eyes were filled with sadness and a heartbreaking acceptance of what was. Margaret could see his pain was greater even than hers.
The crushing guilt of having wasted so many years settled in her chest. She should have searched for Dewey and the others long ago. Now she didn’t know if she was courageous enough to face the brother who was her soulmate and have him turn away. Could she live with him not knowing who she was? To be together and have him not remember all they’d meant to one another? Which would be more painful, to know she’d come this far and turned away or accept that what was once a forever thread had somehow been broken? If Dewey had forgotten everything, how would she find the rest of the family?
Jagged-edged fragments of her heart broke away and tore at her throat as she spoke.
“I’d still like to see my brother. Will you tell me where he is?”
Oliver smiled. “I had a feeling you might say that. When I heard you were here, I called Mom. She and Dad are coming to dinner at our house this evening, and we’d love to have you join us.” He scribbled the address on a note paper and handed it to her. “Would six o’clock be okay?”
Margaret nodded and thanked him for the invitation. Leaving the office, she leaned heavily on Tom’s arm. “I waited all these years, and now it may be too late.”
“People don’t forget someone they’ve truly loved, Margaret. When you see Dewey, I believe he’ll remember.”
She sniffed back the sob rising in her throat. “And what if he doesn’t?”
“Then you’ll remember for him. You’ll tell him the same stories you’ve told me. By sharing those memories, you might give him back some of what he’s lost.”
The Visit
OLIVER’S HOUSE WAS ON THE cul-de-sac at the far end of a quiet street. It was a white colonial with a wide front porch and a long driveway. A Mercury station wagon with wood paneling on the sides was parked in the drive. Tom pulled in behind it and parked.
“Do you think that’s Dewey’s car?” Margaret asked nervously.
“Could be; it looks like an older model.” He leaned over and patted her hand. “Relax, Maggie. Don’t worry about what might be lost. Think about what might be found.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Maggie?”
He clicked off the ignition and turned with a mischievous grin. “Uh-huh. It suits you better. I’ve always thought Margaret was too stuffy a name for woman like you.”
“A woman like me?” She laughed and shook her head.
From the moment they stepped onto the front porch, Margaret felt the warmth inside the house. Through the sheer curtains she saw shadows of people moving around in the softly lit room and heard the sound of pleasant conversation. Words flowed with an easy rhythm.
When the echo of the door chime came from inside, her hand trembled and a scattering of petals fell from the bouquet she’d brought. She hadn’t thought to ask Oliver’s wife’s name or that of his mother, and when the door opened she stood speechless. Tom stepped forward with a smile and greeted the woman who answered.
“Thanks for having us tonight. I’m Tom Bateman, and this is Maggie, Dewey’s sister.”
The woman reached out and hugged Margaret and then Tom. “I’m Claudia, Oliver’s wife.” She pushed back the door and gestured for them to come in. “Oliver’s told his dad you were going to be here tonight, and I think he’s looking forward to it. I know Mama Hobbs is.”
She moved through the foyer into the living room. Margaret recognized Dewey the moment she stepped into the room. He was sitting on the sofa, and beside him sat a woman with a soft round face and eyes the blue of a cloudless summer sky.
“Mama Hobbs, this is Dad’s sister, Maggie, and her friend, Tom.”
“Please, call me Ellen,” the woman said. “Dewey has spoken of you so often, I feel as though I already know you.” Leaning toward Dewey, she said, “Sweetheart, do you remember your sister, Maggie?”
Dewey gave a slight nod, but his expression didn’t change. Neither smiling nor frowning, he had the look of a man whose thoughts were a million miles away. Margaret hesitated for a few moments then crossed the room and kneeled beside him.
“Dewey, it’s me, Maggie. We have the same birthday, remember?”
He glanced at her, bobbed his head, and looked away. He didn’t remember. He didn’t even know who she was, not really. All those years she’d