Remember When

but Max could see the lack of recognition in his eyes. The simplest, quickest way into Willy's last room was to pay the standard freight.
    "We want one-fifteen," Max told him.
    The clerk studied the display of his computer, checked availability and shrugged. "No problem."
    "We're sentimental." Laine added a sappy smile and snuggled next to Max.
    Max handed over cash. "I need a receipt. We're not that sentimental."
    With the key in hand, they drove around to Willy's section.
    "He must've known where I live. My father did, so Willy did. I wish he'd just come to see me there. I can only think he knew somebody was right behind him-or was afraid someone was-and figured the shop was safer."
    "He was only here one night. Hadn't unpacked." Max led the way to the door. "Looked like enough clothes for about a week. Suitcase was open, but he hadn't taken anything out but his bathroom kit. Could be he wanted to be ready to move again, fast."
    "We were always ready to move again, fast. My mother could pack up our lives in twenty minutes flat, and lay it out again in a new place just as quick."
    "She must be an interesting woman. Takes mine longer than that to decide what shoes to wear in the morning."
    "Shoes aren't a decision to be made lightly." Understanding, she laid a hand on his arm. "You don't have to give me time to prepare myself, Max. I'm okay."
    He opened the door. She stepped into a standard motel double. She knew such rooms made some people sad, but she'd always found them one of life's small adventures for their very anonymity.
    In such rooms you could pretend you were anywhere. Going anywhere. That you were anyone.
    "As a kid we'd stop off in places like this, going from one point to another. I loved it. I'd pretend I was a spy chasing down some nefarious Dr. Doom, or a princess traveling incognito. My father always made it such a wonderful game.
    "He'd always get me candy and soft drinks from the vending machines, and my mother would pretend to disapprove. I guess, after a while, she wasn't pretending anymore."
    She fingered the inexpensive bedspread. "Well, that's a long enough walk down Memory Lane. I don't see any dog in here."
    Though he'd already done a search, and knew the police had been through the room, followed by housekeeping, Max went through the procedure again.
    "Don't miss much, do you?" she said when he'd finished.
    "Try not to. That key might be the best lead we've got. I'll check out the local storage facilities."
    "And what you're not saying is he could've stashed it in a million of those kind of places from here to New York."
    "I'll track it back. I'll find it."
    "Yes, I believe you will. While you're doing that, I'll go back to work. I don't like leaving Jenny there alone very long, under the circumstances."
    He tossed the room key on the bed. "I'll drop you off."
    Once they were back in the car, she smoothed a hand over her pants. "You'd have disapproved, too. Of the motel rooms, the game. The life."
    "I can see why it appealed to you when you were ten. And I can see why your mother got you out of it. She did what was right for you. One thing about your father..."
    She braced herself for the criticism and promised herself not to take offense. "Yes?"
    "A lot of men in... let's say, his line, they shake off wives and kids or anything that resembles responsibility. He didn't."
    Her shoulders loosened, her stomach unknotted, and she turned to send Max a luminous smile.
    "No, he didn't."
    "And not just because you were a really cute little redheaded beard with light fingers."
    "That didn't hurt, but no, not just because of that. He loved us, in his unique Jack O'Hara way.
    Thanks."
    "No problem. When we have kids, I'll buy them candy out of the vending machine, but we'll keep it to special occasions."
    Her throat closed down so that she had to clear it in order to speak. "You do jump ahead," she stated.
    "No point in dragging your feet once you've got your direction."
    "Seems to me there's a lot of road between here and there. And a lot of curves and angles in it."
    "So, we'll enjoy the ride. Let's round one of those curves now. I don't need to live in New York if that's something you're chewing on. I think this area's just fine for raising those three kids."
    She didn't choke, but it was close. "Three?"
    "Lucky number."
    She turned her head to stare out the side window. "Well, you sailed right around that curve. Have you considered slowing down until we've known each other, oh, I don't know, a