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Brooke’s throat closed over. “That happened to you?”
“A version of it did.” He rubbed a spot in the middle of his chest. “Once when I was around eight, I was supposed to go to my mother’s after school. She wasn’t home. I didn’t have a key, and we weren’t supposed to talk to the neighbors…so I sat on the step and waited until long after dark. She didn’t show up.
“I figured I’d walk to my father’s house, but I got lost. Didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t find a policeman, and I’d have been too scared to go to one anyway. My parents were exceedingly protective of their positions…my father was a business partner, and my mother was apatron of the arts, as she liked to say.
“They kept certain parts of their relationship and our family life a big secret. My brother and I knew we were part of it. So I was scared it would blow up if anyone discovered I was lost. I guess that was where I drew thetroublemakerline.”
A thought occurred to Brooke. “Is that why you told me in the blanket fort you had food and sheltermost of the time?”
He nodded. His jaw tightened. “I was gone for over a week. Nine days.”
“At eight years old?” Brooke’s heart constricted. “What in the world did you do?”
“At first, I just wandered. Slept in doorways. Stole food. Ran when anyone looked at me funny.” He trailed his fingers up and down her spine. “Then after a couple of days, I passed by this cluttered little bookstore my grandmother used to take me to. The owner was this old guy who looked like he belonged in a book about wizards. White hair, glasses, old tweed suit. I thought he’d kick me out, but he didn’t. Just left me alone. I was there for hours.
“Then when he was closing the store for the night, he asked me if I needed help. Turned out he remembered my grandmother and me. He offered to call my mother, but again she wasn’t home. I begged him not to call the police and told him I couldn’t go home because I didn’t know when my parents would be back.”
“So he let you stay at the bookstore?”
“He did. His name was Mr. Patterson. He brought me food and blankets, told me there was no bulletin about me in the police reports, and kept trying to contact both my parents. I spent all my time reading, mostly the Narnia books. Mr. Patterson said if he couldn’t reach my parents, he’d take me home himself.”
“But your parents must have been worried sick.”
“They didn’t know I was gone.”
Brooke sat up.“What?”
“I told you I was shuttled back and forth between my parents.” He adjusted the sofa pillow behind his head. “They both thought I was with the other parent the whole time. They were in one of their fighting phases and weren’t talking to each other. The school had called about my unexcused absences, but they either didn’t get the messages or ignored them. Plus I was always cutting school anyway, so they weren’t surprised by school messages.”
“How did you finally get home?”
“Mr. Patterson left me an envelope inside a copy ofThe Silver Chair. It had some cash and a note saying,When you’re ready, I’ll take you home. Finally, I decided I couldn’t stay there forever, and I took him up on his offer. He hired a cab and brought me back to my mother’s. She was home this time, but like I said, she hadn’t known I was gone.”
“Did you tell her what happened?”
Sam shook his head slowly. “Didn’t see the point, I guess. Patterson didn’t come in either, so she hadn’t known where I was.”
“Did you ever go back to the bookstore?”
“Yeah.” He smiled faintly. “Often. Patterson and I became pretty good friends. He passed away a few years later. The store was sold, and the new owners turned it into a gift shop.”
Brooke pressed her hand against his heart. This was why Sam took over Title Wave when it had been on the verge of closing down for good.
“That’s an amazing story.” She shifted and slipped her leg between his. “It must have been cathartic to put a version of it in John’s book. I remember you used his experience as one of the reasons he became a drifter for so many years.”
“Yeah.” He ran his hands down her back. “But it’s not why I did. Or maybe it was. By the time I was twenty, I’d had enough of New York. I never wanted to go back.”
“That’s when you started traveling?”
He nodded. “I stopped when I saw you.”
Brooke lifted her head. A light clicked on deep inside her, as if his confession had turned a switch. “I’m very glad you did.”
“So am I.” His eyes were multiple shades of brown—golden like whiskey, warm and earthy like tree bark, deep like chocolate.
She rose to straddle his thighs and spread her hands across his chest. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“I dunno.” He stroked her hips. “We’re not in the blanket fort.”
