Page 5 of A Future To Remember

I laughed too.

It surprised me, and for a minute, I didn’t know what to do about it, so I just stopped and stared out the open door.

Dave stood up with Tuttle in one arm and punched me in the shoulder. “She’ll come home, Dutch. I got a feeling.”

I grunted and allowed myself the smallest smile. “You got a feeling, eh?”

“He’s not the only one,” Oscar said from behind me. I turned to see him putting the lid on a container of three enchiladas. He handed it to Dave, who smiled wide and offered him another nod.

“Oz,” Dave said.

Oscar smiled. Dave had recently come up with the nickname, and everyone seemed to like it. Most of all, Oscar.

Eggy wandered out to us from his bed in the kitchen, and Dave put down Tuttle to carefully lift up Eggy. Eyeing me with a pained sadness that was hard to look at, he asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Eating. Sleeping. Mostly comfortable.”

Dave stroked Eggy’s head and kissed him between the eyes before the old pup tucked his muzzle under Dave’s chin. Eggy had known Dave longer than he’d known me.

For a minute, I wondered if taking Eggy with me rather than leaving him with Dave was the right choice, but then Dave gave him another kiss and handed him back to me. “Bring him home so I can say goodbye before it’s time, okay?”

I had to swallow hard and blink a bunch again. All I could do was nod.

With that, he bent down a final time, lifted up Tuttle, gave Oscar a two-finger salute before grabbing the container of food, and without another word, he headed to his truck for the ride home.

I cradled Eggy and waved goodbye, then turned and shut the door. Following Oscar back to the kitchen, I set down Eggy in front of his food bowl, hoping he’d nibble at the fresh plate of bison I’d made him. To my relief, he tucked in.

When I turned again, I saw that Oscar was plating our late lunch and setting it on the table. He eyed the folder like it was a coiled rattlesnake.

I often looked at it that way too.

Candice had put it together for me, even though it should’ve been me who did the hard stuff. In the folder were Abby’s last dental X-rays, a copy of her fingerprints, some hair from her hairbrush for DNA identification, and a copy of her photo ID.

Also in the folder was the name of a pilot who could fly her body back to Seattle, and contact names and numbers at Delta to arrange for her remains to be flown home.

I made it a point to always have the folder nearby but never open it.

We ate mostly in silence, but I could force myself to eat only half, even though it was delicious. That gnawing fear that we’d get to Montana and I’d have to identify the body of my wife, or hand over the folder so that someone else could do it for me, was taking hold again.

I’d been to the site of Abby’s disappearance at least twelve times—twice a month like clockwork—hunting, surveying the landscape, trying to feel her. To harness that knowing that she’d so deftly wielded and point it to where she might be so that I could finally hold her in my arms or bring her home.

But I couldn’t say that I’d come even close to that feeling so far.

And it was killing me. Hunting my will to live like a serial killer, it was waiting for me to give up hope.

I glanced over at Eggy, who’d gone back to his bed and was once again sound asleep. I think he was the only thing keeping me going right now. Once I lost him, I was pretty sure I’d lose her, and when that day came…

God help me.

CHAPTER 3

her

The painkillers made me fuzzy, and I developed a fever, which told the doctors that an infection had set in. According to them, I was malnourished, severely underweight, hypo-thermic, and unconscious when I’d been brought in.

I’d also heard one nurse tell another that I’d shown signs of long-term abuse, but specifically how and specifically by whom they weren’t telling me.

I think they were waiting for me to remember. Everyone seemed to be waiting for that—most especially me.