They exited the police station with Foley’s hand resting on Jeremy’s shoulder. The sun had set and the temperature had started to drop. As soon as they cleared the door Jeremy stepped quickly to the left, breaking physical contact.

Jeremy turned to face Foley. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Foley turned to look back toward the police station door. Jeremy followed his gaze. Officer Yonce stood in the still open door watching them with a practiced indifference.

“Grampa, you embarrassed me in there.”

“I’m sorry, Toby. Come.” He held a hand out toward Jeremy.

Jeremy hesitated. Having played along with Foley’s ruse, he wasn’t sure which course of action posed the greatest danger, walking further with Foley, or ending the charade by calling out to Officer Yonce.

“Please, Toby,” Foley said. “We’ll sort this out at home.”

Home. Jeremy felt a pang of yearning. Home was out of reach. For now. He would find a way. He would return home.

Jeremy looked toward the door. Officers Yonce and Andollo offered a night in juvie. And maybe an introduction to social services, a meeting that could only lead to a long, meaningful relationship.

Yonce crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

Jeremy moved to Foley, who put his arm around Jeremy’s shoulder. Together they began to walk down the sidewalk.

Foley spoke to Jeremy, barely loudly enough for Yonce to hear. “I parked about a block away.” He pointed down the street to his right.

More quietly he said, “I haven’t given you much reason, Jeremy, but I want you to trust me.”

At the sound of his name, Jeremy stopped abruptly and looked up at Foley.

Foley looked back toward the police station–and, Jeremy presumed, toward Officer Yonce–then stood looking patiently at Jeremy.

Jeremy began walking again, down the sidewalk to the right, in the direction that Foley had pointed.

Slowly and very quietly, Foley said, “I know who you are, Jeremy.”

The words sent an electric buzz through Jeremy’s arms. Was this more of Foley’s scam, or did he really know who Jeremy was? Jeremy continued walking beside Foley. A dark colored Camry was parked twenty yards ahead. There were no other cars.

As quietly as he could speak through his clenched teeth, Jeremy said, “What do you know about me?”

“It’s a long story, Jeremy, and it will take some time to tell.” Foley pulled a keychain from his pocket and thumbed a remote control. The tail lights on the Camry flashed.

Foley moved toward the driver’s side of the car. “What do you want to do?”

“I want you to tell me what you think you know about me.”

Foley pointed across the roof of the car. “Then get in.”

“You can tell me here.”

“It’s cold standing here.”

Jeremy looked down the street. He spotted a coffee shop and pointed. “Starbucks, then.”

“This isn’t a conversation we can have in public, Jeremy.” Foley looked back toward the police station, which was mostly obscured by a row of bushes. “It looks odd, us standing out here by the car.”

Jeremy fought the urge to look back himself. Jesus! Was Foley trying to manipulate him? If so, it was working.

Jeremy had to think quickly. Did Foley really know who he was? That didn’t make sense. Jeremy’s own family didn’t know who he was. The newspaper had forgotten him. For God’s sake, even the newspaper didn’t know who he was. How could Foley know? It didn’t make sense.

But nothing else in the past three days made any sense, either.

It didn’t feel right. And Jeremy had learned to trust his instincts. Listening to his gut had kept him alive for a year on the streets of San Francisco.

“I’m not getting in your car, Mister.”

“I understand. I wouldn’t trust me either, under the circumstances.” Foley opened his door. “When you’re ready, maybe you can call me. Do you have a cell phone?”

Jeremy shook his head.

“I live on Fortin Street, a few blocks from the park. Number 4912. Can you remember that?”

“4912 Fortin Street,” Jeremy repeated.

“Okay, then.” Foley nodded. “When you’re ready. I think it’s important that we talk, Jeremy. For both of us. You probably have a lot of questions right now. I have some questions myself, and between the two of us maybe we can find some answers.”

Jeremy watched as Foley started the car and drove away.

Jeremy needed a place to sleep, a place to think. Mayfield Park was out of the question if Foley had told the truth about where he lived. There was a smaller park about a mile away, but it was all open field with no trees for cover. He could sleep by the river, but the breeze might be too cold for comfort.

There were lots of alleys between streets, Jeremy knew, lined with trees and bushes and fences. And the night was early yet. He could walk until he found a promising place to sleep. And he could think while he walked.

It had been a long day. And it was going to be a long night.