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the details of my car rental. An hour and a half of driving later, I passed the sign welcoming me to Greenbriar.
    The town looked exactly as I remembered it. Coming around the curve and down the hill, I could see rooftops peeking through the trees and, beyond that, the glimmer of the sun setting on Greenbriar Lake in the distance. I took a deep breath as I continued to drive. In an odd way, coming here almost felt like coming home. This place was in my blood, as much a part of me as the color of my eyes or the sound of my voice. It owned a piece of my heart.
    I thought back to the first time I had come here. I was a nine-year-old kid ready for a week at Camp Greenbriar, the local Christian summer camp that covered 300 acres of wooded lakefront property. I had loved it so much that I continued to return as a camper every summer through age fifteen. When I turned sixteen, I started coming back as a junior counselor. To me, summer would always mean the sparkling lake, the shadowy blue mountains, the intoxicating smell of dirt and moss and pine.
    Anticipating that smell, I rolled down my window and inhaled deeply. Knowing I was almost to the Webbers’ house, I slowed as I passed the big Cornerstone Community Church, which had a giant sign out front announcing “Free Concert Tonight!” by a Christian rock group. Though, according to the sign, the concert didn’t begin for another hour, the parking lot in front of the church was already filled to overflowing.
    Just past the church, I made a left turn into the Webbers’ long, winding driveway. As their house came into view through the trees, I had to blink away sudden, sentimental tears. I had been afraid I might feel anxious or depressed once I got here, but the opposite was true. As I pulled to a stop and looked up at the house and then out at the lake behind it, I was flooded with a calm sense of peace and contentment.
    After the long flight and then the drive, my legs were stiff as I climbed from the car. I had brought along some Ghirardelli chocolates from San Francisco as a small gift, so I grabbed the box from the backseat, shut the door, and started up the walk. I was a bit concerned about the number of cars parked in the driveway. The Webbers had said they would be having “a few people” over so that I could meet the directors of the different migrant programs MORE was affiliated with. But this looked like more than a few, and I wished suddenly that I had asked them to hold off on all of this until tomorrow. We should’ve reserved tonight for a private reunion for the three of us, not a public gathering with 50 of their closest friends and associates.
    Holding my breath, I knocked on the door and tried to decide what the Webbers were to me now anyway. With Bryan gone, were they still my in-laws or were they my “former” in-laws? When the door opened and I was face-to-face with Bryan’s mom and dad, I knew there was nothing former about it. These people were still my family.
    “Callie!” Natalie cried, her arms flying open. “Honey, I’m so glad you’re here.”
    We hugged, holding on for a long, long time. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I had missed her. Once we pulled apart, Dean was there for a hug as well.
    Finally, I stepped back and looked at them, thinking that in two years they hadn’t seemed to age a bit. As always, Dean sported trim gray hair and just the slightest paunch under a tailored shirt and sweater-vest. Natalie, with her silver bob and genial face, looked almost like an older, female version of Bryan.
    “You look beautiful, my dear,” she pronounced, reaching up to touch the back of my short hair. “Elegant as ever, and this hairdo is perfect for you.”
    Thanking her for the compliment, I gave her the chocolates and stepped inside. As Dean closed the door behind me, I could hear voices and music coming from the other rooms, and I quickly realized this wasn’t just a small welcoming reception, but an out-and-out