Page 75 of Memories of the Lost

When the old woman exited, she headed for the counter, feeling weird and embarrassed. “Hi, I was in here earlier—”

“I remember.”

Damn.“And I left my phone somewhere. I’m retracing my steps.”

He made a little noise, holding up one finger, and reached behind the counter. “I figured you’d be back. It’s dead, and I didn’t have a charger, so I couldn’t do anything with it until I got home.”

Relief sent cooling waves through her body, almost shocking after the heat of the last few hours. “Thank God.” She smiled. “And you. Thank you.”

“No problem. I hope you find your sister.”

Tillie froze, trying to work out what that meant. What she’d said. How could she ask for more information without seeming like a weirdo? But she couldn’t think of a way, and just nodded. “Thanks.” She headed for the door.

But seriously, this guy would never see her again, and she didn’t have to please him or seem normal, but she really did need some answers. She spun around on her heel.

“Look, this is weird, but I’m having memory issues from ... medication ... and I know I was here because I brought tea home, but I don’t remember what I said about my sister.”

His brown eyes were concerned. “Wow. Are you okay?”

“Uh, that’s a hard question to answer. Do you remember what I said?”

“Yeah, we talked for like five minutes about you losing her when you were a little girl and now you’re trying to find her.”

“I didn’t say she was dead?”

“No. Is she?”

Tillie paused, trying to collate this information. “No. Iamlooking for her. Thanks.”

He grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and scribbled something down. “If you need anything, just call or text. Anytime.” His gaze was kind as he held out the paper. “I’ve been through a few things myself.”

She realized that he thought she was an addict or something, and her face flushed. Although, why be embarrassed if he wanted to help, and honestly—

A roar filled her ears—embarrassment or confusion or both—and she snatched the paper and hurried out, phone clutched to her belly. She was anxious to get home and plug in the phone, but she was alsoworried about every single moment she’d be out in the world, fearing another dissociative issue. She flagged a cab, gave the driver her address, and let go of a breath.

My sister.She’d told the clerk that she was looking for her sister, not that her sister was dead. What did her memory know that she didn’t? Were the lies her mother told even deeper than she suspected?

The tattered visions or memories that were surfacing gave her the sense that the two girls were sisters, and one of them was Tillie, but how did that fit the rest of what she knew—that her mother had a child who’d died in the Valencia firestorm and then moved to upstate New York?

It didn’t make sense. None of it fit together.

A ripple of headache blipped across her forehead, and she immediately took a breath, let it out, and rubbed circles on her temples.

When the cab pulled up, Jared was sitting on her stoop. She blurted out, “What the hell?”

“Everything all right, miss?” the driver asked.

Tillie sighed. “It’s fine, thanks.” She ran her card, then grabbed her phone and stomped out of the car. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, hold on.” He raised his hands. “You told me to meet you here.”

“What?” She closed her eyes, feeling her arms drop, her entire body droop. “When?”

“What do you mean, when? This afternoon. You texted me.”

“My phone has been dead for hours. I lost it while I was shopping earlier.”

Disappointment soured his features. With barely controlled fury, he smashed his finger against the app on his phone and turned the screen to face her.