“I… I don’t know. It feels… important, though. It makes sense. I remember places. Colonial Williamsburg, Monticello, the caverns, Washington, DC. It’s… so familiar. Yet here I am in New York City.” Tom shook his head. “I should go.”
“Don’t leave me.” Joe was caught off guard by his words. He hadn’t expected them to come out. They’d been swimming around in his head for some time, and now seemed as good a time as any to let them out. He’d done it. He’d asked Tom to stay. Joe worried his bottom lip with his teeth before speaking up again, his brows drawn together. His voice was so quiet, he wondered if Tom had heard him at all considering he hadn’t said a word.
“Please.” Joe took a step toward him. “We’ll figure something out together, but don’t go. Not now, not after….”
Tom swallowed hard. “What are you trying to tell me, Joe? After what?”
“I just… I don’t want to lose you. I know we’re dealing with a lot of uncertainty here, and there’s a good chance I might end up losing you anyway, when you remember, but until then… I’d like you to stay with me. I kinda got used to having you around.” Joe tried not to fidget. His face was flushed, and he was having trouble meeting Tom’s gaze. Joe cared about him, wanted him to stay here with him.
“How long have you been worrying I’d leave after regaining my memory?” Tom asked gently.
“A while,” Joe admitted. “I know I’m being selfish. Whoever you are, your life’s clearly more exhilarating. The places you’ve been to, the way you handle yourself, the shape you’re in.” Joe let out a sigh. “You shouldn’t be cooped up here.”
Tom drew Joe into his arms. “Even a wandering man yearns for a home to go back to, Joe. It’s true, I’m not so good at being still for long, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here. I like being around too. I’ll stay. God knows I want to. We’ll have to be more careful. I don’t want you getting hurt. I need to think about my next course of action. Whoever those men were, they’ll be back. You, Bea, Donnie, Elsie, and the customers who come in here every day need to be kept safe. I can’t put them at risk again. What if these men return during the day? The public has to be protected from men like those, from men who swore an oath only to spit on the promise they’d made.” There was no mistaking the conviction in Tom’s voice.
“You feel strongly about that, don’t you?”
“I do.” Tom’s expression hardened. “I won’t let those lowlifes or the men they work for hurt innocent people. They don’t care who gets hurt in their quest for greed and power.” Tom pulled away and closed his eyes, his brows drawn together.
“Tom? What’s wrong?”
“There’s something there. I can almost see it.” He opened his eyes and looked around. “This garden. I came here for a reason. I was running from them. I knew to come here.” He slowly walked around the garden, taking in everything around him. “Why would I come here? If I was running from them, why would I pick this spot?”
Tom concentrated and followed whatever train of thought he was on. Had Tom really come here specifically? Why? Joe had never seen him before that night, so why would Tom choose this garden? Tom stopped again and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly through his mouth.
“Coming in here would mean jumping the fence. If I was in danger, being chased, why take the chance of getting cornered?” He opened his eyes again and crouched down. Joe followed his lead, crouching down beside him.
“There’s nothing here but grass, dirt, and potted flowers,” Joe muttered. If there had been anything here, Joe would have found it the night he found Tom. It wasn’t the first time they’d checked the garden. Tom had been out here plenty of times, hoping it would jog his memory, but nothing ever came to him, until now.
Tom cocked his head to one side. “Dirt and flowers. There were dirt and flower petals in my pocket when you found me.” He picked up a pot of pink geraniums. “Pink petals.”
“These are the only pink flowers out here,” Joe pointed out. “Look.” He placed his finger to one flower in the bunch. “This one’s missing some petals.”
“So, how’d they get in my pocket?” Tom asked.
“You think you plucked them and put them in your pocket? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Tom sighed. “None of this makes sense.” He studied the flowers and fingered the dirt, a frown coming onto his face. He stood and walked over to one of the light fixtures. “There are indentations in the dirt.” He dug through the soil, his eyes widening. “There’s something in here.” Tom dug in and pulled something out.
“What is it?” Joe asked him. All he could see between Tom’s fingers was a small lump of dirt.
Tom handed Joe the flowerpot and wiped what he’d found with the end of his T-shirt. He held it up to the light. It was a tiny black plastic case.
Joe peered at it. “Looks like one of those SD cards you store pictures on.”