Page 47 of Prodigal Son

Vito’s phone was hooked up to the Bluetooth, and his playlists consisted of strip club music and heavy metal. Neither were helping her mood.

The gaps in her memory grew more concerning the longer the day went on. She’d assumed something would jog her memory by now, but nothing had. It was as if she’d been drugged. She worried she might have permanent brain damage from her nasty fall. What if she started forgetting other stuff? Maybe she was concussed.

“I think I should go to the hospital.”

“Now?”

She shrugged. “Don’t you think I should have a scan or at least speak to a doctor?”

“I thought you already did.”

Her brow pinched. She thought so, too, but she couldn’t actually remember sitting in a doctor’s office or having any sort of exam.

A vision of a cave flashed in her mind, triggering the familiar scent of wood burning. A tingle shot up her back and she shivered, vocally, the way a child does after sobbing.

Vito glanced at her. “You okay?”

She shook her head. “I keep getting these weird flashes that don’t make any sense.”

“Memories?”

“I don’t know.”

They drove in silence for a few miles. “If you go to the ER, it’ll cost an arm and a leg. Just call your primary and see if they can get you in later this week.”

He was right. She called her doctor’s office and they said they could see her the following Friday. Maybe by then she’d remember what happened to her and be able to at least answer some basic questions.

While they drove, she reclined in the passenger seat and used her new phone to search every convent in Pennsylvania. There were only a couple close to Jim Thorpe.

“None of these convents look familiar.”

“Did the nuns wear any special pins or stitched symbols on their clothes?”

“I can’t remember.”

“What about the building? Was the exterior stone or stucco or did it have siding?”

“I just remember pale green walls.” She clicked on a map, following each pin to a specific listing. “Who knew convents had websites.” She chuckled. “And ratings. This one has four stars.”

“That’s commercialism at its finest.”

“I give up.” When she looked up and noticed how far they’d driven, her brow creased. Signs for the Northeast Extension passed overhead. “Where are we going?”

Vito kept his eyes on the road, both hands tight on the wheel.

“Vito?”

“What?” He shrugged. “I just figured we could take a quick look—”

“I told you I didn’t want to go back to Jim Thorpe!”

“Come on. You’re Destiny Santos, star reporter. You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I said no!”

“I’m already on the exit.”

“So, get off of it.”

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