“Oh, yes.” He leaned back on the seat. “Construction drives me crazy. Makes the familiar seem unfamiliar. Sometimes it feels like I left for years and just returned.”

“I know.” But she didn’t. Yes, there were a few new buildings, two just-opened bars and a small strip mall. A couple of old warehouses had been converted into modern apartment buildings. None of these should have confused him.

A minute later, Colleen parked in the back lot of the pub and her dad jumped out of the passenger side with the agility of a younger man. Colleen stayed buckled in, watching him go through the back door without glancing back to see if she was following. Maybe he’d already forgotten her. If he forgot her, would she disappear? Without her dad’s memories of her, would she exist at all? A hollow place inside her echoed with his absence not yet real, but clearly soon it would be. It was like watching the sun shrink below the horizon—there and bright and full of colors until it was gone, only darkness remaining.

“No,” she said to the empty car. “No.”

Needing preoccupation, Colleen checked her cell. There were a slew of group texts from her girlfriends wanting to know if she’d like to join them for happy hour. She’d forgotten to tell them she’d left town. Then another few from Philippe—he adored her; he missed her; he hoped her time at home was going all right; he was thinking of her. She didn’t answer because she didn’t know what to say.

She sent quick texts letting her friends know she was out of town . . . again.

Colleen climbed out of the car and stood in the sweltering heat, closed her eyes and drew on her internal compass that allowed her to focus when all was going awry. But focus didn’t arrive; instead, Walter did.

Chapter Ten

Explore memory as the place where our vanished days secretly gather and . . . the passionate heart never ages.

John O’Donohue, Anam Cara

The pickup truck swerved into the parking lot, into the second owner’s spot, marked Leprechauns Only. The man at the wheel wore Ray-Ban sunglasses and a smile; he was either talking on the phone or singing to himself, Colleen wasn’t sure which. He didn’t see her; that much was clear. But she damn sure saw him. Walter Littleton.

Somehow he’d been frozen in her mind, an image as firm as a statue. He’d become someone to despise, Exhibit #1 of all men who cheated and lied, so much so that she’d almost forgotten how real he actually was. Colleen took two steps back, mostly hidden behind the Jeep. But she didn’t need to hide—Walter was preoccupied and hurried.