I stared at him.
“She looks exactly like you did at her age.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then she told me her name was Ellie. I casually asked what her mother’s name was. She said Sarah.”
He shook his head.
“I couldn’t believe it.”
“I still don’t understand how you know me.”
He hesitated.
“Do you remember Maple Street?”
My chest tightened.
“In Millbrook?”
The world seemed to shift slightly.
Maple Street.
My childhood street.
Four hundred miles away.
The place where my mother had once walked me to an ice cream truck on summer evenings.
“How do you know that?”
The man removed his baseball cap and held it against his chest.
“Because I used to drive the ice cream truck there.”
I stared at him.
“The Maple Street route. Back in the eighties and nineties. I drove it for almost twenty years.”
He smiled faintly.
“You probably wouldn’t remember me. You were little.”
