Milly watched the woman walk slowly up the steps to the cafe and look around with uncertain curiosity. Sipping her tea, she allowed the newspaper she'd been reading to fall to the table as she tracked the other woman's meandering path through the widely scattered round tables until finally, she pulled out an empty chair a few feet away. The woman sat there for a few moments, her hands lying limply in her lap, glancing around carefully in a way designed to avoid attracting attention. Her gaze lingered occasionally on the cups and plates being used by the other patrons before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and began to rise.

"No need to get up," Milly spoke softly, knowing her voice would carry directly to the other woman. "They know you're here. Just wait a few minutes and someone will be out with just what you don't know you want." Milly smiled into the startled eyes, folded her newspaper and carried it and her cup to the other woman's table. Without asking permission, she sat down.

"You're new, huh?" At the small nod, Milly smiled again. "Just finished orientation?" Another nod. Milly held out her hand. "Milly. Well," she added, rolling her eyes, "Millicent but honestly, who names a kid Millicent?" A quick, awkward second passed while Milly's hand hung in the air between them before the other woman reached out with tentative fingers.

"Christine . . . Ruth," she corrected herself quickly.

Milly's eyes twinkled. "It's nice to meet you, Christine Ruth," she teased gently.

"Just Ruth," Ruth laughed, relaxing slightly. "Just Ruth." A woman clad in a long, pale blue gown approached and set a steaming cup of coffee and bowl of vegetable soup in front of her. At Ruth's stammered thanks, she smiled gently, nodded, and drifted away. Ruth picked up the spoon and then hesitated, glancing at Milly.

"Go ahead," she waved. "I've already had lunch." She watched as Ruth tasted the soup before tucking in with a hum of pleasure. "So where are you from, Ruth?"

"Chicago," she said, blowing on her coffee before sipping.

"Oh, you're American!" Milly exclaimed. "That's great! You don't know unless you ask," she continued, seeing Ruth's confused look. "When someone speaks, we hear them in the language we know best," she explained. "You could have been speaking Chinese and I would have heard English. It's part of the . . . magic . . . of this place, I guess you could say."

Ruth swallowed a spoonful of soup and carefully avoided Milly's eyes. "Have you been here long?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think so," she answered. "I'm not really sure. It's not the same here. Time, I mean. They told you that in orientation, right?"

Ruth nodded, staring down at the soup she stirred needlessly.

"The best way to keep up with the passage of time is to ask the new people. Like you." Milly sipped her tea, staring at Ruth over the rim of her cup. "What year was it when you died?" she asked casually. The spoon clattered loudly against the bowl as Ruth gasped and jerked back in her seat. Milly looked at her sympathetically. "It's okay," she said quietly. "It's not a secret, you know. Look around you." With a jerk of her head, Milly indicated the other people in the cafe. "We all got here the same way."

Ruth took a deep breath. "I know," she said, her fingers twisting together on top of the table. "It's just that it's all so . . . so . . ."

"Weird. Odd. Strange. Unbelievable." Milly filled in the blanks sympathetically. "Yes, it is," she shrugged. "You get used to it, though, eventually - and trust me, eventually is something there's plenty of here," she added with a chuckle.

Ruth picked up the spoon again and swirled it through the thick soup. "I guess so. That's what they told us, anyway." She laughed without humor. "I'm not even sure where I am exactly."

"Didn't they go over that in orientation?" Milly asked.

"Yes, they did," Ruth nodded. "But it didn't make sense to me." She looked around the community surrounding the café, at the cobblestone streets and low, white stone buildings set against a brilliant blue sky and sighed. "I still don't know where I am."

"You're here," Milly said gently. "And here is wherever you want it to be. It isn't any more complicated than that."

"I suppose so." Ruth blew out her breath in a puff of air and let the spoon rest gently against the side of the bowl. "1993," she said. At Milly's blank look she expanded, "That's what year it is, 1993."

"Really?" Milly blinked in shock. "1993?" Ruth nodded. "Wow," she breathed. "Huh." She shook her head in bemusement. "That means I've been gone for almost 20 years," she said softly. Her eyes unfocused as she stared off into the distance over Ruth's shoulder. "Twenty years. I never would have thought . . . My boys are all grown up now . . ." She blinked furiously as her eyes began to sparkle with unshed tears. She came back to herself with a jerk and smiled ruefully. "It sneaks up on you sometimes, missing the life you had. Ah, well . . ." She shook her head and shrugged off the aura of sadness that had enveloped her. "Did you leave any family?"

Ruth's eyes welled. "My husband, Max." Her indrawn breath shook. "And . . . my children . . . my son and my . . . my daughter." Her lips trembled. "I haven't seen them in . . .They don't even know . . ." She dropped her head and covered her eyes with one hand.

Milly covered the other hand with one of hers. "They don't know you're gone? Why not?" She had to lean forward to catch Ruth's whispered response. "You left them? Why?" Ruth looked up, eyes overflowing, and reached out suddenly, grabbing Milly's hand with both of hers like a drowning swimmer searching for a lifeline. The sympathy in the other woman's face had her pouring out her story, her voice halting and thick with pain as she struggled with the guilt she felt.

Milly listened quietly, letting her speak, squeezing the fingers that held on to hers so tightly, until finally the avalanche of words came to a close. "I promised myself I'd go back someday," Ruth whispered, her inner torment visible, "but now it's too late." A fresh sob caught in her throat. "I'll never see them again . . . they'll never know . . . she'll never . . ."

