“Come on,” Jack said, guiding me back toward the ballroom. “Diane’s probably eaten all the mushrooms by now.”
Across the ballroom, a woman caught my eye.
Mid-forties, elegant, with dark hair pinned up in a style that suggested she’d had professional help. She was laughing with a younger woman, maybe nineteen or twenty, bright-eyed, gesturing animatedly about something that clearly mattered to her. Mother and daughter, I assumed. They had the same nose, the same way of tilting their heads when they listened.
Something about them made me pause.
A tug of recognition I couldn’t explain. A feeling like déjà vu, except deeper—not justI’ve been here beforebutI’ve known you before.The sensation was strong enough that I set down mychampagne glass, strong enough that I took a step toward them without meaning to.
“—so proud of Emma,” someone nearby was saying, a woman in pearls who was clearly telling anyone who would listen. “Harvard pre-med was hard enough, but now she’s matched for pediatric oncology at Memorial Sloan Kettering. Can you imagine? She’s going to be saving children’s lives.”
Emma.
The name echoed in my mind like a bell struck in an empty church.
Emma.
Familiar. Important. A name that meant something, thatshouldmean something, except I couldn’t remember what. I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to catch the edges of a thought that kept dissolving. A girl. A hospital. A book about a pig and a spider, read aloud in a voice that?—
Nothing. The memory slipped away like water through my fingers.
I found myself moving toward them, drink forgotten, Jack’s questioning look following me across the room. I didn’t know what I was going to say. Didn’t know why I felt compelled to approach two strangers at a charity gala. But my feet kept moving, carrying me through the crowd until I was standing in front of the dark-haired woman and her bright-eyed daughter.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and my voice sounded strange to my own ears, too earnest, too raw for small talk at The Pierre. “I just, I feel like we’ve met. Have we met?”
The older woman smiled politely, the smile of someone used to being approached by strangers. “I don’t think so. I’m Sarah Owens. This is my daughter Emma.”
Sarah. Emma.
The names hit me like physical things, like stones dropped into still water. Ripples spreading outward, disturbing something that had been settled for twenty-eight years.
“Maggie Cavanaugh,” I managed, and shook both their hands. Sarah’s grip was firm and professional. Emma’s was enthusiastic, the handshake of someone who hadn’t yet learned to be guarded.
Nothing. No spark of recognition in their eyes. Just two strangers making small talk at a charity event, wondering why this well-dressed woman in her fifties was looking at them like she’d seen a ghost.
“Your daughter’s going into pediatric oncology?” I asked, grasping for something to say. “That’s wonderful.”
Emma’s whole face changed, lit up from within, the way people look when you ask them about the thing they love most.
“It’s what I’ve always wanted. Ever since—” She paused, something flickering behind her eyes. “Well, ever since I got sick when I was little. Leukemia, when I was seven. The doctors who took care of me were amazing. They made everything less scary, you know? They made me feel like I was going to be okay, even when I wasn’t sure. I want to be that for other kids.”
Something ached in my chest. A pressure behind my ribs, a tightness in my throat. I didn’t know why. Didn’t know this girl, had never met her, had no reason to feel like I was looking at someone I’d lost.
“You’ll be wonderful at it,” I heard myself say. “I can tell.”
Emma beamed, a smile so bright it hurt to look at. “Thank you. That’s really kind.”
“She will be,” Sarah added, putting a hand on her daughter’s arm with obvious pride. “She’s been working toward this her whole life.”
We exchanged pleasantries, comments about the venue, the cause, the quality of the champagne. Then Sarah glanced at herwatch, mentioned something about finding their table, and they drifted away into the crowd. Mother and daughter. Strangers.
I stood very still.
The ballroom swirled around me, music and laughter and the clink of crystal, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just missed something crucial, some connection that should have been obvious, some thread that would tie everything together if I could just find the end of it.
Emma. Sarah.
I’d known those names once. I was certain of it. Had loved the people attached to them, in some other life, some other version of myself that had faded like an old photograph left too long in sunlight.
