“I think so, and I don’t think it was an accident.” As I told Maya about my flashback and the man hitting me with a rock, I decided it was good I couldn’t remember more details about my assailant, like his name. With the look on Maya’s face, if I had known, she’d jump in her car, drive to Brookmount and throttle him with her bare hands. I wouldn’t have been far behind.

“What are you going to do?” she said. “Should we call the cops?”

I shook my head. “I think I should wait and see if I remember anything else so I can give them more details. It might not be too long because Lily being here is definitely helping. Way more stuff has come back since she arrived.”

“Like what?” Maya said quickly, and I explained about the hide-and-seek memory, which she confirmed was accurate, the blueberry pancakes, the movie, and the butterflies I’d seen after finding Fiona’s postcard. I left out the dragging feeling I’d experienced as I’d read the last words Celine had written to her family. I didn’t know what to do with that bit yet.

“How could I have forgotten about the postcard?” Maya said. “Fiona was so excited when it arrived. We were all certain more would follow, but they never did...”

“She mentioned that. Oh, and Lily also thought Dad loved soccer.”

Maya scrunched up her face. “Really? You mean you never told her about him going along with it because of you?”

“I guess not. But why wouldn’t I—”

“Listen, we’ll talk more but right now I’d better finish my shift before Patrick wonders if I’ve already left. Do you want a drink at the bar while you wait?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll go outside.”

I headed for the front door, relieved my conversation about Dave had gone well with Maya. I couldn’t blame her for wanting something to help her relax, although getting weed illegally was pretty stupid. Perhaps she’d feel less stressed with my memory returning some more, and again when I could help financially if I got a job as quickly as possible. Maya’s funds had to be dwindling, and it wasn’t fair for all that pressure to be on her, too. I sat down on a metal bench to the left of the door and leaned back, closing my eyes for a second as I tilted my face toward the sun, thinking.

“Hey, asshole.”

My eyes flew open. Keenan stood over me, his jaw clenched. “Christ, not you again,” I said. “What do you want?”

He leaned in closer, a waft of alcohol going up my nose. “The truth.”

“Seriously?” I stood up, putting a little distance between us. “I keep telling you I—”