Page 15 of Until You Found Me

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The food truck is parked at the edge of a one-way street in a town that looks nothing like the beachside city she expected. Too many trees and no sand. They might be deep in the woods for all she knows, and her confusion only grows.

“I thought we were on the coast,” she says curiously, as they approach a truck smelling of apples and cinnamon.

“We are. Up in Maine.”

Her mouth drops open. “I assumed the Carolinas or Georgia. I live in Maine?”

Did she always live here? Or was she brought here on purpose, far away from her actual home? The fluffy trees are brand new and the scent of sea salt is too. Of all her questions over the last couple of days, the exact state she resides in hasn’t been one of them. She’s been preoccupied with other things, like finding out she’s a mother and wondering where her child is. Or staring at the multitude of scars across her skin that offer no backstory.

Logan said the beach and so she mentally placed herself on the coastline, expecting palm trees and boardwalks. That was the extent of the attention she could allot to this particular topic until now.

“Don’t go getting excited.” He scans the menu outside the truck with a squint. “We’re not in the ritzy parts.”

“I dunno. It looks pretty nice to me. Quaint, peaceful, andthere’s apple cobbler right here on the roadside.”

She hates letting him pay for her but she’s hungry and broke so she accepts his kindness when it’s their turn in line and asks for scrambled eggs and bacon with a side of apple cobbler. He orders the same, substituting blueberries, and then they’re at a picnic table under festive string lights that illuminate a cloudy day.

“So, how was it last night at the shelter?”

She digs into her eggs with a careful shrug. “It was okay. Everyone was very kind to me.”

“Is the inside better now? It was moldy and falling apart last I saw.”

“Oh, it’s still full of mold and falling to pieces, but it’s got a bed and a roof and they gave me clothes that aren’t scrubs. So I can’t complain.”

“Green suits you.” He tilts his head toward the gem-colored hoodie visible under her coat.

“Thanks, it was the first thing I was drawn to in the bin. It felt forbidden somehow. That’s why I picked it. I know I’m not making sense, but I promise there’s more of that to come and I may make even less sense soon.” He huffs out an amused sound, and she notices the color has come back into his cheeks and his eyes have lost their glassy shine. “What you said earlier about passing out, does that happen a lot?”

He moves the sausage around his plate, unbothered. “Not really. Sometimes if I forget to eat for a while. Went right to bed after I dropped you off. My stomach was all fucked up, so I didn’t bother. I know better. It was my own damn fault. Woke up around six am and got up for coffee, then woke up again at ten on the damn floor. Been dealing with it my whole life. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

It sounds awful to her and she can’t stop imagining him passed out alone in his home. Logan hasn’t disclosed his relationship status or living arrangements, but she suspects he is alone. Someone would have roused him sooner. Someone would have done something, but he spent hours on the floor instead.

“It sounds difficult to live with something so dangerous.”

“I’m used to it. Just another day for me.” He looks down at his food again and she knows he’s reached the limit of what he’s willing to share. “Anyway, you remember anything else since yesterday?”

“No,” she answers quickly, lying through her teeth.

How does she tell him over cobbler that her first memory of the man who hurt her is that he came home from work angry and burned her hand on the kitchen stove?

How does she tell him that she woke up crying, remembering why she shaved her head?

Or, that she found a c-section scar the day before and can’t stop thinking about the child that could be out there right now?

It’s all too heavy and not a single second of it is anything that could solve the mystery of who she is. It’s only a pile of tears and trauma. Not how she wants him to see her after she’s already been so pitiful the entire time she’s known him.

“It’s alright,” he tells her. “You’ve got time.”

“Do I? There’s a thirty-day limit at the shelter and then I’m expected to go out into the world and make some sort of life, I guess? I better start calling up something useful soon, something that’ll give me a name and social security number so I can figure out how to move forward from this.” He goes quiet, and she realizes that she dumped far more on him thanshe intended. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. None of this is your problem. I just wanna enjoy being out here with you before I have to go back.”

“Yeah, about that. There might be another option.”

Her fork pauses in mid-air over the last bite of cobber.

“My neighbor, Arthur, he’s building these domes to rent out. He’s willing to let you stay in one of the half-finished ones, but there’s a catch.”

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