by Gina Wilkins
“All of this is free to the public?” he asked Serena, raising his voice over the sound of a gospel quartet singing on a makeshift stage in the center of the field.
Looking remarkably cool and fresh in her shorts and T-shirt, considering that the air was still almost stiflingly hot, she nodded. “Yes. It’s our one big, citywide festivity. Most of the local businesses contribute, and we publish their names in the Evening Star several times to thank them. It’s good PR for them, and a nice community service for the city.”
Marjorie, coordinated as always in a brightly colored knit tunic and matching slacks, had been craning her head since they arrived, scanning the crowd. Her search ended at an open-sided awning that had been set up not far from the food, but within clear view of the stage. The awning seemed to Sam to be filled with gray-haired ladies and a few equally mature men. “You two have a good time,” Marjorie said cheerfully, already moving toward the awning. “I’ll catch you later.”
“You’re leaving us?” Sam asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“You kids don’t want an old lady tagging after you all evening. I’m sure you’d rather find other young people. Go on, now. Have fun. Serena, be sure to introduce Sam to all your friends.”
Serena rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
Before Sam could say anything else, Marjorie had bustled away. “She does this every year,” Serena said with a sigh. “Ditches me as soon as we get here. She says she doesn’t want to cramp my style, but the truth is she likes to spend the evening gossiping with her friends. They giggle and whisper about everyone here—worse than any bunch of teenagers you’ve ever met.”
“Aren’t they going to eat? They don’t look like they’re in any hurry to get in line.”
Serena’s expression held both exasperation and reluctant admiration. “They don’t have to get in line. They’ll sit in their lawn chairs under the shade of that awning and pretty soon some solicitous teenagers, prodded by their mothers, will bring plates of food so the little old ladies don’t have to exert themselves by standing in line in this heat.”
Sam laughed. “As if Marjorie Schaffer isn’t perfectly capable of carrying a plate of food.”
“And so are most of her friends. But they’re not above taking advantage of their years today. They love being treated with such deference.”
Eyeing the lines waiting to be served, Sam asked, “So, how old does one have to be to qualify for that privilege?”
“Much older than we are,” Serena replied with a smile. “Let’s set these chairs down somewhere and get in line.”
She’d been a bit stiff with him when they’d left her house a short while earlier. He didn’t know whether it was their public surroundings or the deliberately casually friendly way he’d been treating her, but she was beginning to relax—and he was relieved. Both of them had had plenty of time to second-guess the impulsive kisses between them. He was certain she’d come to the same conclusion he had—the kisses had been a mistake. He would hate to see anything drive a wedge in the comfortable friendship that had been forming between them.
He needed the few friends he’d made here—at least until he remembered if he had any elsewhere.
As they waited in the long line for food, Sam idly scanned the crowd. He saw several people he’d met at the diner and the librarian he’d gotten to know as he’d researched amnesia articles and cruised the Internet for clues to his identity. He waved to her, and she waved back. Dan Meadows and a couple of his officers were highly visible, mingling, obviously on alert for signs of any trouble. Sam suspected that Dan would make very sure the annual Independence Day festivity proceeded smoothly, at least in the crowd control area.
He and Serena had almost reached the serving tables when Sam noticed a lone man wandering on the far side of the football field. Something about the guy struck him as odd. Maybe it was the way he was dressed—dark chinos, crisply pressed sport shirt, black oxfords, expensive sunglasses. He seemed out of place in the cutoffs-and-flip-flops crowd that had gathered in the summer heat. While everyone else was socializing, this man walked alone, exchanging only an occasional perfunctory nod, not seeming to know anyone he passed.
Must be one of those out-of-towners who’d come to observe the festivities, Sam decided. Maybe hoping to meet women. If so, he should loosen up some. That stiff, rather formal manner was hardly conducive to casual friendly encounters.
