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Maggie Tozier doesn’t remember much of her childhood.
She wouldn’t necessarily call herself old. No, no of course not. She’s barely middle aged and she shouldn’t be struggling with memory problems at all. It’s not like she’s forgotten how to cut meat or open doors or talk to people. She’s never forgotten to do things more than the average person has.
But the moment she tries to recall anything from before the age of thirteen, it all goes blank.
There are facts. She was friends with a girl named Lilly, who was often bullied for being crazy. She was in a group led by a girl named Patty for a little. She had a terrible glasses prescription and got contact lenses the moment she could. She must have had more friends than just Lilly. There’s no concrete evidence to back this up, but surely she hadn’t been that lonely.
However, all of those are facts. She knows those things, but she does not remember them. Her mother was the one to inform her of them, and after that she just accepted them as true. Yet any attempt at finding conversations or fun or hangouts in her mind with those girls comes up empty.
For some strange reason, she just doesn’t think much of it. Maggie thinks about it, gets concerned, and the next day the worry is gone and she’s forgotten that she was even stressed out about it at all.
It’s different in her teen years. She can actually bring up real situations that she knows she was a part of. None of them are crystal clear, but they really do exist. Still, nothing comes up of the girl named Lilly and the only friends she really remembers are some of the other parents that live all around the town.
From the age of nineteen onward, everything is fine. No one remembers everything that’s happened in their lives, so she knows that it’s fine to not know exactly what occurred sometime in ‘72. But she doesn’t understand why it’s all normal once she becomes an adult.
All of the important things are there. She met Wentworth, charming and handsome, when she was twenty-two. She had a son in ‘76. When that happened, she felt a tiny bit of disappointment when the doctors told her that he was born a boy, and in an instant, it’s gone, replaced by guilt instead. Maggie likes to think that for a moment, a faint memory of her kid self had come through as a gift, even if it had her feeling horrible afterwards.
The name ‘Richard’ comes to mind quickly. It was one of the names that they had been discussing, one that Maggie had put on the table. She doesn’t know why, but she’s completely drawn to the name.
Despite everything, she loves her son. She really does, even if she doesn’t quite understand him or feel as connected to him as she should.
She thinks that it has to do with the fact that she doesn’t remember what it feels like to be a kid.
—
One night, in the middle of April of ‘80, she voices her worries to her husband.
“Do you remember things from when you were younger?” She asks softly, laying face up on their bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“What, like how it feels to get a fucking wedgie? I’ve never forgotten.” Wentworth replies, a low laugh escaping his lips.
“No, I’m serious. Do you remember a lot from your childhood?”
He hums. “Well, as much as a man can, I suppose. I had a couple good friends when I was six, and I was clumsy and would trip and fall into mud a lot, and they’d tease me for it. I tried playing baseball but I was barely above average. Say, have I ever told you about the time that I…”
She doesn’t really listen. She feels a little bad about it, but she’d ask him about it again later, because she knows that he never tells a story just once anyway.
“And you actually remember these things happening?” She speaks up again when he finishes up.
“Yeah? I was there, after all.” The bedsheets rustle as he turns on his side to look at her. “Why? What’s wrong, Maggie?”
She purses her lips and crosses her arms over her stomach. “I don’t know. I just can’t seem to remember anything from when I was a kid.”
Wentworth is silent for a moment, and then he’s back to teasing. “Gee, Maggie. You aren’t developing dementia on me, are you?”
“It’s not that. I…I don’t know.”
“Hey, we’ll go see a doctor if we really have to.” He suggests, reaching out and tugging on her cheek. “Can’t have you forgetting the rest of your life, can I?”
“I won’t.” Maggie responds, patting his hand and turning on her side. When she wakes up the next morning, talking to him about it had completely slipped her mind.
It was hard not to forget when tragedy strikes.
Wentworth is always the one to look through the newspaper first. She likes to watch the way his expressions shift with each story. When it’s worth telling, he’ll relay the facts to her. She’s pouring a cup of tea when she catches sight of his expression. It’s dark, and his lips are pressed tightly against each other. That always means bad news.
There are two types of bad news. One is something going wrong with the town itself. Wentworth’s eyes fly across the page, trying to consume all the information at once. The second is tragedy, where he slowly takes in every word, savoring it as sympathy pools in his stomach.
