“Yes, you may. But what do you say first?”

Color flooded Abigail’s cheeks. “Thank you, Sister Edie.”

Edie looked taken aback. “Miss Edie is fine, sweetheart.” She showed Abigail how to open the plastic packaging, then gently flattened the Happy Meal box. “And here are some pictures for you to color.” From her shirt pocket she pulled five crayons, gently used. “I have grandchildren,” she explained.

Abigail was staring at the toys with awe. “These are all for me?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Edie said.

“Thank you! My papa used to work here,” Abigail added, carefully taking one of the crayons. “Oh, this is lovely.”

Edie’s lips twitched. “I think so, too. Blue is my favorite color.” She turned to Amos. “You worked here? In this store?”

He shook his head. “Not here. I worked at a McDonald’s outside L.A. But that was many years ago. We don’t have . . . a lot of restaurants where we lived.” He’d been about to say any, but hesitated to reveal too much information.

Because if DJ managed to find him, he didn’t want this lady to know anything that would put her in danger.

Edie nodded. “I worked at McDonald’s too, back in the early seventies. Kind of tough to have to come back to it now at my age, but you do what you gotta do to pay the bills, am I right?”

“You are indeed.” He checked on Abigail, who’d picked up the art of coloring with the speed with which she did everything else, the tip of her little tongue visible as she concentrated. “Thank you for helping us. I have to say that I was relieved to see a McDonald’s. So much has changed in the time that I’ve been away, but the golden arches are the same.”

“When were you last in a city?” Edie asked.

He made a rueful face. “A long, long time ago. Let’s see. Bush was president and pay phones were everywhere.”

Edie’s eyes widened just as Abigail’s had. “Which Bush?”

Which Bush? “Um, George?”

“I mean, father or son?”

It was Amos’s turn to stare. “Son? Wow.”

Edie gave a low whistle. “You have been gone awhile. This is . . . well, this is fascinating. It’s like one of those movies where you fall asleep and wake up in the future, huh?”

“Very much, I’m afraid. I take it that you don’t have a phone book or a pay phone here?”

“Or anywhere,” she said. “Sorry. I mean, you might be able to find one somewhere, but I haven’t seen one in . . . a decade at least.” She pulled her little phone device from her pocket and put it on the table. “Everything’s in here.”

Amos had to fight to control his urge to touch it. It was so sleek and shiny. That everything could fit in there was too incredible. He’d heard about the Internet from people who’d joined Eden in the last twenty years, but only in whispers. Discussions of life outside Eden’s walls were prohibited. Such that even children are punished for mentioning telephones. “I don’t have one of those.”