Chapter One
Nathan
It was the only restaurant sign for thirty miles, so I didn't really have a choice. At least the low counter with spinning vinyl stools assured me of a decent cup of coffee and a greasy breakfast. It was that kind of diner: just off the interstate, unknown but well-used, and still sporting bright orange booths long after the color started to fade.
The Kansas Cookery wasn't much to look at but I could smell a fresh pot of coffee and my stomach rumbled as soon as I shuffled in the door. A few regulars glanced up but the long-haul truckers just kept on eating their mountains of cholesterol and rereading the newspaper headlines. The older waitress, still in her pressed polyester uniform with white apron, slid a menu across the low counter and nodded me toward the open booths.
Underneath a cheap banner logo that read Welcome to Wichita, I saw a sparse menu of strictly diner fare. Everything was either fried or off the grill and that was just fine with me. My stomach was still swimming with nerves and whatever booze and bad spirits had fueled my last few days.
"Waitress'll be right with you," the older waitress said. She continued to lean on the low counter and argue with a regular over the crossword puzzle.
I picked a booth dead center in the small diner and sat down facing the door. The view out the wide, smudged windows featured a long, gray factory of some sort and the cloverleaf that led up to the interstate. I itched to get back on the road, back to the base, but I knew I needed to eat. I had no idea when my last meal had been, and the bag of chips my last ride had given me had burned off hours ago.
Then I dropped the menu. What was I thinking? I didn't have my wallet. I dug into my pockets to see exactly what I did have. A small key clattered to the tabletop along with a receipt for a bus ticket and a folded picture.
I avoided the photograph and studied the bus receipt for the hundredth time. My one clue was crumpled and faded and only served to make me more confused.
Shoving it and the photograph back in my pocket, I concentrated on cash. I had a handful of change and a wad of dollar bills some nice commuter had tossed out their car window at an intersection in Topeka. Enough for coffee and maybe a burger, if I didn't tip the waitress.
The thumping tension that had chased me for days gripped my head again. I rubbed my forehead and focused on my breathing. All I had to do was remember.
Fuzzy details floated back to me: the SEAL base in New Mexico, my commander handing me my leave papers, and all the familiar insults my fellow SEALS slung at me as I left for a few days of fun.
Then there was a sickening dive, my memory plunging into a dark sea of blurred images. I fought it, swam for my life, but all I could remember was waking up in a small clinic in Topeka. Days had passed with no explanation.
The overworked doctor there had shrugged it off as a bender and sent me on my way. No wallet, no money, and no idea what I had done. I had been hitchhiking toward New Mexico ever since, still hoping it would all come back to me. I needed to be able to tell them something when I got back to base. If my story didn't hold, the only explanation would be I went AWOL, and that meant I was in line for a court martial.
"Need a little time to look at the menu?" a soft voice asked.
Big brown eyes looked down at me, widening a little as I met her curious gaze. The young waitress was maybe a few years younger than me, around twenty-five years old, I guessed, but her eyes threw me off. Her expression was innocent and hopeful at the same time as being resigned and cautious.
Maybe it was the fact that her long brown hair was tied up in a ponytail. Then it struck me; she was pretty. Too pretty to be stuck working at an old diner off the interstate.
"How's the coffee?" I asked. My voice came out gruff, the words catching in my throat.
"Strong," she said.
I cleared my throat. "Then I'll have it with cream and sugar."
She nodded and stepped back, clearly relieved to get some distance from me. "Blonde with sand," she called to the older waitress.
"Sand?" My voice was still an awkward croak.
The young waitress edged toward the counter. "Sugar," she explained.
"Thanks, ah… Bree." I read her name tag before she turned away.
"Sure. I'll just give you a minute with the menu." Bree handed me the cup of coffee and then retreated behind the counter. I could tell by the fluttering looks she was giving me that I had made a bad impression.
I sipped the hot coffee. It was strong but anything was better than the jet-fuel they served at the base. I waited for the caffeine to hit my system and clear my head but nothing could make sense of my jumbled impressions. What had I done for the last few days?
I reached into my pocket again and pulled out the bent photograph. I still didn't recognize the girl, a child, really. She stood shivering against a blank white wall, facing the camera with a frightened but defiant look. The composition was so sterile, so uncaring. Who would take a picture like that?
I turned it over and read the scribble on the back for the hundredth time: Maggie.
