A Spool of Blue Thread

by Anne Tyler

But still, you know how it is when you’re missing a loved one. You try to turn every stranger into the person you were hoping for. You hear a certain piece of music and right away you tell yourself that he could have changed his clothing style, could have gained a ton of weight, could have acquired a car and then parked that car in front of another family’s house. “It’s him!” you say. “He came! We knew he would; we always …” But then you hear how pathetic you sound, and your words trail off into silence, and your heart breaks.

Back in my daughters’ college days, I seemed to be forever waiting for them at the airport. This was when you could still wait at the gate, and I can’t tell you how many times I lit up at the sight of a total stranger filing in off the jetway. Often there wasn’t the slightest resemblance. I have been known to look squarely at a middle-aged blonde and momentarily mistake her for one of my dark-haired, dark-eyed girls. I thought of that when I was writing about the man in the tank top whom the Whitshanks imagine to be Denny. I worried this was too far-fetched, but then I remembered those airport scenes and thought, No, it could have happened, all right. It’s amazing how you can delude yourself when you’re longing to see a loved one.