Losing interest in the guy, Sam turned to respond to a greeting from a regular diner customer, then to accept a plate from one of the cheerful servers. A glance at the awning let him know that the helpful teenagers Serena had mentioned had already broken in line and snagged meals for the seniors there. He smiled as he watched Marjorie regally pat a boy’s arm, wearing the same grandmotherly smile he remembered from his first meeting with her. “Way to go, Marjorie,” he murmured.
“Don’t encourage her,” Serena advised him, overhearing. “She’s shameless.”
Sam only grinned.
They carried their plates to the lawn chairs they’d brought with them and were soon surrounded by Serena’s friends—mostly young married couples, some with small children, and a few singles, Lindsey Gray among them. Serena introduced him to everyone he hadn’t met before, her tone very casual, making it quite clear that she and Sam were mere acquaintances. She almost overemphasized that fact. Sam could see that some of her friends were eyeing the two of them curiously, as if wondering what was really going on between them.
They’d only shared a couple of kisses, he could have told them. Spectacular kisses, it was true—but that was all there was between them. Maybe he’d thought about kissing her again—okay, he had definitely thought about doing it again—but he had enough willpower to resist. At least, he hoped he did.
The gospel quartet had been replaced on the stage by a group of pint-size tap dancers in red, blue and silver-spangled costumes. The daughter of a couple sitting near them was one of the dancers, so everyone turned to watch. Sam found the performance both charming and amusing. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a trace of genuine talent in the entire group of moppets.
“Awful, aren’t they?” A lanky-limbed man with brown hair in need of a trim and unusual gray eyes made the comment as he joined them, causing those who overheard him to wince.
“Our daughter’s in that group,” an indignant mother said, motioning toward her husband.
The newcomer responded with a careless grin. “And they’re just as cute as all get-out. But not one of them could dance her way out of a paper bag.”
“They’re only four and five years old,” the mother insisted. “They’ll get better with practice.”
“That’s your kid on the right, isn’t it, Claudia?” the man inquired, glancing at the stage.
Claudia preened. “Yes. That’s our Stephanie.”
“Definitely born with her father’s complete lack of rhythm. Sorry, Joe, but you know you’ve got two left feet. I’ve seen you dancing—or trying to—over at Gaylord’s.”
Joe chuckled ruefully. “You’re right, Riley, I can’t dance worth a lick. I was hoping dance lessons would help Stephanie overcome her hereditary limitations.”
“Ain’t going to happen,” Riley pronounced, settling on the grass not far from Sam’s chair. “She’s got her mama’s pretty face and her old man’s endearing clumsiness.”
Claudia didn’t seem to know whether to be flattered by the offhand compliment or insulted by the repeated aspersions against her daughter’s talent.
Riley had already turned his attention elsewhere. “You must be the guy Lindsey’s been telling me about. Sam, right?”
“Yes. And you’re Riley, the reporter.”
“Bingo.” Riley studied him with unselfconscious thoroughness. “How come you wouldn’t answer any of Lindsey’s questions? Got something you’re trying to hide?”
“So, are you trying to annoy everyone here?” Serena asked Riley mildly.
He chuckled. “Just trying to spice up the aft
ernoon.”
The dance troupe completed their final number—finishing at approximately the same time—and Sam joined the others in enthusiastic applause. So maybe none of them would be joining the Rockettes. They were cute.
“You like kids, Sam?” Lindsey asked, a big slice of watermelon in her hands.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“None of your own?”
He sincerely hoped there weren’t any children anywhere crying for their daddy. He felt badly enough to think about any adults who could be sick with worry about him. But the memories were coming back slowly, he reminded himself. Only flashes, of course, and those didn’t make much sense at this point, but he was sure it wouldn’t be much longer before it all returned.
Only a couple of days remained of the three weeks he’d given himself to fully recover his memory. If it wasn’t back by then, he would definitely tell someone. Probably, he amended.
“Sam? I asked if you have any kids,” Lindsey prodded.
“Oh, uh, no. No kids.” And wouldn’t she love to know the truth about him? He could already envision the headlines for the story she would write. “Nameless man pulls wool over town’s eyes, takes advantage of kindness of locals.”
