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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

Florence reached out and accepted it with frail fingers.  “Oh my,” she said, staring through a set of black-framed glasses. “This was me?”

“It’s both of us.”

“Well, I haven’t been in a dress like that in… I don’t know how long.”

Townsend grinned and turned away, picking up a small box.  “I brought you some chocolate truffles.”

“Ooh, I do like truffles,” she said with a smile and waited while Townsend unwrapped them.

He removed the top and handed her the bottom of the small box, allowing her to pluck one of the treats and happily take a bite.

“I also brought you a new gardening magazine.”

His wife giggled.  “I like to garden, too!”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

Outside, from the nurse’s station, a young nurse watched the two through the open doorway, touched, yet wearing a soft, saddened expression.

Behind her, an older nurse passed and sat down before the computer.  “Sweet, isn’t it?”

The younger woman dropped a hand to her chest and frowned.  “It really is.  And yet so sad.”

The older nurse began to type but stopped, leaning forward and watching through the doorway with her colleague.  “I’m not so sure.”

“Not so sure?  What do you mean?  He comes every day at the same time and has the same conversation.  Over and over.”

“True. Just like clockwork.  Every day for almost three years.”

“I just feel so bad for him.”

The older nurse smiled.  “I used to, until I finally asked.”

“Asked what?”

“Exactly what you’re thinking.  What all of us are thinking whenever he comes in.  How does he do it?  How does he come back every day and have the same conversation when she doesn’t remember him at all?”

They watched through the door as Townsend raised his phone, placed it on the table, and then pressed the tiny screen to play a song.

Brown-eyed girl.

His wife smiled again.  “I love this song.”

“I know,” he said.  “We danced to it at our wedding.”

The nurses watched together before the younger of the two finally turned.

“So, what did he say?”

“What did he say when I asked him?”

“Yes.”

The older nurse, with dark shoulder-length hair, beamed as if reliving something herself.  “I asked, ‘How do you keep doing it?’ and he just looked at me and smiled, then said, ‘She may not remember me, but I sure remember her.’”

19

19

“You okay?”

Rickards snapped out of his trance when Angela appeared on the balcony of her room with a cup of coffee.

“Just… thinking,” he said, taking the cup.  “Thank you.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m still a little shaken up.”

“From the FBI?  Yeah, me too.”

“They were pretty pissed at you.”

He shrugged and sipped his coffee.  “I probably had it coming.”