison crouched into a fighting position.

               “Is that why he left you?” Debbie countered.

               Allison threw back her head and laughed.

               “What’s so funny?” Debbie asked, ready to pounce on her.

               “He left me for his office assistant!” Allison gasped for air.

               “When did this happen?” Debbie shrieked, confused by her rival’s response.

               “After I had my miscarriage in 1985! He divorced me and I took him for everything he had! That’s why I can afford this place. What are you doing here?”

                 Debbie stood there, clutching her mail.

                “My daughter made me sell the house. Three months ago.  She’s a lawyer. I’m on the fifth floor. I didn’t think I could survive as a single mom. But I did. What happened to us? It’s been 60 years. Things have changed between us. I knew Sam was no good. I came to him to tell him about being pregnant with Sarah. He blew me off with the same response he used on you. When did you come here?”

               Allison smiled until her wrinkles deepened.

               “A year ago. My second husband died and left me some money. I decided to sell my house in Chestnut Hill and move here. I’ve met a lot of new people. We have Bingo on Friday. You shouldn’t stay in your apartment. We have lots of fun. Get your mind off yourself!”

               “I will,” Debbie forced a smile. “Thanks for telling me,” She turned away and went for the elevator.

               “I hope to see you there.” Allison said over her shoulder.

               “Yes,” Debbie said, pressing the button for the fifth floor. “I’ll be there.”