17.

I go to every bar in town. Don't people drown their sorrows in cocktails or mocktails when they've lost a soulmate? That's what I would do, and I'm pretty sure that's what that guy on the Netflix show did when his longtime girlfriend ditched him. I don't watch it much but saw it over Nol's shoulder a few times. Gran puts it on for her with the hope it will draw her back to reality.

Anyway, here I am sitting at Luna and feeling defeated after a night with absolutely zero soulmate memory prospects. Until an older guy comes in. Not super old, but maybe close to sixty. I feel something, like pain and excitement twisting in my stomach at the exact same moment that he approaches the bar and takes a seat. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as he orders a gin and tonic. He isn't drowning sorrows right now. I can feel that his story is much older. I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my nose in my untouched glass of chardonnay.

And then I set to work. The memory is there. I see his soulmate through a blurry haze. A young woman. I know it's about thirty years ago, not because of the fashion (I'm not that much of an expert in those matters) but because of the feeling. The two of them are dancing on the bridge where I meet my clients. She's twirling under his arm, then laughing. And so it continues until a new picture flashes before my eyes. They're at the beach, one I recognize of course because it is about an hour from here, right along the coast. They run in the sand, collapse into the waves and laugh. I think she's pregnant. I see her belly above the waves. And then I see them later, at home it seems, happy and laughing. A string of memories that normally would be meaningless but here showed their love for each other. Soulmates. My heart flip flops. Can I seize this memory and deliver it? I try, but it escapes me.

I open my eyes, turn, and see that the man has left. My heart sinks. My big opportunity. Lost. I toss a few bills on the bar, then make my way past the spot the man vacated. Suddenly, I stop right on the spot. On the back of his bill is written the following: "Try harder."

Is it crazy to believe this has to do with me? Probably. But I don't care. This is the only hope I have. He's gone for the night, but I tell myself he'll be back.

The next night, same time, same place – and he's there. He doesn't look at me as I settle down in the same spot at the bar. I order a glass of chardonnay that I know I won't drink. And then I wait for the memory to waft its way over to me. It comes, along with different memories, but ones that make up the same story. The figures are blurry, but I see this couple, two babies – or are they toddlers? Hard to tell. And how much time has passed? They've had two babies so we must be talking a few years. It doesn't matter. I'm getting off track.

I try a new technique, using tips Nol gave me long ago to capture memories. I feel the story making its way into my mind, into the right compartment, and exhilaration fills me. The memory becomes stronger and the picture clearer. Beads of sweat trickle down my temples, but I can hardly feel them. I'm too absorbed in this feeling of success. And then, all of a sudden, the picture clears, sharpening to perfection. And that's when I gasp and let go. The memory unravels, slips out of my mind, and my eyes fly open. The man is gone now, and so are the details.

"Is everything OK?" the bartender asks as I stand there trembling.

"Yes, no problem." I choke out the words as I fumble for my money and hand him enough to cover more than my drink.

And then my flustered, hurried manner is gone, and I'm in slow motion, approaching that bar stool. There will be something written on the man's bill. I'm sure of it.

This time, the bill is folded, the note private. I reach for it, knowing what it will say. The words confirm my suspicions: "If you are her daughter, you can bring this memory back to her."

The woman in that memory is Nol. The babies in that memory are my sister and me. And this man – this man I sat next to two nights in a row – is my father.

**

I know he won't return to Luna a third night in a row. Technically, I should be able to focus on what I'd seen the past two nights, recreate the memory in my own mind, and capture it. He'd given me all of the material needed. But my mind is cloudy. Sure, I know what I saw, but I don't have everything in the clear and organized manner it needs to be for transmission. I'm left with a jumble of puzzle pieces. And a load of questions.

Why does my father want Nol to remember all that? I thought he'd left her, didn't want any part of our strange world. So why come back now? And what was his connection to the assignment James had given to me? It's way too coincidental for this to be totally unrelated. I comb through various scenarios, but the only one that makes sense involves James being a former client of my mother's. The more I think about this, the more it does seem plausible. When I'd first met James, he'd told me that he had been a customer of memory catchers "long ago." That still doesn't explain why my father showed up with a soulmate memory right after James assigned me to find that sort of memory for him. And my father wants this memory delivered to Nol – still, I could deliver this memory to James as well. Any soulmate memory will do.

I shake my overloaded head as I make my way through the crowd at Luna and nonchalantly settle at the bar. I'm not expecting my father to be there, but I can't help but stop by anyway just in case.

This time, I'm drowning my sorrows in sparkling water when a voice interrupts me.

"Any progress?"

I draw in a sharp breath. It's Lyra. She slips onto the stool next to me and shoots me a cool hint of a smile.

"I may as well be honest and say I've got more questions now than when I started this whole business." I hold my head in my hands and keep my eyes down.

"Giving up already?" Her voice holds a challenge, and that tone and those three simple words are enough to light a little spark of defiance within me.

I take a deep breath and look up, my eyes meeting hers.

"No. I'm... working on it."

She nods, looking strangely satisfied. Again, I get the feeling she's on my side even though I don't understand why.

"I think you can spend less time here," she says. "All that you need is within yourself."

I repeat the words over and over as I make my way home, and again as I fall into a restless sleep.

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