by Sharon Shinn
Isabel came bustling out, her purse over her shoulder. “What did I tell you? He’s a horror, isn’t he? He fails on every single issue!Theenvironment,theenergypolicy,nationaldefense,immigration—”
Daiyu closed the magazine, disturbed by her strange antipathy toward a man she’d never even heard of until five minutes ago. “I guess I should read about him a little more,” she said.
“Him and every other candidate!” Isabel agreed. “Your best defense in an uncertain world is to arm yourself with information.”
Isabel continued in much the same vein as they walked to the car, exited the garage, and began driving south on Broadway. Daiyu didn’t have to do more than murmur an agreement from time to time. Traffic was clogged by baseball fans heading to the game, and they were stopped for a long time in front of the new stadium. Through two light changes, Daiyu stared at the Cardinals logo emblazoned all over the stadium and traced the lines of the arched metal accents that rose like a half-finished cage above the brick of the massive structure. A memory struggled to surface from the depths of her mind. Then the light changed and Isabel drove on.
As they pulled up in front of the townhouse, Isabel said, “You think about volunteering for the Carnahan campaign. We could use your help.”
Her hand on the door handle, Daiyu surprised herself by saying, “You know what? I think I’ll do it. Let me know when you want me to be where.”
TWENTY-FOUR
ONE WEEK LATER, there was only a single day left in Daiyu’s summer internship. Daiyu figured Isabel would treat her to a nice lunch, even though it wouldn’t really be her final day at the agency, since she’d agreed to work one Saturday a month. She was already thinking about what outfit she would wear in case they ended up at one of the fancy downtown restaurants like Kemoll’s or Mike Shannon’s.
“Daiyu, I have to run,” Isabel said, hurrying from her office while simultaneously trying to fix an earring. “Can you turn off the phones and lock up? I hate to ask.”
“Not a problem,” Daiyu said. “See you tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you!” Isabel called and disappeared out the door.
Daiyu routed the phone system to the night message and powered down her computer. Then—because Isabel was notoriously neglectful of small details—she went to Isabel’s office to turn off the computer and switch off the lights. She was just picking her purse up from her desk when a shy knock drew her attention to the door.
“May I help you?” she asked.
The visitor was a young man, her own age or a year or two older, tall and thin and scruffy-looking. His brown hair fell in curls to his shoulders, and his clothes looked like they’d been slept in for the past five days. Still, she couldn’t immediately smell any unpleasant body odor, so Daiyu guessed that he’d cleaned himself up recently in the fountain at Kiener Plaza or maybe the bathroom at Union Station. He looked lost, but not atallscary.Atanyrate,shewasn’tafraidofhim.Shegavehim a friendly smile.
He smiled back. “I thought—it said on the sign—this is an employmentagency?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you think you could help me find a job?”
She kept her voice compassionate. “It’s not that kind of agency,” she said. “We only find jobs for people who already have jobs and want better ones.”
“Oh. All right.”
He made no move to leave, just watched her with a slightly hopeful expression. She said, “What kind of work can you do?”
He hunched his shoulders in a shrug. “You know. Whatever needs to be done. Manual labor, mostly.”
“When’s the last time you worked?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve been looking for a while,” he said.
“When’s the last time you ate?” she said even more gently.
“Oh, I had a meal this morning. There’s a church a few blocks away where they’ll feed you. Let you sleep. But I want to get hired on somewhere. I don’t like this drifting around.”
“How long have you been in St. Louis?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“Where were you before?”
He didn’t answer, and she came a step nearer, studying him more closely. The clothes were a little strange, sloppy black pants and a brightly colored shirt that didn’t fit like American clothes. Maybe he’d picked them up from the trash bin behind a theatrical shop. He wasn’t wearing a watch and didn’t have any tattoos that she could see, but both his earlobes were pierced, and he wore small black hoops that looked like they might be made of jet or even black jade. He was thin, but his forearms were wiry; wherever he’d been before, he’d been used to hard physical work. He was probably strong enough to lift her over his head or strangle her with his bare hands.
Many girls, she knew, would have been terrified to be caught alone in an upper-story office with a strange man who looked like a drifter. But Daiyu wasn’t afraid in the least. Something about this lost young man appealed to her—a sweetness in his smile, a kindness in his expression. “Where were you before?” she repeated in a soft voice.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “I don’t really know. I’m having trouble remembering things. Maybe I hit my head or something.”
