Chapter 20
Him
Abby and Eggy got nearly ten days together before he left us one morning, all on his own, tucked safely in my wife’s arms while she nestled, tucked safely into mine.
Eggy passed so peacefully that he appeared merely asleep, but my hand had been resting on his back, and I could feel his little body slowly turn cold. I cried as softly as I could, mourning the loss of such a sweet, opinionated, courageous little soul.
Abby slept through Eggy’s journey across the rainbow bridge, and I didn’t wake her for the longest time.
She was starting to remember bits and pieces.
Small things were coming back to her of her life before the abduction.
They came like shards from a shattered mirror that she was slowly piecing together.
And she’d been through so much, it felt profoundly unfair to break her heart so soon after we got her home.
In the end, I didn’t have to wake her. She stirred, her brow creasing and her hand instinctively stroking Eggy’s body, feeling the stillness and the loss of warmth.
I watched as awareness brought her up from the depths, and she said nothing; she just folded him a little tighter in her arms, buried her face in his fur, and sobbed.
I didn’t know what else to do but hold onto both of them and hope I could offer her the comfort of my embrace and my silence.
Later that day, I dropped off Eggy at the vet.
They would send his body out for cremation, which Abby preferred over a burial in the backyard.
When I got home again, we held each other and Tuttle, and I told my wife old stories about Eggy.
To my surprise, as I told her story after story about the little guy, she began to finish the endings to some of those stories.
It was like Eggy was the link to her past. To me. To her life before.
I’d called Cat from the airport in Boise.
She’d sobbed so hard that it was difficult to tell if she’d heard anything I said after I told her that we’d found her sister.
Later, she’d texted that she was coming to Austin immediately, and I’d had to call her back and explain a little more clearly that Abby needed some time before a flurry of reunions happened.
I hated to cause Cat any more worry or pain, but I knew that my wife just needed a moment to absorb all that was happening to her as she reentered her old life.
I think Candice understood better than Cat.
At least she seemed to take it better, giving us our space.
I knew it was important to both women to simply see Abby in the flesh, to hug her, hold onto her, have that moment to confirm their worst fears hadn’t come true.
But I’d failed to protect my wife once; I wasn’t ever going to do it again.
Oscar was another story, though. He showed up every morning with a bag full of prepared food.
He and his fiancée, Nikki, were making our daily meals so that we could simply focus on Eggy and giving Abby the time she needed for her reentry.
Abby seemed eager to talk to Oscar, however.
She asked him dozens of questions about himself, his fiancée, their impending wedding.
It was like she knew they were the closest of friends and was eager to create a portrait of him that could fill in some of the holes in her memory.
He patiently answered every single question—even the more probing, personal ones, and I was once again reminded about how grateful I was that Oscar was in our lives.
Meanwhile, Brice handled identifying Ivy Nelson, who’d been missing nearly three years when she froze to death inside that hellhole cabin in the woods.
Abby had literally given the poor girl the sweater off her back, attempting to keep her warm enough to survive being abandoned for days at a time when the brothers left them to fend for themselves while shackled to a wall.
How my wife had survived that same cold wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a blanket I’ll never know, but I’ll always be grateful to her for having such a strong will to survive.
It was a good lesson for me too, I think.
I hadn’t told Abby about my thoughts of suicide, how I’d been so ready to eat my gun after I’d taken Eggy to the vet the day we instead found her in that diner, and I doubted I ever would.
But reflecting on how much she’d endured just to make it back to us made me ashamed to think that I’d been so willing to exit this world to join her when I thought she’d died.
Maybe I’d make an appointment with a shrink to talk about it soon.
Anyway, Brice had contacted Ivy’s next of kin—her father and a brother. I knew their pain. It was more than I allowed myself to dwell on until I made that appointment with a shrink.
Abby showed me the journal entry she’d written about what’d happened to the brothers. How she’d fought for her life. How they’d died trying to end hers. It was paltry satisfaction that they’d died the way they had, knowing what she’d gone through in the months before she’d managed to escape.
Once we landed back in Austin, I’d reached out to Sheriff Penton to reassure him that Abby was safe and sound back at home.
The guy seemed to genuinely care for her, and the town had also been good to her.
I’d asked her if she’d ever want to go back and visit the people who’d given her safe harbor, and it’d surprised me when she’d been quick to say no.
She’d said the town had given to her and she’d given back, and as far as she was concerned, they were even.
But Levi Sutton was another case altogether.
Abby had indicated that she wanted to get out to L.A. someday soon and visit the young man who’d watched out for her and helped her solve a twenty-five-year-old mystery.
She told me that she knew he’d be famous someday and, knowing my wife’s gift for predicting the future, I had no doubt about that.
She also told me that we’d be okay. That it’d take some time, but that, since she’d come home, she kept having visions of a future she said she was starting to remember, which included me.
She assured me that she doesn’t need to remember everything about the past twelve years together to know that she loves me.
That she’ll always love me. And for that, I consider myself the luckiest man alive.