It's a tragedy this time. Maggie knows not to ask him about it until he’s done reading. He always starts talking on his own afterward.
She places the cup before him and he looks up at her gravely.
“The Hanlons are dead.”
For a few moments, she has to try to rummage through her brain to acknowledge the family. “The one on the farm?”
“His kid. There was a fire. Says here that Will and Jessica are dead. Will’s that butcher Leroy’s son. That’s where we get meat from.”
Maggie frowns. “Didn’t they have a—”
Richie starts crying, his wails carrying over to them from his room. She slips out of her apron and hurries to his room, her feet hitting the floor rapidly.
A boy. The Hanlons had a boy. He must have been there, crying that same way for his parents. Gosh, they’re both gone, they’re gone and they’ve left a boy behind.
Her son is standing up in his crib, his head poking up over the bars. His blanket is pooled around his bare feet, and his hair is a complete mess. His tears stop instantly when he sees her, his arms outstretched. She picks him up and kisses his cheek.
“Hi, baby.” She coos softly, pressing her cheek against his head.
It takes a moment to fix him up, but she has him seated at the table minutes afterward. Wentworth is rereading that section of the newspaper.
“It really is a shame. I’ll have to give Leroy my condolences. He’s already lost his wife the previous year. I suppose that all he has left is his grandson.”
“That’s terrible.” Maggie shakes her head. “I think I…”
She stops. Where was she going with that thought? She tries to follow its path, but it takes her to a place that she just can’t recall and everything is weird and strange and odd but a voice in the back of her head tells her that she knew Will Hanlon once, a long time ago.
“I must have gone to school with him.” She realizes quietly. “He’s been here a good while. We’re around the same age, so I think…I think I might have had a class or two with him.”
Wentworth frowns. “Aw, Maggie.”
“No, no, don't do that. I’m not the one grieving here. I might not have known him at all. He was just…there.” She pushes back Richie’s hair. She really needs to cut it.
Maggie hates to admit it, but it’s easy to forget the Hanlons after that. Wentworth still buys from Leroy’s shop, but the event slips her mind. Things happen in Derry. She wasn’t affected at all by this. It didn’t tear her life apart. She doesn’t think about them for a long time.
—
Richie’s been fighting with his friends.
It’s odd. Maggie knows that Richie and Stanley have been best friends for ages. It was her and Andrea that started talking one day, and then it was their boys that connected. Everyone thinks that Richie is the one who cracks jokes at Stanley’s expense, but he always comes home complaining that ‘Stan makes jokes and no one gets them!’, and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t get Andrea’s either. But despite all their teasing, they’ve never actually fought before.
Eddie and Richie were close as well. That came from Wentworth and Frank. She once tried to talk to Sonia, but she was completely off her rocker. After Frank died, Maggie tried to offer her condolences, and she found out very quickly how odd of a person she was. She feels a bit sorry for her. Richie and Eddie could even be worse than Stanley and Richie with how they argue. But again, it’s never serious.
Bill was different. He was a sweet kid, and she really does have sympathy for what happened to little Georgie. She’s never once heard of them fighting before. They have a mutual…‘respect’ for each other. Richie teases Bill about his stutter sometimes. Bill makes fun of him back a lot. But she’s never seen it to the extent of Eddie or Stanley.
So it comes as a major surprise for her when she finds out that they haven’t just argued, but they really hit each other.
Richie refuses to talk about it with her, and it drives her a little crazy because she really does want to help. She wouldn’t know how to. She doesn’t remember fighting with any friends at his age.
She does remember the day they made up, because he comes home dirty with the brightest grin on his face.
“What did you do?” Maggie asks, looking up from the sink and scanning his glasses for any sort of damage. If he broke them again, she just might cry.
“Nothing!” He responds cheekily, skipping steps as he runs upstairs.
He didn’t seem hurt, so he was probably fine. Bill and him definitely made up. There’s no way that they hadn’t. She sent him off to the arcade and now he was back hours later looking like the world had given him the winning lottery ticket.
Oh, well. She remembers making up with Lilly and feeling like things would be okay again.
…
What?
She slowly puts down the plate she was washing. The water runs rapidly over the dishes.
Maggie barely remembers Lilly, much less ever fighting or making up with her. When did that happen?
The water continues to flow, so she snaps back to reality and closes the tap. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest. Was she finally remembering things? Why?
