Not entirely a stranger.
Trevor Hale had covered the coastal sales route for one of our largest marine-electronics suppliers before accepting a management job in Portland. He used to stop at the yard twice a month, drink terrible coffee, and spend an hour arguing with Noah about whether old analog gauges had more character than modern displays.
He wore a rain shell and carried two paper cups.
I rose.
“Trevor.”
“Thought I’d see whether you still drink fuel disguised as coffee.”
He passed one through the open doorway.
“What are you doing in Greyhaven?”
“Meeting in Newport Monday. Took the long way.”
His gaze moved toward the loft.
“How is he?”
“Improving.”
“Is he here?”
“Yes.”
“Does he remember me?”
“Probably not.”
Trevor absorbed that without looking away.
“I’ve read about amnesia. Doesn’t make the idea less strange.”
“It is stranger from inside it.”
“I won’t make a production.”
“Good.”
We found Noah at the worktable with one gauge dismantled into precise rows of screws, springs, and brass contacts.
He looked up.
His attention moved from Trevor to me.
I gave him the choice.
“Noah, this is Trevor Hale. He used to manage our supplier account.”
Trevor lifted one hand.
“Now I manage people who manage supplier accounts. A terrible promotion.”
Noah looked at him carefully.
“Sorry. I don’t recognize you.”