“Could be the effect of drugs or alcohol.”
“No,” he said swiftly. “I remember that much. I don’t do that stuff.”
She didn’t think he was old enough to be a veteran suffering from post-traumatic stress—then again, a car accident, a fall down some steep steps, any number of catastrophes could have left him with a case of partial amnesia.
“Do you think you need to see a doctor?”
He shook his head. “No, I feel fine. I feel pretty good, in fact. I just—woke up one morning and I was here in St. Louis, sleeping under the Arch. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do ever since.”
“There are a couple of homeless shelters I can tell you how to get to,” she offered. “Maybe they’ll have a social worker who can help you. I suppose you don’t have a Social Security number or a driver’s license or any kind of I.D.”
He grinned. “I suppose not.”
“Do you know your name?”
He looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that he ought to have one. “It begins with a ‘K,’” he said at last.
“Keith? Kevin? Kelly? Karl?”
“I don’t think so. Karl’s the closest.”
“Caleb?” she added, even though it didn’t really start with a “K.”
He looked pleased. “Caleb,” he said. “Or—mm—almost.”
“Well, Caleb, I’ve got to lock up the office now and go home. I can tell you how to get to Larry Rice’s place, but I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do for you. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “Thanks for being so nice.”
He pushed the button for the elevator while she locked the office door, and they rode down in silence. Once they were outside, she took him to the corner of Olive and Broadway so she could give him directions to Larry Rice’s New Life Evangelistic Center. He listened closely and nodded every time she named an intersection, so she was reasonably certain he’d be able to find his way. But before saying a brisk good-bye and running for her bus, she hesitated and asked one last question. “What brought you to St. Louis? Any idea?”
“I’ve been trying to remember that, too,” he said. “I think a friend of mine is here somewhere.”
“Maybe he’s looking for you.”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I said I wouldn’t come.”
“Why’d you change your mind?”
He smiled. “Got too lonely, I guess. Seemed worse to stay behind than make the journey.”
“Did you come a long way?”
“I think so. I can’t remember.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Are you sorry you came? All that effort and then—you don’t even know why you’re here?”
“No, I like it in St. Louis. I think this is where I’m
supposed to be.”
“Well, good luck, Caleb. I hope you get your memory back. I hope you locate your friend. You think you can find the shelter now?”
“I think so. Thanks again.”
He smiled at her again and set off west on Olive, against the direction of the one-way traffic. She only just now noticed the heavy cloth bag hanging over his shoulder and probably holding all his worldly possessions.
On impulse, she called after him. “Caleb!”
He turned. “Yes?”
“Listen, my dad’s rehabbing our house. He’s always hiring a couple of guys to help him with the heavy work. If you want a job for a few days, there’s plenty to do at our place.”
He stood there a moment, his hands clasping the strap of his bag. “Really?”
She smiled. “Yeah, really. I’ll even make you dinner.”
“I don’t want to get in the way.”
“My dad’ll be glad to have you. Come on.”
He hesitated another moment, but she waved him forward, and he joined her again, ducking his head to hide his shy smile. “Look, there’s our bus!” she cried, and grabbed his arm to pull him quickly down the street to where the Soulard bus was wheezing to a stop.
She had to dig for her own bus pass and then fish out enough change to pay Caleb’s fare, but she did all of that one-handed. Her fingers were still crooked around his elbow, and she kept her hand on his arm as she pushed him ahead of her down the aisle and onto one of the empty sets of hard plastic seats. She held on to him once the bus lurched forward; she kept her grip as she began pointing out all the sights he might have missed during his brief stay in the city. She didn’t even question the fact that it seemed so natural to be sitting so close to him, her fingers wrapped around his arm. She held on to him as if afraid he might disappear if she were foolish enough to let him go.
SHARON SHINN has won the William C. Crawford Award for Outstanding New Fantasy Writer and was twice nominated for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. Her Samaria novels have been Locus bestsellers, and her novels Summers at Castle Auburn and The Safe-Keeper’s Secret were named ALA Best Books for Young Adults. Her book Angel-Seeker won the Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Science Fiction novel from the Romantic Times, and her books Mystic and Rider, Reader and Raelynx, and Fortune and Fate were all named finalists. A graduate of Northwestern University, Sharon Shinn also works as a journalist for a trade magazine.
Visit her Web site at www.sharonshinn.net.