Her mind wanders to Patty. There were two other girls. Rhonda. Elaine. Patty, Maggie—Marge—Rhonda, and Elaine. That’s right. She only started going by Maggie later in life. That’s something significant. Why did she forget about that?
New things come to mind once she thinks about them long enough. That incident. The Black Spot. Gosh, the doctors said that her brain blocked it out because of the trauma but the longer she thinks about it the more clear the details become, so much so that she could nearly feel the heat of the blaze on her skin.
Rich died in that fire.
Rich Santos, she recalls. They were friends, and they hung out there for a reason she can’t recall with a couple other names that are at the tip of her tongue and he died. She hadn’t thought about Rich Santos since…since she was maybe fifteen. She knew that he existed, but he was a faint memory in the back of her mind. It was a fact. She had a friend, and he died. But there had been no emotional connection to him at all.
Why does remembering this make her want to cry?
She doesn’t know him anymore. She hasn’t in a long time. It’s the same thing as it had been with…with Will Hanlon. She probably knew him at some point, and then she didn’t, and he was gone. There was nothing special there.
That doesn’t answer why she’s remembering these things now. She needs a drink.
—
Maggie isn’t too sure when, but at some point, Richie’s friend group expanded from four to seven. She knows of Beverly Marsh, who the women at her book club gossiped about. She might have seen Ben Hanscom around, but she’s never spoken to Arlene before.
The third is Mike Hanlon.
It’s nice that the boy has some friends to rely on. She knows how unwelcoming Derry residents are to people who don’t look like them.
Regardless, she doesn’t think too much of it when Richie asks if they can all hang over that afternoon. Ever since that odd day when she started actually remembering things, it’s been a little easier to talk to Richie. She even got him to laugh the other day, and she felt so accomplished that she made him his favorite breakfast the next morning.
Maybe having a boy really wasn’t all too bad. She wouldn’t have him any other way, really.
She doesn’t realize how many seven kids is until she starts preparing enough food for seven kids. Maggie doesn’t think she’s ever had that many friends at once until she was an adult. She can think that now, because she remembers bits and pieces more.
They come in all at once, the noise loud and chaotic as the door swings open. Maggie really ought to teach Richie some more manners, because he doesn’t even call a greeting, instead taking his friends to the living room. Well, it’s not like he passed right by her or anything.
Maggie hasn’t seen any of Richie’s friends since before their fight, which must have been at least a month ago. Goodness, she’d missed seeing Stan around the house, even if he wasn’t who Richie was really arguing with. He confided in Wentworth about it, and he then relayed a bit of information to her after.
“Richie!” She calls, placing eight glasses onto a tray, just for symmetry. “Come take this!”
“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” He salutes back, and his footsteps jog closer to her. “Hey, Big B, come help me out!”
Bill appears behind him quickly, waving at her. “Hi, Muh-Muh-Miss-sus T.”
“Hi, Bill. Hope Richie hasn’t been giving you too much trouble since summer.” She smiles back, handing him the pitcher. Richie grabs the tray.
“Don’t you drop it.” She warns him, and he grins cheekily back. He doesn’t run, so she has hope of seeing her cups return in one piece.
Maggie continues cutting a few more fruits, expertly arranging them even though she knows that it’ll be messed up in a couple of minutes anyway. She can’t help but feel a little curious about the newer additions to Richie’s friend group. She’ll have to stop and say hello for a couple of minutes, even if he might try to claim that it's embarrassing. It couldn’t be embarrassing as—
…where was she going with that thought?
Gosh. She really needed to get her mind fixed up.
She clears her throat and wipes her hands off with a towel, dropping the knife on the cutting board and picking up the platter. There would be no good in acting all strange in front of the kids. She’d deal with all the odd things going on in her life on her own.
It’s Eddie arguing with Richie about something silly that overtakes her ears. Thinking back on it, she doesn’t quite recall what it was about, just like everything else. She knows that she set the platter down on the table and that a couple of the kids greeted her in unison.
Her eyes found Beverly Marsh first. She was a pretty young girl with bright eyes. Ben Hanscom looked a little nervous, his eyes flickering around as if feeling like he was unwelcome there. She’d have to bring it up to Richie later on.
The glasses were all filled already, and she figured that the eight was unnecessary. She picks it up and takes a step back.
