Even he was aware how lame that sounded, he thought with a disgusted shake of his head.
Since thinking of Serena was becoming as uncomfortable as trying to remember his past, he pushed the thoughts aside and carried his empty cup to the sink. The remaining hours of the day stretched ahead of him, empty and uninteresting. Restlessness tugged at him, drawing him toward the door. Maybe if he got out, walked around town for a while, he might accidentally stumble onto a clue about his past. Some trigger that would bring the memories flooding back—a sight, a sound, a smell, anything. If nothing else, at least he’d be getting outside.
It was only a mile or so from the house to downtown Edstown. Sam could easily walk to the diner, though Marjorie had insisted he ride with her. Keeping his pace leisurely, he spent the afternoon exploring, passing through the quiet residential section in which the Schaffer home was located, past a tidy trailer park and into the downtown area with its old stone buildings and dusty glass storefronts. He nodded to a few townspeople he’d seen in the diner. The sidewalks weren’t exactly crowded, but they weren’t empty, either.
Marjorie had explained that after years of deterioration, the downtown area had experienced a resurgence recently. Along with the banks and offices that had been there for decades, new businesses had opened in long-vacant buildings—a couple of antique stores, a coffee shop and bakery, a florist and a children’s clothing store. Charming, in a vintage Americana way, but there was nothing remotely familiar about any of it to him.
Studying the fluttering blue-and-white awning over the children’s store, he strained for any clue about where he might have come from. He glanced at the summer sky over the one-and two-story buildings and mentally filled it with towering skyscrapers. He was remembering a large city, obviously. But where? Was the flash of memory merely a place he’d visited, or was it home for him?
His head began to pound, as it always did when he tried to force the memories. It had become a matter of self-defense to mentally flinch away from the effort and concentrate only on the present. He did so, even though there were only two weeks remaining until his self-imposed deadline for admitting the truth.
An oddly shaped stone building at the end of the block housed an old-fashioned candy store called Sweets ’n’ Treats. Sam had noticed it before, but had yet to see enough customers there to indicate that business was thriving. He knew that many small businesses closed within the first couple of years of operation—one of those useless trivia facts he’d retained when his more vital memories had been wiped clean—and this store looked as though it might be in trouble.
He almost turned around before he spotted the young boy pressed against the glass at the very end of the store. The kid was scrawny, probably no more than ten or eleven and dressed in faded hand-me-down clothes. Sandy hair in need of a trim tumbled over his forehead and ears, and his sneakers looked ready for the trash bin. Sam could almost see the boy’s mouth watering as he gazed at the colorfully displayed candies inside the store. Without thinking, he said, “Looks good, doesn’t it?”
Obviously startled, the boy whipped his head around. The ugly bruise that covered the left side of his face made Sam frown even as he remembered that he really shouldn’t talk to kids he didn’t know. As innocuous as the overture had been, he didn’t need Chief Meadows pegging him as a potential pervert in addition to whatever else he already suspected.
After a moment during which the boy seemed to debate the wisdom of talking to a stranger, he finally nodded and said, “It all looks good.”
Sam glanced at the window display. “I used to like those long red licorice whips when I was a kid.” The statement felt oddly right. So much so that it was probably true.
“I like those, too,” the boy agreed. “But my favorites are those big coiled lollipops. They last forever.”
Eying the lollipop that was nearly as big as the boy’s head, Sam chuckled. “It would definitely take a while to finish one of those.”
He was tempted to offer to buy the boy one of the treats—Marjorie had insisted on giving him a small advance against his salary so he’d have some cash—but he couldn’t figure out how to make the offer without destroying every lesson the kid should have been taught about accepting gifts from strangers. He hated the necessity of teaching those lessons, but he knew they were justified.
The boy sighed and stepped away from the window. “I gotta go. My, uh, stepdad is waiting for me at the muffler shop.”
The muffler shop was one street over. Sam had spotted it during his walk. That explained what the kid was doing alone on the streets of downtown. “Nice talking to you.”
“Yeah. See ya, mister.” The kid started to walk away, then turned again. “What’s your name?”
“I’ve been answering to Sam.”
Nodding gravely, the boy seemed to find nothing particularly odd about Sam’s choice of words. “My name’s Zach.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Bye, Sam.”
“Bye, Zach.”
Sam watched as Zach rushed off. Something about the kid had tugged at Sam’s memory. What made him suspect the boy was unhappy, that he wasn’t returning to a loving, supportive home? What caused him to worry that the bruise on that freckled face hadn’t been caused by a boyhood tumble but by an angry hand? Why could he almost feel that careless swipe of hand against his own face?
“Hey, Sam. What’s up?”
The lazy drawl made him turn. With a sense of inevitability, he said, “Chief Meadows.”
“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”
“Thanks—I think.”
“Doing some sightseeing?”
“A bit. Nice town you’ve got here.”
Dan seemed to take the comment as a personal compliment. “Thanks.”