Page 2 of A Future To Remember

He nodded like he understood, then walked to the door, still twirling that Stetson between his hands. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at me and asked, “By the way, what’s your name? And is there anyone you want us to call?”

Blink. Blink. Blink. He didn’t even know my name? Was I driving without a license? Shit. I was in more trouble than I probably realized. Blank was gonna be so mad.

Wait. Blank? Who the hell is Blank?

I stared back at the sheriff for a pregnant minute, my brain frustratingly slow to connect the dots, and the longer the silence went on, the more I started to panic. My breathing began to come in short little gasps, and my heart was pounding hard, making the pain in my head even worse.

“Hey, hey, now,” the sheriff said, moving over to my bedside and laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. We don’t have to call anybody. We can keep your identity on the down-low.”

My wide eyes stared up at him, knowing I’d misinterpreted the pouts, frowns, and seriousness of his expression, which had turned compassionate and concerned. “Thank you.”

He nodded and waited for me to collect myself. His presence was now soothing and calming. I could lean into that.

“I promise to keep your name a secret until we figure all this out, but I do need it for my report.”

Blink. Blink. Blinkety-blink. “My name?”

He nodded encouragingly, and I felt I could trust him.

“I’m…” I was about to tell him. My mouth was about to form the words. First name. Last name. I was about to give them a voice, but they wouldn’t come. It was like they were hidden away in a locked room and I didn’t have the key. “I’m…” I tried again.

He nodded again encouragingly.

My eyes misted. “I don’t remember.”

And I didn’t.

And that was terrifying.

CHAPTER 2

him

The phone on the table started vibrating and Brice’s name rolled up on-screen. I sent it to voicemail, which I knew would drive him crazy, but I just couldn’t deal with him today. The buzzing phone woke up Eggy, and he moaned, then sighed while I held him in my arms.

“I know, bud. Sorry.”

I eyed the time on the phone. Eleven forty a.m. I was twenty minutes away from giving Eggy another pain med, and my insides twisted, thinking about how much discomfort he might be in. I knew he was suffering. I felt like a shit for doing this to him. Making him wait, and not just for the pain meds.

He’d been diagnosed three weeks ago. Hemangio-sarcoma—blood cancer. The vet said he had maybe six weeks to two months, but she’d recommended not waiting. “Isn’t it better to let him go out on a high note?” she’d asked.

I’d thought, Of course, it’s fucking better! Can’t you see it’d kill me to make him suffer?! But Eggy wasn’t my dog. He was Abby’s. Abigail Cooper—or just “Edgar” to me. The love of my life. Missing now for six full months.

My vision blurred with sudden wetness, and I swallowed hard. Then I swallowed hard again, blinking until I could clear my vision.

Crying wouldn’t help. If it would, she’d have been home five months and seven hours ago.

At the four-week mark in the search, local law enforcement was ready to call it. Probability of mortality: ninety percent.

That good-old-boy sheriff had even said that to my face. “Agent Rivers, the probability of your wife being found alive is now only ten percent. I’m sorry, but we’re calling off the search. We won’t close the case until we identify her remains, but for now, we’re classifying this as an accidental mortality. We have to assume she got lost in the canyons, and if there was an accident and she survived, without proper food, clothing, and shelter, she would’ve died of exposure, shock, or starvation by now.”

There was no trace of her anywhere. No footprints. No DNA. No trace of the SUV. No pings from her phone. No use of her credit cards…she’d simply vanished.

Six months ago, on a soggy Saturday morning, Abby had left our cabin hideaway to head out for a can of soup, milk, cheese, butter, and bread, intent on making us a tomato-soup-and-grilled-cheese combo. It’d been raining and chilly outside, so we’d spent the morning cuddled under the covers. I remember looking at her in the dim light of that log cabin and thinking I’d never been more in love with my wife. She wasn’t just beautiful, smart, gifted, thoughtful, loving, sensual, and a supportive partner—she was my everything. My whole world revolved around Mrs. Abigail Cooper-Rivers.

And now I was just this spinning planet, cast out to the far edge of the solar system, unable to feel the warmth of the sun, and so desperate for hope that I was putting this sweet little dachshund, who’d never hurt a soul, through the worst kind of torture simply because letting him go before my wife came home felt like the end of hope for me too.

I was a coward. I just couldn’t do it. Not yet.