“You kids tell me if you need anything, alright?” She asks, her gaze flickering over all of them.
Maggie’s eyes come to a stop at the last boy, and her heart drops to her stomach.
He’s laughing at something that Stanley had said, sitting on the couch beside him with his hands cupped around a glass. He puts it down and leans back against the cushions with a gleam in his eye that tells her that he feels like he has a spot there.
She knows that face. She knows those eyes. Because she’s seen those eyes look at her before, with joy and sorrow and curiosity and grief and an image of her own self that she doesn’t recognize anymore.
How had she ever forgotten that she knew that face?
She barely feels the glass slip from her hands and drop to the floor. It shatters at her feet, and in an instant, the entire room is silent, wide eyed and staring right at her. For a moment, no one says a word.
Richie breaks out of the trance first. “Mom?”
Maggie doesn’t respond. Her throat tightens and there’s a burning sensation in the back of her eyes. Her nose stings a little and she opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and a small noise escapes her lips. When she finally speaks, she sounds far away, and she isn’t sure that she’s the one really talking.
“Will?”
The boy stiffens. His shoulders tense up and his lips purse a bit when he realizes that he’s the one she’s so focused on.
“Mike.” He responds simply. “My dad’s…”
“Gone.” She says hollowly. “Oh, god.”
She shakes her head quickly, trying to regain her senses. So much for having her cups back in one piece and so much for not making a fool of herself in front of the kids. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I don’t know what came over me. Gosh.”
Her movements are robotic as she steps away from the glass. “You just…oh, you look so much like him. I thought…I’m sorry.”
She swallows thickly. None of them say anything. She’s ruined the whole mood with that. What’s gotten into her?
“Stay away from the glass, okay?”
It’s kind of pathetic, the way she flees the scene. Her breathing is erratic and her heart feels like it might burst out of her chest at any moment.
Maggie—Marge—knew Will Hanlon. They were kind of friends beginning high school, and a couple years in they started to rely on each other more because everyone else started to move away. There was a girl (Rebecca? Ruby? Ronnie) that escapes the town and at some point Lilly left as well and Rich had been gone for over a year by then and so it was Marge and Will and Will and Marge for a long while, just the two of them braving high school alone but together.
How had she forgotten that?
She’s the worst friend in the whole wide world, she’s got to be. No true good person would barely bat an eye at the news of their friend’s horrific death in a fire. No good friend would just forget every moment they shared together, letting it slip from their mind just like that.
And what it takes to remember him again is the sight of his orphaned son in her living room? She was terrible. She was horrible. She shouldn’t even call herself a friend of Will Hanlon. She couldn’t. She had no right.
In the living room, she can hear the whispers of a conversation arising again, hushed and secretive. They’re talking about her. They’ll call her weird and crazy and they’ll start to dislike Richie for it, too, and she knew that there was a reason that they never got along perfectly. It was because she’d ruin it all for him.
When she gains enough courage to face them again, the chatter dies down. Talk about humiliating. Maggie might just never show her face around town ever again.
“Do you need help?” Beverly asks quietly, standing up.
“Oh, no, don't worry yourselves over it. I didn't mean to damper the mood at all.” She reassures, crouching down and sweeping up the glass into a dustbin. At least she had the right enough mind not to desperately start grabbing at the shards with her bare hands.
She works as quickly as she can and then disappears from the room. She can feel their eyes on her as she leaves and then it's gone.
Will Hanlon.
When exactly had she forgotten him? Better yet, had he forgotten her at all? Or was he waiting in his apartment for a call from her that would never come—not until it was far too late to try to reconnect again.
She had never met Jessica Hanlon. If she's remembering all of this now, then she knows for certain that the two of them haven't interacted a moment because she can't recall a single time that they might have held a conversation. She doesn't know when Will met her. Maybe it was in high school, or at work, or at a bar late at night. But Maggie did not know Will Hanlon anymore.
She did not go to his wedding and he didn't get an invite to hers. They did not fawn over each other's children and arrange play dates. They did not catch up over a drink or call each other on their home phones.
They were strangers.
That's all that they'll be now.
Maggie doesn't even know where he's buried.
And what of his character? Was he timid and shy or brave and bold like his son is described to be? Did he like to play sports or read comic books under his bedsheets at night?
She might remember. She might not. And it hurts her to not know a thing about him.
