Silent Run

asked.
    â€œIt’s about three blocks from here, toward the beach, on Jenner Street. Maybe you talked to some of the moms at the park,” Amanda said with a new light in her eyes. “You did go there almost every morning."
    â€œThanks. That helps."
    Amanda turned to go back into her apartment, then stopped. “You also liked photography. I thought you were really good, that you could make money at it if you wanted, but you said no. Once, I took you to an art gallery on Windham Place a few blocks from here -- my friend Peter runs it -- and I showed him some of your work, but as soon as we got close, you bolted. You told me to mind my own business and you wouldn’t go in. I thought it was kind of weird at the time.” She gave Sarah an odd look. “None of this rings a bell?"
    â€œI wish it did."
    â€œWell, my phone numbers are on the bulletin board in your kitchen. Call me if you need me."
    â€œThanks.” Sarah headed down the hall to her apartment and slid her key into the lock, feeling a momentary sense of trepidation, but she pushed past it. This was her home. She had to go inside. As she opened the door she wondered if the memories would suddenly come flooding back, if fireworks would go off in her head, but when she walked into the room she felt absolutely nothing.
    The apartment was a small studio. There was a double bed in one corner, a crib next to it, a small gray couch in the main part of the room, a TV the size of a toaster, a couple of beat-up end tables, and a kitchen that was little more than a small counter with a stove, a refrigerator, and a microwave. The room would have been completely sad if it weren’t for the photographic prints tacked and taped across the cracked, dull walls. They were all landscapes, the beach, the city, the sunset. At least she’d tried to liven up the place.
    This was her home, she told herself. There had to be a clue to her past somewhere. Turning her attention away from the walls, she moved toward the bed. It was unmade. For some reason that bothered her. She felt as if she were the kind of person who always made the bed. She walked over to the crib and stared down at the pink blanket, the floral sheet, and a tiny white bear with a red satin ribbon around its neck.
    As she picked up the bear, an image shot through her head.
    Caitlyn had golden curls, long, dark lashes that framed her blue eyes, a soft mouth, and a dimple in her chin. She lifted her hands toward Sarah. “Mama,” she said. “Up. Up."
    Sarah swept her daughter into her arms and held her tight.
    â€œKiss, Mama,” Caitlyn said, puckering her lips.
    Sarah kissed her daughter’s sweet lips and inhaled the scent of baby powder and lavender. Everything would be all right. She had to make it so.
    Sarah didn’t realize she was crying until the tears streamed down her cheeks and fell in big drops onto the sheet. She wiped her eyes and turned to see Jake staring at her.
    â€œI remembered Caitlyn,” she whispered. “I saw her in my head for the first time. I didn’t just feel her; I saw her face, her beautiful face. And she talked to me. She said, ‘Kiss, Mama.’ ” She sniffed as the tears flowed even harder.
    â€œShe was talking to you?” Jake asked in amazement. Then he shook his head in frustration. “Of course she was talking. She’s sixteen months old.” He drew in a long breath, his face tight as he battled for control of his emotions. “What else?” he asked, his eyes and voice impatient. “Where is she? Where did you take her? What did you remember?"
    She knew her next words would disappoint him, but she couldn’t lie. “I just saw that moment in time. I was picking her up from this crib. That’s all. I’m sorry, Jake. I’m really sorry.” And she was, because she’d seen the pain in his eyes when he realized his daughter had spoken her first words, and he hadn’t been there to hear them.
    â€œI don’t care if you’re sorry. Sorry isn’t good enough. I need to find my daughter."
    â€œI know. I’m trying."
    Jake slammed his fist against the nearby wall, the force of his action knocking one of the photographs onto the floor. Sarah flinched but didn’t move. She knew he had to release his anger. And strangely enough she wasn’t afraid that he would turn his rage on her. He wasn’t the kind of man to hit a woman. She knew