Forgive and Forget(23)

Joe nodded. He stopped overthinking, and started going through the extensive list of victims and perpetrators. Once he’d scrolled through the list, he played all the Crime Stoppers videos. A huge sense of relief washed over him. “Nothing.”

Tom visibly relaxed. “Okay. That’s good, right? I mean, at least I’m not wanted in New York City.”

Which of course didn’t mean he wasn’t wanted elsewhere. As if reading his thoughts, Tom resumed his seat on the couch beside Joe. “Maybe we should have a look at the surrounding states?”

For the next couple of hours, they searched the Missing Persons databases for the surrounding states, along with their Wanted listings, and got nothing each time. Bea had brought them their breakfast, and they’d eaten on the floor picnic-style while Joe continued to search. There was no sign of Tom on the web. Giving up that search, Joe pulled up a website on baby names and went through the list with Tom to see if any of them might jog his memory.

Nothing.

Moving on, they tried scrolling through the different state websites, looking up pictures, monuments, towns, but nothing triggered anything in Tom’s memory.

“I think we’ve done enough for one day,” Joe suggested softly. He could see Tom growing more despondent with every nothing they turned up. He shut his laptop and tossed it onto the couch cushion beside him.

“Joe, we need to talk about how I’m going to earn my keep.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t just live off your generosity. It could be weeks, even months before I might remember anything. I’m grateful to you for letting me stay, but you have to let me do something. I can help you downstairs taking out the trash, washing dishes, serving. You name it and I’ll do it. Please, Joe. It’s the only way I’ll feel good about you putting yourself out for my sake.” Tom looked around the room and sighed. “Also, I need to keep busy or I’ll go crazy. I’m not very good with sitting still for very long, or being cooped up.”

Joe wanted to protest that having Tom’s company was hardly putting Joe out, but Tom was right. Keeping him busy would be a good idea. He seemed like the type of guy who wouldn’t be content sitting around doing nothing. “All right, since it’s so important to you. You can help me in the kitchen downstairs. Believe me, you’ll be plenty busy, but it’ll keep you from being spotted. The garden between the shop and the boutique next door is locked and shrouded enough where you can go out if you need some air but can keep out of sight. How’s that?”

“That’s great! Thank you.” He gave Joe a hearty squeeze.

“Okay, okay,” Joe replied with a gentle shove. “You’re really touchy-feely, aren’t you?”

Tom grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, can’t seem to help myself around you.”

“Well, please do.” At Tom’s faltering smile, Joe cleared his throat. “At least in the shop, you know. The last thing we need is Bea trying to get us to pick out color swatches or china together.”

“Right.” Tom chuckled. “She’s pretty persuasive.”

“She also raised five mountainesque boys, one of whom went on to play professional football, so the woman’s got whacking skills. Do exactly what she says and you won’t end up with her handprint on your ass.”

Tom stared at him. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

“Good. Let’s get baking.”




JOE had to admit he’d been a little apprehensive about having Tom downstairs in the shop, even if it was just in the kitchen. He’d been worried Tom would get bored or frustrated. Tom surprised them all. He was quick to adapt, and after having something explained to him once, he picked up a knack as if he’d always been doing it. By midweek, Tom knew his way around the kitchen like he’d been working there all his life. Despite being unable to recall past memories, his mind was sharp. Bea was left speechless, and Joe had even taken a picture on his cell phone for posterity, and proof the impossible had been achieved.

“That boy is something else,” Bea murmured at Joe behind the counter up front. “He’s memorized all the ingredients for all our pies and exactly how much of what goes in which. And he’s darn quick. You should see the way he handles a knife. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wish I could say he might be a chef, but”—Bea looked up at Joe, her concern evident—“not with the way he moves. Very precise. Methodical. Procedural. The way he remembers every detail? The boy’s had some kind of training.”

Joe swallowed hard and did his best to smile. “I think you’re overthinking this, Bea.” A thought occurred to Joe. “Do you think he might be in the military?” Why hadn’t he thought of that before? “It makes sense. He’s in really good shape.”

Bea considered that. She was about to reply when the little bell above the door rang. Joe turned to greet his new customers with a smile, but the moment he saw the two men dressed in slacks and leather jackets, the smile fell off his face. Something about them gave Joe pause. One of them smiled politely as they approached the counter.

“Mr. Applin?”

“Yes? How can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Could we step outside for a moment?” The taller of the two men looked around the shop before returning his smile to Joe. He leaned in to speak quietly. “We don’t want to alarm your customers.”