There’s a quiet kind of joy that comes when someone truly sees your work—not just the plot or prose, but the emotional architecture beneath it. Dawn Pisturino’s recent review of Reunion: A Story did just that.

She saw Jim Garraty not as a fictional construct, but as a man shaped by memory, regret, and the ache of first love. She called the story “authentic on every level.” That phrase lingers. It affirms the emotional truth I’ve tried to honor—not just in Reunion, but across the Garratyverse.

Her review wasn’t just generous—it was emotionally literate. She understood the heartbreak of missed chances, the dignity of remembering, and the way a single moment can echo across decades.

If you’ve ever wondered what Reunion is really about, it’s this:

“Jim Garraty is a man filled with regret over his first love.”

And maybe, in that regret, there’s a kind of grace.

Here’s a moment from the story that still haunts me:

I was not able to sleep that night. To be honest, I didn’t even try. I stood in front of my living room window, staring out at the bright lights of New York City. I don’t know how long I stood there; in fact, I didn’t see the millions of multicolored lights or the never-ending streams of headlights and taillights on the busy streets below. Instead, I saw, in my mind’s eye, the crowded high school classrooms and halls where my friends and I had shared triumphs and tragedies, where the ghosts of our past still reside.

Images flickered in my mind. I saw the faces of teachers and fellow students I hadn’t seen in years. I heard snatches of songs I had rehearsed in third-period chorus. I saw the library where I had spent long hours studying after school.

Most of all, I saw Marty.

Marty as a shy sophomore, auditioning for Mrs. Quincy, the school choir director.

Marty singing her first solo at the 1981 Christmas concert.

Marty at the 1982 Homecoming Dance, looking radiant after being selected as Junior Princess.

Marty sitting alone in the chorus practice room on the last day of our senior year.

I stared long and hard at those sepia-colored memories. And as my mind carried me back to the place I had sworn I’d never return to, I remembered.

That’s the heart of it. Not just nostalgia, but the emotional clarity that comes when we finally allow ourselves to remember.

Reunion: A Story