[NOTE: Yes, I know Foley’s explanation of what happened with the police would not satisfy Aaron. I have some ideas about how to fix all that, but that’s for the second draft. This is the NaNoWriMo draft. Damn the coherence; full speed ahead!] In Karoline’s Kitchen, three tables seated at most twelve people. Karoline did not offer a menu. The daily special was described in three colors of chalk on a black slate board that hung on the wall beside the cash register. Today’s special was meat loaf with green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. Above the chalk board a carved wooden sign identified the only other lunch item: Tuna Plate, $even dollar$. A note on the wall near the cash register explained that Karoline did not believe in the standard pricing scheme that attempted to fool people into believing that a $6.99 tuna salad was a bargain over a $7.00 tuna salad.

Foley and Aaron were the only two patrons. Aaron stood at the counter and Foley sat at one of the small tables. Earlier Foley had ordered the meat loaf special. When Aaron arrived, a few minutes later, Foley had suggested the he too order lunch before they got down to business. Aaron had wanted to know what happened with the police, but Foley refused to talk before Aaron ordered.

Aaron ordered the tuna salad, picked a Stewart’s Key Lime soda from the cooler, and sat across from Foley.

“So what happened?”

“Miscommunication. Sacramento had called of the manhunt, but Portland didn’t get the message until just about the time I arrived at the station. The Portland police were quite apologetic, and asked a few nosy questions which I answered as concretely and truthfully as I could. The were kind enough to chauffeur me back to my car. By the time I called you back I was famished. I hope Karoline’s is acceptable.”

“Karoline has a wonderful reputation. I’ve never eaten here myself.”

“I take it you’ve seen Jeremy by now?”

“Yes. He’s with Nils, who works with me. He’s a great kid, and my right-hand man.”

“One of… What did you call it? The Forgotten?”

“Yes. The first, as a matter of fact. We work in a basement meeting room in a church where his father is pastor.”

“His father? If he’s a Forgotten, why does his father remember him?”

“He doesn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

Karoline brought their meals and set them on the table. “Hot sauce?” she asked.

Foley said, “No thank you.” Aaron shook his head. Karoline disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

Foley said, “Tell me about Nils and the pastor.”

“Three or four years ago I started attending a Methodist church on the west side, which is on the other side of the river from here. I’d gotten my feet on the ground here in Portland. I had a job at a CD store. I had a tiny apartment. But I was searching, and I didn’t know what I was searching for. I visited all kinds of churches, attending a sermon or two, and other kinds of services. Nothing felt quite right.

“But when I walked into First Congregational the pastor–that’s Jim Rollins–met me at the door and talked with me for a long time. I don’t remember what we talked about, but he has a knack of listening so that you feel heard. You know people like that?”

Foley nodded.

“So I started attending every Sunday. And I would come by other times just to talk. We talked about everything, about the stuff you’re not supposed to talk about in polite company, politics, religion–”

“Sex?”

“Well, no, not sex. I’m sure Jim would have been okay with that, but he never brought it up and neither did I. We just hit it off and became great friends.”

“You were what, seventeen years old?”

“I had just turned eighteen. Yeah, I know the stereotype. A man of the cloth and a boy. But there was never anything untoward about our relationship. We just like talking about life. Philosophy, I guess. I liked having someone to talk to who has thought about life, and I think he saw me as something like the son he never had.

“Or at least that’s the way I remember it now. It’s very strange, because I know in my head that what I remember isn’t the way it really was, that in reality Jim had a son, Nils. But no matter how much I tell myself, intellectually, that Jim had a son, I also know just as certainly that he did not. It’s a strange duality to live with, but guess I do what most people do when faced with a contradiction. I focus on one set of facts and pretend not to notice the contradicting ones.”

Foley said, “You do seem to enjoy talking about philosophy.”

“Oh,” Aaron said, and laughed. “Sorry, I went off on a tangent there.”

“It’s okay. This situation seems to lend itself to philosophical tangents.”

“Yes, it certainly does. Where was I?”

“You were becoming fast friends with pastor Jim. And I’ll guess that Nils was about to enter the picture.”