Remember to Forget Read Online Free PDF Page A

dull his senses and shut off the memories.
    “That you, Trevor?”
    At Wren’s shrill call, he shook off the voices and images that had started to play in his head—Amy’s musical laughter, little Trev’s pudgy arms reaching out to him . . .
    “Yeah, it’s me, Wren. Hey, is that cheesecake I smell?”
    Wren’s laughter drowned out the ghost of Amy’s voice. The relief of it eased Trevor’s pulse.
    Wren appeared in the doorway of the little dining area adjacent to the kitchen, hands propped on her ample hips, stretching to her full five-foot-two stature. She attempted an aggravated expression but couldn’t quite succeed over the twinkle in her eye. “Now how am I supposed to bake anything when my oven is sitting in the middle of the kitchen?”
    “I don’t know”—he inhaled deeply—“but that doesn’t smell like anything that came from the Wal-Mart bakery.”
    Wren chuckled and shook her head. “Ooh, you’re good, Mr. Ashlock. I’ll give you that. Clara let me use her oven, but she was none too happy about it, I can tell you. I’ll be hearing about it for umpteen weeks.”
    He grimaced, exaggerating his expression, in an effort to take the blame for Wren being on the outside of Clara Berger’s good graces.
    Her smile forgave him. “You get my kitchen back in working order before you leave tonight, and I’ll send the whole bloomin’ cheesecake home with you.”
    “The whole thing?”
    She expelled a breath and tucked a strand of white hair into her frowsy bun. “Bible study got cancelled. And you know Bart. The man will eat every last slice of that thing if I leave it sitting here. And there’s not enough insulin in Coyote County to counteract that much sugar.”
    Trevor grinned. “Well, in the interest of Bart’s health, I guess I can take it off your hands.”
    Wren waved off his joke and bustled past him to the broom closet behind the check-in desk.
    He helped himself to a couple of day-old snickerdoodles from the antique cookie jar on the desk and ducked under the ladderleaning against the arched dining-room doorway. He stood there, chewing and surveying the space.
    Last month he and Bart had knocked out the back wall of the kitchenette, appropriating six feet from an unused side entry to enlarge the tiny galley kitchen and turn the dining alcove into an L-shaped room.
    Brushing the cookie crumbs from his fingers, Trevor grabbed his toolbox from under the sawhorse. Why they were going to all this trouble and expense, he didn’t know. They rarely filled the dining room as it was. But he admired the hope reflected in this remodeling project. And it gave him a way to fill his time. A way to forget.

She watched in horror as the bus rolled out of the parking lot.

Chapter Five

    Y ou want half of my sandwich?”
    Maggie’s head jerked against the back of her seat. She fought to hold on to the fading image of her dream. To keep that flicker of hope kindled inside her.
    But like a gust of wind, slumber slipped away, snuffing out a fragile memory she’d all but forgotten. The river lapping gently at her feet, cooling her calves . . .
    She rubbed her eyes and blinked. Where was she? Ah, the bus. Outside, the western sky matched the tinted windows of the Greyhound, and the interstate spooled out before them like a never-ending silver ribbon.
    Her seatmate, a toothless old man, held out a limp triangle wrapped in clear plastic. “Want half my sandwich?” he asked again. “You’re welcome to it.”
    She made herself return his smile. “No thank you. You go ahead.”
    She was hungry, but not that hungry. Yet, she told herself wryly. This time tomorrow she might be kicking herself for turning down that soggy wad of bread and cheese.
    The man shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
    She turned in her seat and rested her forehead on the cool window glass. It vibrated with the rhythmic thump of the highway beneath the wheels, and a childhood song her mother had sung came back to her. It played over and