thing coming.” Melinda pushed Chris’s hand away just as he heard a thump. He turned quickly and was startled to see Matt right behind them. He was leaning on the breakfast bar, his hand resting on the Bible he’d found in Chris’s office, a hint of worry on his face.
“I think I remember something.”
CHAPTER 17
C hris heard Melinda let out a deep sigh. He knew she was a couple of drinks away from passing out. Melinda rarely drank, but lately she seemed stressed and had been drinking more than usual, and this had Chris concerned.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and rest?” Chris said, his tone softer. “I’m going to take Matt out for dinner.”
Chris watched as Melinda kissed Matt on the cheek before leaving the room.
“Sorry you had to witness that,” Chris said to his brother. “So. What do you remember?”
Matt shrugged. “It could be nothing, but I was flipping through the Bible and read this passage: ‘A prayer of Moses, the man of God. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.’ I think it triggered a memory.”
Chris gripped his hand around his beer. “Tell me.”
“Well, after reading that, I suddenly remembered a homeless man asking me for money. I gave him twenty bucks.”
Chris laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Matt asked, confused.
“You think that’s a recovered memory? From when? Brother, you are always giving money to the poor and unfortunate. That memory could be from three months ago or three years ago. You are a magnet for poor, troubled souls. Just a couple of weeks ago we were rushing to the courthouse, and a single mom with two kids approached us at a crosswalk. I couldn’t believe you stopped to listen to her sob story. She said she was hungry and her husband kicked her and the kids out of the house. You marched that woman and her kids to the closest restaurant and bought them all ham and egg biscuits, and didn’t even care that you made us late for our appointment. You probably gave her money, too.”
“I don’t remember that.” Matt drained the last of his beer.
Chris picked up the Bible and flipped through the pages. “Trust me. You’re a regular bleeding heart.”
“This homeless guy told me his name was Moses,” Matt said, ignoring Chris’s comment. “He was black and his clothes were grubby.”
“Are you sure this is a memory and not something you’ve dreamed up?”
“I’m pretty sure,” Matt said.
Chris checked his watch. “I’m starving. We’ve got a couple hours before Mother’s closes. Let’s go for a ride.” Mother’s Restaurant was their favorite go-to place to grab the best shrimp po’boys in the area.
Matt chucked his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. “Sure. Let’s grab something to go and then swing by my house. I’d like to pick up a few things, if you don’t mind.”
“Give me a minute to check on Melinda. Then we’ll go get your po’boy and you can tell me more about this homeless guy you remember.”
CHAPTER 18
M att stared out the window as his brother pulled onto St. Charles Avenue, which ran through the heart of the Garden District. The smell of the shrimp po’boys and dirty rice tucked snugly in a white paper sack in the back seat was intoxicating and made his mouth water. It was the first time since being out of the hospital that he really felt hungry.
The scenery was picturesque as they traversed St. Charles, famous for its streetcar line and leafy canopy of ancient live oaks. The grand mansions that lined the street were like an architectural student’s wet dream. Tourists traveled from far away just to admire the largest collection of architectural styles in the country, including Greek Revival, Colonial Revival, Victorian, Italianate, and center hall cottages. A majority of the mansions had grand embellishments, such as ornate wrought iron fences lushly overgrown with Southern flora. As his brother turned off St. Charles Avenue onto Valmont Street and Matt saw his house, he
“I think I remember something.”
CHAPTER 17
C hris heard Melinda let out a deep sigh. He knew she was a couple of drinks away from passing out. Melinda rarely drank, but lately she seemed stressed and had been drinking more than usual, and this had Chris concerned.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and rest?” Chris said, his tone softer. “I’m going to take Matt out for dinner.”
Chris watched as Melinda kissed Matt on the cheek before leaving the room.
“Sorry you had to witness that,” Chris said to his brother. “So. What do you remember?”
Matt shrugged. “It could be nothing, but I was flipping through the Bible and read this passage: ‘A prayer of Moses, the man of God. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.’ I think it triggered a memory.”
Chris gripped his hand around his beer. “Tell me.”
“Well, after reading that, I suddenly remembered a homeless man asking me for money. I gave him twenty bucks.”
Chris laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Matt asked, confused.
“You think that’s a recovered memory? From when? Brother, you are always giving money to the poor and unfortunate. That memory could be from three months ago or three years ago. You are a magnet for poor, troubled souls. Just a couple of weeks ago we were rushing to the courthouse, and a single mom with two kids approached us at a crosswalk. I couldn’t believe you stopped to listen to her sob story. She said she was hungry and her husband kicked her and the kids out of the house. You marched that woman and her kids to the closest restaurant and bought them all ham and egg biscuits, and didn’t even care that you made us late for our appointment. You probably gave her money, too.”
“I don’t remember that.” Matt drained the last of his beer.
Chris picked up the Bible and flipped through the pages. “Trust me. You’re a regular bleeding heart.”
“This homeless guy told me his name was Moses,” Matt said, ignoring Chris’s comment. “He was black and his clothes were grubby.”
“Are you sure this is a memory and not something you’ve dreamed up?”
“I’m pretty sure,” Matt said.
Chris checked his watch. “I’m starving. We’ve got a couple hours before Mother’s closes. Let’s go for a ride.” Mother’s Restaurant was their favorite go-to place to grab the best shrimp po’boys in the area.
Matt chucked his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. “Sure. Let’s grab something to go and then swing by my house. I’d like to pick up a few things, if you don’t mind.”
“Give me a minute to check on Melinda. Then we’ll go get your po’boy and you can tell me more about this homeless guy you remember.”
CHAPTER 18
M att stared out the window as his brother pulled onto St. Charles Avenue, which ran through the heart of the Garden District. The smell of the shrimp po’boys and dirty rice tucked snugly in a white paper sack in the back seat was intoxicating and made his mouth water. It was the first time since being out of the hospital that he really felt hungry.
The scenery was picturesque as they traversed St. Charles, famous for its streetcar line and leafy canopy of ancient live oaks. The grand mansions that lined the street were like an architectural student’s wet dream. Tourists traveled from far away just to admire the largest collection of architectural styles in the country, including Greek Revival, Colonial Revival, Victorian, Italianate, and center hall cottages. A majority of the mansions had grand embellishments, such as ornate wrought iron fences lushly overgrown with Southern flora. As his brother turned off St. Charles Avenue onto Valmont Street and Matt saw his house, he
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