Wentworth had cried an ocean of tears when Frank Kaspbrak died of cancer. His body had shaken with tremors and his face was grief-stricken and for over a week after the fact he always looked to be on the verge of tears, and at random points in the day would slump his shoulder and begin to sob.
Because they were friends. Best friends. And that's what friends were supposed to do—mourn.
What had Maggie done when Will Hanlon died? She brushed it off. She cared more about how his orphaned son would feel while swaying her own. She barely batted an eye hours later. She hadn't even offered her condolences to Leroy.
She's horrible.
Maggie can feel the tears coming but she wills them away instantly. She had no right. She had no right to mourn or grieve or curl in on herself and cry. She had just over ten years to do so and in that decade she barely spared him a thought at all.
What would it have been like if she wasn't so selfish and hadn't let him drift from her memories so easily, like he was a quick experience that she never had the chance to go through again?
She clamps her hand over her mouth and resists the urge to spew out her breakfast.
“Mrs. Tozier?” A voice comes from the threshold. She straightens up quickly, her head snapping in the direction of the sound. Her body tenses again for a moment when she sees Mike Hanlon, and then she forces herself to relax.
“Mike! Hello, sorry, what is it? Do you kids need something?” She plasters a grin on her face, but it's painful to hold.
For a moment, his expression shifts a bit like he's second guessing it, and then it's gone. “I…uh, I have a question.”
He's going to ask about her reaction. He's going to ask her why she reacted like that when she's never visited him or gone to the funeral or asked how he's been faring. He's going to ask what right she has to drop a glass and shatter it because he looks like a boy she barely remembered and did not deserve to call her friend. He's going to point out that she was not a part of their family nor their friends and that she was embarrassing herself by pretending that Will's death was really meaningful to her and that she truly wanted him back.
“Mhm?” She strains instead of voicing those thoughts, her hands gripping the counter just out of his view.
“Did you…did you know my dad?”
Here it comes. She'll have to admit that her memory is all messed up and she doesn't—not that it excuses it at all. People with memory problems don't just get rid of their friends with a snap of their fingers, she's sure they don't.
“I…it's strange.” Maggie finds herself sighing. If she even attempted to lie to his son, she'd be even worse than she is now, if that was possible at all. “My memory is a funny thing.”
Mike blinks and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, my grandpa says that Derry's got a way of making you forget what's most important.”
Will.
“It does, doesn't it?” She replies. “If I'm being selfish, I'd…I'd really say we were friends. I'd say that we knew each other for a good few years, maybe just shy of a decade.”
“That's a long time.”
“It sure feels like it, but you wouldn't be able to ask me a thing about us.” She admits softly. “I don't suppose we were that close, then.”
Mike shrugs. “You didn't have to be attached by the hip. I just wanted to know if you'd…well, it sounds silly now, but my grandpa doesn't really talk about him much.”
“No?”
“Nah. He'll bring him up, like he's some sort of myth, but he won't sit me down and tell me stories. That kind of thing.”
“He's hurting.” She offers. “It's been a long while, but his son's gone. I bet it just pains him to bring him up.”
“Yeah.”
Maggie clears her throat. “Will was…”
What was he? Again, she didn't know a thing about him. Hell, she probably knew the same amount about him as Mike did at the moment. She tries to dig, rummaging through memories and trying to bring up anything, just anything she could grasp to pull down and reveal.
“Lilly. I met him through Lilly Bainbridge.” She remembers suddenly. “I used to hang around these popular girls, but I stopped after…something. Something happened. I must have regained my dignity and I hung around her group. Will had just moved, and so me and Lilly and him and Ronnie and Rich were a little group then.”
“I don't really recognize any of those names.” Mike admits sheepishly.
“I barely did myself until a few weeks ago.”
There had to be more. Why did they meet? What did they talk about? She hasn't the faintest idea. But she does recall something he might have said. It's warbled and there are a few words but he was saying something that sounded real smart—this must have been later in high school because the fuzzy face she sees behind her eyelids is older, more structured and devoid of baby fat.
“He was a science nerd.” She laughs for no reason at all. “He was so smart. He was always saying something about the structures and masses and chemical reactions and silly things like that, and no one would really understand or care about things like that, but he really was passionate about it and the way he spoke with such joy just….just drew you in and made you want to listen to what he had to say, even if you didn't quite get it.”