No, he couldn’t let Lindsey find out. Not yet, anyway. If he was lucky, not ever.
Because this line of conversation was making him nervous, he decided to put an end to it. Gathering his used paper plate, napkin, plastic cutlery and empty soft drink can, he stacked them in one hand and reached for Serena’s trash. “Here, I’ll take that for you. I saw some bins on the other side of the stage.”
“I can carry my own,” she said automatically.
“No need. I’m going anyway.”
Probably because it would have looked foolish for her to continue to protest, she conceded. Surely she didn’t think his disposing of her trash implied an intimate relationship between them, he thought as he allowed Lindsey to add her used items to the growing pile. It was just a polite gesture, nothing more. There were times when it wouldn’t hurt Serena to be a little more like her mother.
He had just dumped the last paper plate in the garbage can when he saw the man he’d noticed before, the one who had seemed so out of place. The guy was standing with his back to Sam, seeming to scan the crowd on the other side of the football field. Even though the sun was beginning to set, the man still wore his designer sunglasses. Apparently, he hadn’t made any friends since Sam had first spotted him nearly an hour earlier; he still looked very much alone.
“This guy seems to be seriously socially challenged,” he murmured to himself.
Though the stranger was too far away to have heard, he turned at that moment and faced in Sam’s direction. Maybe he’d had that universal tingly feeling that someone was watching him. He looked straight at Sam—and froze. Sam could see the guy stiffen. He had a feeling that if he could see the eyes behind the designer sunglasses, they would be wide and startled. Who the hell?
“Excuse me, Sam. I can’t get to the trash can.” The man Sam knew only as Serena’s friend Joe— Claudia’s husband and Stephanie’s father—stood behind him, his hands filled with used plates and napkins.
“Sorry, Joe. Hey, do you recognize that guy over there?”
Sam turned to point him out—but couldn’t find him. Whoever the guy was, he’d disappeared into the crowd. “Never mind. I’ve lost him.”
“Point him out to me if you see him again. I’ve lived in Edstown all my life. I know most of the folks around here, at least by sight.”
Sam had the uncomfortable feeling that Joe wouldn’t know this guy.
Who was he? And why had he looked at Sam as if he’d been startled to see him there, when Sam would have been willing to bet they’d never met? At least, not since he’d arrived in Edstown. Remembering the way he’d been found—the attack he’d suffered at unknown hands—he wasn’t sure this was someone he wanted to remember.
Maybe the other man had been surprised to see Sam because he hadn’t expected to see him alive.
Or maybe Sam was letting his overactive imagination run away with him. Maybe the guy was just cruising for women and had wondered why Sam was staring at him.
Shaking his head in self-disgust, he turned to rejoin the others. A high school concert band was tuning up to perform—at least, he hoped the noises they were making were tune-up sounds and not intended to actually resemble music.
Serena and her friends had no trouble passing the time during the next hour, laughing, cracking jokes, talking so fast their words overlapped. Someone in the group produced a pocket trivia game, and they spent several minutes reading questions from the cards and calling out answers—not playing seriously, just having fun trying to beat each other to the correct answers. Riley turned out to be a near genius with trivia; the others called him a “fount of obscure details.”
It frustrated Sam no end that he could remember the answers to so many of those meaningless questions when he couldn’t remember anything significant about his own past.
Though the group included Sam in their fun as much as possible, considering that he didn’t share their history or their inside jokes, he was content for the most part to watch and listen. He was experiencing another major episode of déjà vu—there was a pleasant familiarity to sitting among a group of friends, listening to their foolishness. He closed his eyes for a moment and could almost hear other voices speaking. Men and women, exchanging quips, finishing each other’s sentences. People he had known? Imagined? Watched on TV? Who were they?
“Sam? Are you okay?”
