At school Misty delivered a goulash laced with steak so tough he worked a piece most of the afternoon, his jaw aching as she bent his ear about her technique, and how she’d likely open her own restaurant in the city. “Caraway seeds,” she said, as if answering a question he had not asked. “I crush them by hand, no tools even needed.”
He picked a large seed from his teeth.
Dinner with her parents loomed like an eighteen-wheeler on the narrowest highway.
Misty stared at the Graces, growing in number and detail and finesse. A boy possessed, he sat on his log sheltered from the rain as he smoothed out her skin with his pencil.
He fished something white from the stew and made a show of smacking his lips. “What kind of cheese is this?”
“It’s turkey.”
He dipped his head.
“It’s payment,” she said, running a brush though her thick mane of blonde hair. “For saving my life.”
“I think we’re even now. I mean…the goulash was real good. And the cake. And that thing with the fish heads—”
“So technically you owe me now.”
He got home to find Dr. Tooms sitting in his kitchen.
“Where’s my—”
“Sleeping,” Dr. Tooms said.
Patch took the seat opposite and told the doctor he was fine. Tooms offered that sad smile, and Patch wondered what had happened to the man while he was gone. His bright eyes now dull and circled by dark. His shirt hung from his bones, and his fingers drummed the table like he could not relax.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Patch said.
“I just…I wondered if the memories are coming back to you yet?” Tooms watched him with intent, his dark eyes fixed on Patch like he was seeking a tell, something that would show him the kid was drowning.
“Memories?”
“If you can remember more about the man.”
Patch shrugged. “I mean, it’s Eli Aaron, right? But I never saw him. I never even heard him.”
Tooms sighed, then spoke of the therapy, of eating right and maybe taking gentle exercise.
“I’ve seen your posters in town,” Tooms said. “I’ll put one in the practice.”
Tooms stood, tall, and moved to leave, but then stopped close to him. “You got out, Joseph. I worry you still haven’t realized that.”
Patch turned and saw his mother in the doorway, confusion marring her face till she placed the doctor. She shook a cigarette from her pack and offered him one, but Tooms shook his head, told her he’d never smoked but did not say it like a warning.
“This girl, you have no idea who she is,” Tooms said.
“I didn’t. But now maybe I do,” Patch said.
“This girl…” Ivy said and tousled her hair.
“Tell me,” Tooms said, leaning closer to Patch.
“I think she could be Callie Montrose. If I…could I have been unconscious a long time?”
Tooms smiled, his face written with pain, his eyes filled with so much Patch could not understand.
“I need a script. I’m running low on Quaaludes.” Ivy cupped Patch’s face gently.
Patch turned to Tooms but saw he was already out the door.
He did not look back.