It was written in an adult's handwriting. A quick jot with no other details. No age, no date, no sense that the little girl was anything else but an object. She had a name but nothing else.
It worried me, and my hand trembled as I held the photograph and looked at Maggie's face again.
"Want to hear the specials?" the waitress, Bree, asked.
She slid a dish of creamer and sugar onto my table and refilled my forgotten coffee mug. I tried to fold up the photograph but Bree glanced at it. When I looked up, she met my eyes with a troubled look.
"Your daughter?" Bree asked. She peeked at the photograph again and noted the stark composition. Her pretty mouth frowned.
"Do I have enough for a burger?" I asked, nodding at the pile of crumpled dollar bills.
Bree blinked rapidly before moving her gaze. Sidestepping her question made her even more uneasy around me. I couldn't blame her, but it still bothered me.
I fumbled the photograph back into my pocket as Bree considered the measly total of my money. I could tell by the way she shifted from foot to foot that I had made her nervous and the photograph had only compounded the young waitress' suspicions.
"How do you like your burgers?" Bree asked.
I reached for my coffee mug, and she skittered back a step. "Rare," I said.
"Burn one on the hoof," Bree called to the kitchen.
She walked away from my booth slowly, as if afraid to startle me. At the corner of the counter, she shot me a wary glance that had the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had definitely made pretty Bree nervous. She had to be used to all types, working in a diner this close to the interstate, but I could tell she sensed there was something off about me.
I drank my coffee fast, even though it was hot, and watched as Bree tried to make casual conversation with the older waitress. Her big brown eyes kept returning to me, and when I caught her, she jolted.
Luckily, a friendly group of factory workers from across the street came into the diner. Bree smiled at them, and as much as I wanted to see that warm smile again, I headed for the door. It was definitely time to move on. One more weird exchange with me and I was sure Bree would call the cops.
I left the pile of crumpled bills on my table and jogged down the front steps. When my boots hit the gravel parking lot, I heard the bell jangle over the diner door. Bree bounced down the steps after me, and I stopped cold.
"You want that burger to go?" she asked.
I turned around and winced as she tensed up. "Sorry, gotta go," I said.
"You dropped this." Bree held out the folded photograph. She was careful not to look at it and held it out as far as her arm would reach. "I figured it's important."
"She's not my daughter." I don't know why I felt the need to explain to Bree. How could I when I didn't know anything myself?
Bree shrugged. "But you're worried about her."
I shoved the photograph deep into my pocket and said nothing. The pretty waitress was right. I was worried about the little girl in the stark photograph, but I couldn't remember the reasons behind my concern. All I knew was I had to get back to base and hope there were some answers there.
Bree glanced around the parking lot. "You're hitching, aren't you?"
"I won't bug your customers," I told her. "I don't mind walking a bit."
"Then you better come eat that burger. They're better when they're hot," Bree said.
The older waitress rapped on the diner window. She had just put my plate down at my booth, but the frown wasn't over my food getting cold. Bree waved to tell her that everything was all right, but the older woman clearly did not believe her. She rapped on the glass again and motioned for Bree to come back inside.
"We can get you a ride," Bree said. She gestured for me to follow her. "At least eat the food you bought."
I shook my head. "That's all the money I have."
Bree looked me up and down, taking in my scuffed boots and rumpled clothes. "Rough couple of days?"
The laugh surprised us both. "You could say that."
She planted her hands on her slim hips. "Look, I know you're military. I can see your dog tags. People around here support our soldiers, and I'm not about to let you go wandering off without even eating."
"I'm not your problem," I said.
Bree narrowed her eyes at me. "It's not like the place is full in there. No one's gonna care if you sit in that booth all day. Come on. There are free refills on coffee."
My stomach rumbled loud enough for us both to hear, and I knew I was being stupid. Bree gestured toward the diner doors again and this time I followed her. The view from behind was worth it as she went up the steps, all slim swaying hips in that short waitress dress.
"If we don't find you a ride, I'll make sure you have a place to stay," Bree said as she opened the door. "Where are you heading anyway?"
"New Mexico. Naval base." I caught the door and held it open for her.
She gave me a cautious smile. "See? You don't work in a place like this without learning how to read people."
I followed Bree inside and wished she could really read me. I needed someone to help sort out where I'd been and what I'd done.