Picking up the wastebasket, she held it under the edge of the wood and swiped all the sawdust into the basket’s depths. If only the memory could be discarded as easily.
But she’d do whatever she needed to in order to keep her secrets private. And if that meant distracting Sam from his questions? She was just the woman for the job. Lucky for her, he was the only man on the planet she’d never had trouble flirting with.
HE WASN’T SURE she’d really show up.
Sam had phoned Amy shortly after Zach left, asking her to come to his place instead since he had the alarm system and extra security in place for Aiden here. She’d agreed easily enough, and an hour later, he pulled open the front door to find her there, wind sweeping fall leaves in a swirl behind her.
She wore a gray sweater that was as long as her matching dress, and a pair of black leggings underneath that. Layers of gray and black, the colors of a woman whodidn’t care to be noticed. Even her auburn hair was hidden under a dark gray knit beanie. He wondered what life had brought her way in the years since they’d dated to turn her into a more reserved woman than the one he remembered.
“Thanks for coming.” He led her through the front room and past the kitchen, toward the back of the house. “I’m doing everything I can to protect my son. And while I know he’d be safe with me at your place, I also know I wouldn’t be able to concentrate fully on our conversation if I always had one eye out for a threat.”
Stopping in the family room closest to Aiden’s nursery, Sam pointed to a tan microsuede couch that he’d cleared of all baby gear. He did most of his work in here, and a computer station had been built into a back wall. A couch and love seat sat adjacent to one another in front of the river-stone hearth, where he’d taken the time to lay a fire. The dried hickory wood smelled nice as it burned and, he hoped, detracted from the general disaster of his housekeeping.
Amy slid off her cap and pulled off her boots, leaving both of them close to the fire before she took a seat. The sweater she kept on. She draped it over her knees like a built-in blanket as she drew them up onto the cushion. He liked the way she made herself comfortable. It pleased him to think that she wouldn’t do that move with just anyone.
“I don’t mind coming down here. The cabin is freezing even when I have a fire going. I’ve got a big hole in the ceiling since I took down that wall, and the heat seems to go straight through the roof.” Even now she tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, tucking slender fingers into the wool. “But I tried to save you some effort on this interview by making you a timeline of that summer.”
She withdrew a crumpled sheet of paper from her sleeve and set it on the coffee table.
“You did?” He reached for it, smoothing the notebook sheet’s ragged edges against his knee. She had a list of dates and events, some of them with a few extra details.
“The dates I underlined are ones I’m certain about.” She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. “The other ones are approximate.”
“This is great.” He couldn’t believe the details she’d captured, from a notation about the date her father bought a used truck to logging her shifts at the pizza parlor, where they’d both worked. “Did you have a diary for this time period?”
“No. Why? Do you need supporting documentation?” Frowning, she straightened on the couch as if she was prepared to run off and obtain just that.
“Hell no. I’m just surprised you could put all of this together so quickly.” He couldn’t wait to feed it into his computer against some of the other events in town that summer, including the movements of Covington and Gabriella.
“I have a degree in accounting. I tend to think in data and details.” She shot up off the couch to wander around the family room while he read her notes. “Besides, I remember that summer particularly well since it was my last year here. I’ve had a lot of time to relive my mistakes.”
That caught his attention. He raised his gaze to where she was studying a photograph he’d taken of the Harpeth River at sunrise, back when he’d had time to do things like drive out to the lake and fish.
“What do you mean? What mistakes?” He watched her carefully, studying her body language, which always told a story all its own.
Amy Finley had walked into this house well prepared with her list and her willingness to provide primary sources for her memory.
If she’d been on the witness stand, he’d think she had been coached. In fact, she didn’t seem surprised by his question. Almost as if she’d steered him into it.
“I argued with my mother. She heard about the skinny-dipping—I guess Harlan Brady saw me streaking through the cornfield toward the water that day. And you can imagine how well that went.”
“That’s why you left town?” He’d never known. And while there was a ring of truth to it, he’d bet money she was leaving something out.
Because she walked the perimeter of the room instead of looking him in the eye.
“You remember what she was like back then.” She wrapped the sweater tighter around her waist, pausing to test the spring action of a baby bouncy seat.
“Only from what you told me. You never brought me home with you.” He was used to that, being a foster kid who lived with the Hastings.
The townspeople had been reasonably nice considering the family had taken in a few bad seeds over the years who had earned the rest of the foster kids an unfair reputation. But Sam had never had many friends, which was why Zach’s friendship had meant a hell of a lot.
And which was why dating Amy had been a sweet surprise in a life full of hardship.
“I stayed at home as infrequently as possible myself. I never subjected someone I liked to Mom.” She toyed with the fuzzy animals hanging from a mini-mobile that dangled over the baby seat, turning each creature toward her so she could see its face.
“Where did you stay when you weren’t at home?” He set aside her list, more interested in what she had to say.
“The hunting cabin. The swimming hole out behind the Spencer farm. My dad’s office, which was a converted shed.”
