CHAPTER 1—1992, NOT THE BEGINNING

Beginnings are always a problem. Maggie knew this wasn’t the beginning, but it felt like the right place to start. This Memorial Day weekend gave her a chance to explore parts of D.C. she’d been meaning to check out since she got to town six months ago. The timing seemed right, too—after staring across the sea of bone-white grave markers accenting the greenness at Arlington National Cemetery.

And finally getting up the courage to find Mike’s name on The Wall, even though there was no grave marker for him at Arlington. She checked the directory to locate his name. She’d thought about bringing some souvenir of their time together, but couldn’t bring herself to part with anything of his. Maggie bent over the section of wall to scan the names. As she brushed her fingers over his etched name, she felt the pain return. This made it seem so final.

Two little girls raced by, giggling and screaming at each other. Maggie stared at them, wondering what hers and Mike’s kids would have looked like. What sounded like ten zillion motorcycles zooming at her like angry bees tore into her reverie.“Get a grip, woman,” she muttered to herself.No use in dwelling in the past. It was gone. Forever. What mattered was here and now, and don’t you dare forget it.

Maggie watched the motorcyclists. Pretty impressive sight. Some of them were breaking formation to come over to The Wall. One guy dismounted his bike somewhat stiff leggedly and limped over to where Maggie stood.“‘Scuse me,” he said.

“Sure.” Maggie scooted to the right. She glanced over as he squatted down, pulled out a piece of paper, put it over Mike’s name and started tracing it. Now she looked at him more closely.“Ray? Is it really you?”

He squinted up at her.“Maggie?”

She nodded. He straightened up and grabbed her in a bear hug.“Let me look at you, gal,” he said, pushing her away.

As she looked him over, Maggie remembered the youthful Ray—tall, thin as the clarinet he played, brimming with unrealized sexual energy, hair almost a burr. She reached back across the years and thanked the younger Maggie for not seducing him, although she’d been tempted before Mike came along.

She tried to reconcile that image with the present Ray—more like a tuba now, but not quite fat. Okay, still brimming with sexua