Abigail was staring at the toys with awe. ‘These are all for me?’
‘Yes, sweetheart,’ Edie said.
‘Thank you! My papa used to work here,’ Abigail added, carefully taking one of the crayons. ‘Oh, this is lovely.’
Edie’s lips twitched. ‘I think so, too. Blue is my favorite color.’ She turned to Amos. ‘You worked here? In this store?’
He shook his head. ‘Not here. I worked at a McDonald’s outside LA. But that was many years ago. We don’t have . . . a lot of restaurants where we lived.’ He’d been about to say any, but hesitated to reveal too much information.
Because if DJ managed to find him, he didn’t want this lady to know anything that would put her in danger.
Edie nodded. ‘I worked at McDonald’s too, back in the early seventies. Kind of tough to have to come back to it now at my age, but you do what you gotta do to pay the bills, am I right?’
‘You are indeed.’ He checked on Abigail, who’d picked up the art of coloring with the speed with which she did everything else, the tip of her little tongue visible as she concentrated. ‘Thank you for helping us. I have to say that I was relieved to see a McDonald’s. So much has changed in the time that I’ve been away, but the golden arches are the same.’
‘When were you last in a city?’ Edie asked.
He made a rueful face. ‘A long, long time ago. Let’s see. Bush was president and pay phones were everywhere.’
Edie’s eyes widened just as Abigail’s had. ‘Which Bush?’
Which Bush? ‘Um, George?’
‘I mean, father or son?’
It was Amos’s turn to stare. ‘Son? Wow.’
Edie gave a low whistle. ‘You have been gone awhile. This is . . . well, this is fascinating. It’s like one of those movies where you fall asleep and wake up in the future, huh?’
‘Very much, I’m afraid. I take it that you don’t have a phone book or a pay phone here?’
‘Or anywhere,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I mean, you might be able to find one somewhere, but I haven’t seen one in . . . a decade at least.’ She pulled her little phone device from her pocket and put it on the table. ‘Everything’s in here.’
Amos had to fight to control his urge to touch it. It was so sleek and shiny. That everything could fit in there was too incredible. He’d heard about the Internet from people who’d joined Eden in the last twenty years, but only in whispers. Discussions of life outside Eden’s walls were prohibited. Such that even children are punished for mentioning telephones. ‘I don’t have one of those.’
‘I figured not.’ Edie’s brow scrunched. ‘Where do you come from? After LA, I mean.’
‘North of here,’ he said vaguely, because, in truth, he had no idea. ‘If I want to get a phone like that, how would I go about it?’
She gave him a long, hard look, then turned to Abigail. ‘Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?’
Abigail didn’t look up from her coloring. ‘In heaven,’ she answered, matter-of-factly. ‘My papa takes care of me.’
‘Her mother died in childbirth,’ Amos said softly.
Edie’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry. I just . . . well, I need to know that she’s really yours. That you didn’t just grab her from the mall or something.’
He stared at her, angry for a moment, and then he remembered the stranger dangers of the mall and felt a swell of gratitude. And relief, because even though Abigail had her mother’s gray eyes, she had his dark hair and one other identifying feature. ‘Abi-girl, can you show Miss Edie your birthmark?’
‘I have a birthmark here,’ Abigail said, setting the crayon down to tug the collar of her dress aside and point to the little red dot. ‘Papa has one, too.’
Amos mimicked Abigail’s action, showing Edie his identical mark, then rubbed at it with his thumb to show her that it was part of his skin. ‘She’s my daughter.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Edie said. ‘I needed to ask.’
‘It’s perfectly fine. I’m glad you’re so conscientious.’ He hesitated, then sighed. ‘We left our home last night. The community no longer . . . held appeal.’
Edie’s expression changed, wary once again. ‘The community. Like a cult?’
Goodness. For a moment, Amos could only blink. How had she guessed? His shock must have shown, because Edie nodded grimly.
‘I’ve read about this,’ she said. ‘People leaving when the cult endangered their children. Is that what happened to you . . . Sorry. I don’t know your name.’
‘He’s called Brother Amos,’ Abigail chirped. ‘I’m Abigail.’
Amos opened his mouth to reprimand her, then sighed. ‘Yes. I’m Amos, but not Brother. Not anymore.’ Never again. ‘And . . . yes, to your other question.’ He glanced meaningfully at Abigail, then met Edie’s eyes, hoping she’d understand. Yes, my child is in danger.
Edie drew a breath. ‘Well, then. A phone. You can get one at Walmart. You know about Walmart?’
‘I remember the store, yes, but I’ve never been to one.’
Edie shook her head. ‘You’re in for a wild adventure, Amos.’
‘It’s already started,’ Amos said. ‘How much money does a phone cost at Walmart?’
‘At least fifty dollars. Plus you have to pay for a plan.’
Amos winced. Buying a phone would make a huge dent in the cash that he’d brought with him. And the truck needed gasoline. He’d nearly fainted at the prices on the gas station signs. ‘That’s a lot of money. And then I need to buy a . . . plan?’ What did that mean? ‘And then I can find a telephone book?’
Edie sighed. ‘Look, you might want to start at the library. They have computers and you can look things up there probably faster than on one of those cheap burner phones. You can use the online white pages.’
‘Burner phone?’ he asked, then waved the question away. ‘Never mind. It’s okay. I can look things up for free at the library?’
‘If you have a library card. Do you?’
He shook his head. ‘I did, but it expired in 1990.’
Edie dropped her gaze to her hands and tapped the screen of her phone, revealing the image of three smiling children, all about Abigail’s age. The screen also displayed the time, which Amos supposed was handy for Edie, as the woman didn’t wear a wristwatch.