He opened his eyes to find that Serena had leaned closer to his chair. It was almost dark, and several large stadium lights had been turned on to provide illumination for the festivities. Sam could see the concern in Serena’s face. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just enjoying the evening.”
“You were frowning as though you were straining to remember something vitally important.”
He didn’t quite know how to respond to that except to say, “Was I?”
He should have remembered that it annoyed Serena when he responded to her comments with cryptic questions. She sighed. “Do you want anything to eat? They’re selling ice cream bars and popcorn for those who like to snack during the fireworks show.”
Shaking his head, he declined politely. “I ate too much earlier. The fireworks should be starting soon, shouldn’t they?”
“Another ten or fifteen minutes, I think. They’ll turn the stadium lights off just before the fireworks start.”
Serena’s estimate had been accurate. It was just over ten minutes later when the big lights flashed a couple of times, then went out, leaving the stadium darkened except for a few security lights at either end. Taped patriotic music swelled through somewhat scratchy speakers, and a ripple of anticipation went through the crowd. The scent of insect repellant was heavy around them; folks had been splashing and spraying since sunset, even though Sam hadn’t been bothered by the bloodthirsty critters. He could still smell watermelon and smoldering charcoals, along with the slightest hint of plain old sweat. The air smelled like the Fourth of July, he thought, then wondered how he knew that.
The fireworks show began with a noisy eruption of light and color. The crowd obligingly oohed and aahed. Sam remembered fireworks. He enjoyed them. But even more than the intricately designed explosions, he enjoyed watching Serena’s face during the show. The fireworks reflected in her widened eyes and illuminated her fair skin. When he’d first seen her, he’d thought her very pretty. As he’d gotten to know her better, he’d realized that she was quite beautiful.
It was hard to look away from her. He didn’t want to be too obvious about it. Her friends were curious enough. Besides, he was aware that she was surreptitiously watching him in return.
The fireworks display ended with a suitably awe-inspiring finale and the national anthem. Brought to their feet, the crowd applauded, then began to gather their belongings and move toward the exits. Sam was am
azed by how quickly the stadium emptied. Having bade good evening to her friends, Marjorie rejoined Serena and Sam, looking as if she’d enjoyed herself immensely. “Did you kids have fun?”
“I did,” Sam assured her. “And you?”
“Oh, I had a wonderful time. Serena, did you know Virginia’s granddaughter, Melinda, is already filing for a divorce? Rumor has it that her new husband never really broke things off with his old girlfriend, if you know what I mean.”
Serena motioned toward the nearest exit gate. “You can tell me all the latest gossip on the way home, if you want.”
They were walking through the shadowy, rapidly emptying parking lot when Sam’s attention was captured by a familiar young voice. “I’m sorry,” the kid was saying. “I didn’t mean to—it was an accident.”
“You little brat, you spilled grape soda all over my lawn chair. That purple stuff will never come off the fabric. I knew I should’ve made you sit on the ground, but your mama said you had to have a chair like the rest of us. Now you’ve ruined it.”
“It was an accident, Delbert,” the boy insisted, looking apprehensive, Sam thought. “Someone bumped the back of the chair, and the drink spilled.”
Sam immediately identified the sandy-haired kid as Zach, the boy he’d met outside the candy store. He had turned just in time to see a big-bellied man with thinning hair pulled into a scraggly ponytail reach out to give the boy a shove that nearly knocked him off his feet.
“How many times have I told you to be careful with my stuff?” the guy roared. “You’re going to pay for this chair, you hear me? Even if I gotta take it outta your hide.”
A woman with bleached blond hair, too-tight clothes and a whiny voice stood nearby, wringing her hands. “He said he didn’t mean to, Delbert.”
“Shut up. It ain’t your chair he messed up. I told you he didn’t need one, but I let you talk me into it, and now look what happened.”
“But he—”
The big man threw the folded, green-fabric-covered lawn chair at her. She barely caught it before it hit her. “Put that in the back of the truck, then get inside,” he ordered. “I’ll take care of your kid, since you ain’t going to.”
