the corner of Tom’s mouth. “This business is fraught with blind alleys and wrong turns, but if you don’t check them all out you might miss the one thing that leads to what you’re looking for.”
“I suppose.”
“It’s been a long day, and you need a break. How about we get out of here? We can go for a walk, maybe see a movie, and have some dinner.”
“Don’t you think we should keep going? At least finish these lists?”
“Nope.” He stuck a notepad in the directory to mark her place and flipped the cover closed. “When you get discouraged, the best thing to do is walk away and come back the next day when you’re feeling better. You’d be surprised at how a fresh start can change the way you see things. Maybe open up possibilities you hadn’t seen the day before.”
Margaret gave him a wry smile. “Sounds very Pollyanna.”
He laughed at her expression. “It is, but it also happens to be true.”
They walked for a while then headed for the Keith-Albee Theatre to see Funny Girl. By the time they went to dinner, Margaret was feeling much more positive about everything. They were still talking about the movie when they returned to the hotel. As they moved toward the elevator, the bellboy called out to Tom.
“Excuse me, sir.” He scuttled across the lobby to catch up to them. “I’ve been thinking about that town you were looking for.”
Tom stopped and turned to the boy. “You mean Greystone?”
“Yeah, that’s it. You sure you don’t mean Grayson? There’s a Grayson over in Kentucky.”
Tom glanced at Margaret. “Caldonia said it was in West Virginia, didn’t she?”
“She said nearby. I’m not sure.”
“Grayson’s not far,” the bellboy said. “Twenty-five or thirty miles, maybe. Just across the border.”
“Do you have a Kentucky telephone directory?” Tom asked.
The boy shook his head. “Sorry, no. I can have the manager order one or they might have one down at the drugstore.”
“Thanks.” Tom smiled at Margaret and gave a wink. “Let’s go find a phone book.”
Moving with a quick and purposeful step, they hurried out onto Ninth Street and headed for the drugstore.
In the rear of the store, past the ice cream freezer, behind a display of hairspray, combs, and brushes, there were three telephone booths. Next to them, a medal stand that held eight swing-out directories and a shelf to write on. With Margaret looking over his shoulder, Tom checked the directories and found three for West Virginia, three for Ohio, and two for Kentucky, Boyd County and Carter County.
Grabbing the Carter County directory, he flipped through the first few pages in the front of the book and ran his finger along the list of towns. He found Grayson and turned to the residential section. There he found two listings for Hobbs, neither of them with the first name of Dewey. After jotting the names and numbers for Herbert and Edna Hobbs in his notebook, he flipped back to the yellow pages and checked under doctors, medical offices, clinics, and surgeons. Nothing. No Doctor Hobbs, Dewey or otherwise.
On the chance Dewey could have moved to a neighboring town, he pulled out the Boyd County directory. Under residential listings, he found one listing: Louise N. Hobbs.
Looking over his shoulder, he asked, “Was Nellie’s first name Louise?”
Margaret shook her head.
Believing anything was worth a try, he added Louise’s phone number to his list and turned to the yellow pages. There he hit pay dirt with a listing for Doctor Oliver D. Hobbs in Ashland. Looking up with a grin, he said, “I think I found something.”
Although she’d never before thought of it that way, Margaret counted up the years and came to the realization that Dewey could easily have a son old enough to be a doctor. Her heart began to flutter and beat against the walls of her chest like a bird struggling to fly free. A sigh weighted with equal measures of happiness and sorrow rose from her throat.
“It’s sad that I’ve missed so much of Dewey’s life; now here he is with a son who’s a doctor.”
“Hold on, it’s way too early to be thinking that,” Tom said. “I don’t want you to be disappointed. Remember, this is a long shot. This doctor is not in Grayson, and Oliver is a common enough name that he could be anybody.”
Margaret smiled. “He’s not. He’s Dewey’s son, I’m certain of it.”
That night she found it impossible to fall asleep. Long after she’d turned out the light and climbed into bed,