The bag held five small, perfect sand dollars. Ms. Trudy’s art might be wacky, but as soon as he’d seen the sand dollars, he tucked them away for her, knowing she’d put them to good use. Cassie had begged him for them, but he held his ground, teasing her by saying they were for another woman.

He took the long way back to the store, cutting through town and stopping in front of the Sugar Shack. Next to dropping twenty feet from the rope swing into the always-chilled Soldiers Creek, the Shack’s lemonade rivaled everything else as the best way to beat the summer heat.

Inside, the air was nearly as warm as outside. The diner’s ceiling fans whirled so fast they wobbled, trying to tamp down the heat caused by the massive grill in the back, but they didn’t do much good. He took his place in line behind another customer at the counter. As he waited he flapped the front of his shirt to catch some breeze, his mind on the rest of the day’s duties at the store.

He barely noticed when the double doors from the kitchen swung open, but a second later, something weird flooded through him. It made him nervous. Jittery. A girl with long dark hair passed him holding a tray of food, on her way to a table in the corner full of loud teenagers. As she crossed the room, a faint trail of silver mist, cool and clean, followed in her wake.

She unloaded the tray quickly and tucked it under her arm. When she turned around, her gaze met his and she froze. Time slowed as they surveyed each other from across the room, and it wasn’t until the cashier cleared his throat—twice—that Tyler finally blinked and woke up.

“Hey, kid, what’cha having?” the man behind the counter repeated.

“Uhh . . .” Tyler blinked again and gazed at the cashier. He couldn’t remember what he’d come in for.

“If you need a minute, I’ll move on to the next customer in line.”

“Lemonade. I’ll have a lemonade, please.”

“You got it.” The man punched a couple buttons on the register and the cash drawer slid out. Tyler paid quickly and grabbed his drink, then turned, searching for the girl and the silver mist, only to see the double doors swinging closed.

* * *

Maya woke with tears in her eyes the next morning. She couldn’t remember what she’d been dreaming about, but it must have been something sad, some memory she’d closed up and put away. She rubbed her eyes with the base of her thumbs and rolled over onto her side. Strong sunlight filtered through the thin curtains at the window and made lacy patterns on the floor.

For Maya memories had always been strange, skittish things. Take her mother for example. Every once in a while, Maya would be hit out of the blue with a memory of her mom so tangible, she could reach out her hand and see a hazy outline of it sitting in her palm. But just as she focused on it, tried to bring back the shape and feel of her mother’s body, her hands, or the sound of her voice, it would disappear into fog.