Mike seems a little surprised like this. “Science? Really? I figured that the only destiny in the family was farm work.”
“Oh, no. He had big hopes and dreams just like everyone else. I lost touch with him, I think, some time after high school. I’m not sure if he left for a prestigious university afterward and came back or if he stayed here and left all of those wishful things behind.”
Maggie doesn’t think that she’s the one speaking right now. It’s like she’s spectating, watching and speaking to this boy out of the eyes and lips of a girl long since left behind, one who would never let someone dear to her just fade away from her mind. But the words just keep coming and coming before her brain can even catch up to them and try to verify their validity, and yet she doesn’t need to because her heart just knows that it’s true and allows everything to spill.
“Why would he stay?” Mike proved himself to be curious. His dad was the same way. He thought things and he spoke them.
“Maybe he felt at home here. Maybe he met your mother already and wanted to stay with her. Sometimes, it’s just about the money. There are a thousand reasons, really.” She says simply. “If you’re asking me, I’m…glad that he stayed. I think that life would have been alright for him here. He was brave enough for that.”
She pauses for a moment. “Gosh. I really wish I hadn’t just let him get away so easily.”
Mike shifts his weight on his legs. “I don’t know. I could have gone a couple more years without knowing Richie.”
Maggie laughs softly, and then pauses. Mike and Richie. Will and Rich. Will and Rich had stuck together real nicely, she knows, even if she doesn’t quite remember Rich at all. Out of all of them, Maggie was the only one still around. What a depressing thought.
“I’m sorry that I don’t recall much about him. I’m sure that if I slept on it, I’d probably be able to tell you about actual things he did and not just what he was like.”
“Oh, that’s all right. It was fine just to hear a couple of things. I s’ppose you don’t know anything about my mom?”
“I wish I did, Mike. I’m sure she has at least one friend still around. I’ll ask at my book club. Everyone knows everything there.” She winks, and he smiles back.
“Thanks. Uh, I told the others that I was going to the bathroom, so I should probably get back before Richie accuses me of having bowel problems.” He jabs his thumb back in the direction of the living room.
“That boy.” Maggie scolds him under her breath, shaking her head. “I hope you’ll be able to convince those kids that I’m not a clumsy lunatic for that little stunt there.”
Mike straightens. “Oh, no, they don’t. They were just a little worried, that’s all. I mean, Richie barely even made a joke about it.”
Aww, maybe he did have a little space in his heart for her.
“Really, though. It’s just…you look a lot like him. You remind me a bit of him, too.”
He scratches the back of his neck, taking a couple of steps back. “Yeah. My grandpa’s said it a couple times.”
“I’m sure he has.” She hums. “But, Mike?”
He stops, tilting his head at her.
“Don’t let that fool you. Just because you’re his son doesn’t mean you’re him. You can share a few features and traits, but you’re Mike. Just Mike.” Maggie leans back against the counter. “And I know this doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I think that he’d be very proud of the young man you are now.”
Mike’s eyes seem to widen, just a fraction, and then a beaming smile that belongs just to him graces his face and he turns his face slightly away.
“Thank you, Mrs. Tozier.”
Maggie watches him go when he retreats, a series of cheers erupting when he gets back to the living room, welcoming him back and filling him in on a discussion that had taken place in his absence.
There isn’t an inkling in her that could hint as to why she had let herself forget. She has no idea how it had happened or if it was only affecting her or other kids she knew. She doesn’t know if Will couldn’t quite find Ronnie’s face or name either. She isn’t positive that she understands everything that’s happened since those early days.
She finds her heart aching a bit, reaching out and looking for a piece of it that had fallen years ago. She misses him. She misses Will, even though she barely remembers just a few more things about him than she did the week before. But it feels like a stepping stone.
Maybe she’ll remember more things about Lilly Bainbridge next. Why she had really left, and what caused their fight she keeps recalling snippets of. Maybe she’ll finally figure out why Ronnie Grogan and her started trusting each other. How her laugh used to sound and what kind of candy she liked. And maybe she’ll finally realize why Rich Santos was so close and so far away all at once. His voice and his face and the boy he was before he was gone.
But she hopes to first rekindle something within herself that will tell her exactly who Will Hanlon was to her and everything that came with him.
Maggie Tozier was about ten years too late, but it was about time that she paid Leroy Hanlon a long overdue visit.