"Oh, honey," Milly said, her heart breaking for her new friend. "What a weight you've carried."

Ruthie wiped her eyes with the napkin on her lap. "I'd give anything if I could just see them again. Just once more." Her shoulders hunched as her voice faded away, her hands twisting the napkin into a tight spiral in her lap.

Milly hesitated for a moment, considering her next words carefully. "There is a way . . . if you're sure . . ." she began.

Ruth's head jerked up. "I can go back?"

"No." Milly shook her head definitively. "No, you can't go back. But if you really want to see them, there's a way." She stared at Ruth uncertainly. "There's no guarantee you'll like what you'll see. You don't know what kind of life they have now, what they're doing. You have to be prepared for anything, good or bad." She bit her lip. "Sometimes, it's better not to know."

Ruth shook her head violently. "Please," she pleaded. "Please just tell me how. Please don't take this away from me, not now that you've told me it's possible. Please."

Milly hesitated a moment longer then nodded. "Okay. All right. I'll take you," she said, standing up. "You can leave that," she added when Ruth began gathering her cup and bowl. "It will be taken care of." With a gesture indicating Ruth should follow her, she led the other woman away from the cafe and through the streets of the small community.

"What you have to remember," she explained as they walked, "is that time passes differently here. When you see them, they'll be older than you think they should be." She glanced at Ruth, who nodded her understanding. They stopped next to a large circular fountain surrounded by a low white wall. In the middle three slender columns of silver twisted together, forming a tall braided spire that shot jets of sparkling water high into the air before the drops fell in dancing patterns into the calm peace of the surrounding pool. Milly sat down carefully on the wall and beckoned to Ruth.

"This is the Reflecting Pool," she said, looking out at the silver spire. "It can show you the ones you're connected to, in your heart." She looked at Ruth. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Ruth said, her head nodding.

"All right." Milly took a deep breath. "What you see is what's happening to them, right now. But no matter what you see, you can't change it. You can't change the present or the past. You can see them but they can't see you or hear you." She hesitated again. "You're certain you want to do this?"

Ruth paused for a moment, glancing around. "I'm surprised we're alone here," she said, her voice tentative. "I would think everyone would want to see the people they left behind."

Milly looked away. "We all find our way here, eventually," she murmured. "At first. But . . . it hurts." She stared into the water. "They move on without us and while we think that's what we want, it can be painful to see. Husbands with new wives, wives with new husbands. The babies we left behind are teenagers. Everyone gets older." She shrugged. "What we really want to see are our memories and the Reflecting Pool doesn't show us memories. It shows us life, as it is." She looked back at Ruth, her eyes sad. "You'll see."

Ruth's chin firmed. "Maybe. But right now I want to see my children," she said, her voice determined.

Milly nodded. "All right. Look into the water and when you see your reflection, say the name of the person you want to see."

Ruth took a deep breath and stared into the clear waters of the fountain until the gentle waves stilled and her own face came into focus. "Russ Brennan," she said softly, watching the faint image of her lips form the words as she spoke. Her hand went to her throat when the water shimmered for a few seconds and then solidified into a glossy silvered surface. Her son was there, holding a plastic tray as he shuffled through a line with other men staring without expression at the colorless food being served.

"Oh, no," Ruth breathed, taking note of the faded blue shirt and jeans worn by everyone. "He's in jail." She looked at Milly. "He's in jail! Why? What happened?"

Milly shrugged. "The Reflecting Pool shows you what's happening, not why."

"Oh, Russ." One hand reached toward the mirrored surface.

"No!" Milly grabbed her wrist. "Don't touch the water. Not while the pictures are there."

Ruth pulled her hand back and watched as the image wavered, mingling with the shimmer of the water until it disappeared completely. She hesitated, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip, before speaking again. "Tempe . . ." her voice broke. She cleared her throat and began again. "Temperance Brennan."

She held her breath as the water began to change, gasping loudly when her daughter came into focus. "Oh, my baby," she breathed out. "Look at her," she said to Milly, her eyes misty, "isn't she beautiful?"

Milly nodded, smiling. "Yes, she is."

Ruth leaned closer to the surface, drinking in the sight of her daughter standing at the front of a classroom, lecturing. "She's a teacher, I think," she exclaimed, grabbing Milly's arm in her excitement. "Maybe even a college professor. She's okay," she whispered, nodding to herself. "She's okay," she repeated, letting the tears fall unchecked. "She's okay."

She grabbed Milly in a tight hug and squeezed even harder. "Thank you, Milly. Thank you so much."

Patting the other woman's back, Milly smiled, glancing over Ruth's shoulder down into the fountain . . . and froze. Abruptly she pushed Ruth away and leaned in closer.

"What is it?" Ruth asked, focused on her daughter in alarm. Temperance had stopped lecturing, speaking instead to a man in a dark suit who walked down the aisle toward her.

Milly looked up at Ruth, her mouth hanging open. "That's my oldest son," she said, pointing with a trembling finger to the man smiling crookedly at Temperance. "That's Seeley."

The two women gazed in shock at the man and woman smiling with interest at each other.

"That's your son," Ruth repeated slowly, "with my daughter?"

"That's your daughter," Milly corrected, "with my son."

The mothers stared at their children until the image blended into the clear water of the fountain.

Then they turned to each other . . . and smiled.

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AN: I've got to say, I'm really excited about this story. It's going to be fun!