And just like that, they were gone.
Part III
GEORGE
One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while one is still alive.
Chapter 21
Western Wyoming
Five days earlier
The old wooden sign read,
At the time George Wilcox didn’t pay much attention to the sign, as he was more occupied by the rustic clapboard buildings grouped along both sides of the road. A crusty, weathered gas station stood at the edge of town like an old watchman at the city gate. Beside it were a general store and a diner among a handful of shops and houses. The whole town seemed as out of the way as it could possibly be, cradled in the embrace of a steep, wooded bluff. And high above it loomed a gray mountainside that cut a jagged edge against the sky.
George pulled their white Lexus into a parking space in front of the modest one-story office directly across from the diner. The white hand-painted lettering on the front window read,
“Well, I guess this is it.” George shook his head and sighed. Not even the GPS had been able to locate this town, and had George not gotten directions over the phone—very specific directions—he’d never have found it at all.
Miriam sat quietly beside him, staring out the window. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly into a bun, and her gaunt face held no discernible expression. But she had come through their three-day road trip up from Texas like a trouper. Then again, she had always loved to travel. It seemed to be one of the few things about her that hadn’t changed over the last four years.
George would never have driven this far with her, but the opportunity was too compelling to pass up and he was well beyond the point of desperation. Though now that he saw the town for himself, doubt was creeping back into his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made the worst mistake of his life.
George got out, and his aging body popped and creaked as he stretched. Being in the car for the better part of ten hours had stiffened his already-stiff joints. He was still in pretty good shape for seventy-three, but despite all the walking, swimming, and elliptical workouts, seventy-three sure didn’t feel like forty. Heck, it didn’t even feel like seventy.
He opened the door and helped Miriam out. It would do her good to stretch and walk around a bit.
“What beautiful mountains,” she said brightly. “How long are we staying?”
George took her arm, quietly thankful that she was in a good mood. “As long as you want, sweetheart.”
“Lovely. Did you see the mountains?”
“Yes, dear. They’re beautiful.”
George found the doctor’s front door unlocked and swung it open. “Hello?”
The place was tidy and quaint, George thought, exactly what most people would’ve expected a small-town doctor’s office to look like. But it wasn’t what George had expected.
Although he wasn’t sure what he’d expected.
He heard a vehicle approaching and turned as a rust-colored Ford pickup pulled up and two men got out. The driver was a tall and sinewy fellow with reddish-brown hair, wearing a red plaid shirt and blue jeans. The other man was a much shorter, mousier chap, though slightly better dressed in a white shirt and tan trousers.
The taller man smiled and waved as he approached.
“Mr. Wilcox,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Malcolm Browne, Mr. Vale’s business manager. It’s good to meet you.”
“Thank you,” George said and motioned to Miriam, who was standing nearby. “This is my wife, Miriam.”
“Of course.” Browne smiled and kissed her hand gently. “A very nice pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Wilcox.”
Miriam was all grins. “I’ve seen you on my paper towels.”
Browne chuckled and turned back to George. “And I believe you already know Dr. Henderson, correct?” He motioned to his companion.
George blinked and nodded. “Oh… yes, we spoke on the phone a few times. Though you’re a little younger than I had expected.”
Henderson smiled somewhat sheepishly. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Browne rubbed his palms together. “Well, you must be tired after your trip, and I know Mr. Vale has been very eager to meet you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” George said. “So where is he?”
Browne pointed up the wooded hillside to a magnificent log home perched near the top of the bluff, partially hidden by pine trees. “Just up the hill there,” he said, moving back toward his truck. “You can follow us and we’ll head right on up.”
George shepherded Miriam into the car, and they followed the truck through town to a narrow gravel road. The road twisted up the steep, wooded incline, and as it did, George’s doubts began to grow.
He knew Miriam would have counseled him to keep an open mind. She had always taken such a levelheaded approach to life. So calm and even-keeled. Mostly because of her faith, George thought, though he had only paid lip service to Miriam’s religiousness before. Her devotion to her Bible and her steady reliance on prayer. He had always taken those things for granted but had come to miss their influence of late. Now that they were no longer there.
Now that she was being taken from him one memory at a time.
They had met in college fifty years earlier. George had graduated from Baylor as an aeronautical engineer and was immediately recruited by Lockheed. He worked his way quickly through the ranks of their management program while Miriam finished her degree, and they were married shortly thereafter.
George worked at Lockheed for twelve years before striking out on his own with a pair of fellow engineers. They started Aerodigm Technologies to manufacture select components for jet engines out of a plant in Ohio, but their business quickly expanded to more complex chemical-propulsion and missile-guidance systems. In a few more short years, they had plants across the country, and George had quietly built a solid reputation with Aerodigm’s largely military clientele.
Meanwhile George and Miriam purchased a four-hundred-acre ranch outside of Austin. George drove the black Jaguar to work and saved his Porsche for the weekends, while Miriam preferred the less ostentatious silver Mercedes or the Lexus. The only point of stress they might have had was that after forty-eight years of marriage, they remained childless. Miriam had often suggested that they adopt, but George refused, preferring the freedom to travel over the burden of raising children that weren’t even his own. They bought a second home in Colorado and a third in Maui. Life had been good to them. Very good. And for the most part, George Wilcox had always slept well at night.
Until four years ago.
George hadn’t been prepared for the reality of Alzheimer’s. The pain of watching himself become a stranger bit by bit to the woman who had once known him better than anyone else had. He would have rather lost her all at once than endure this slow, steady decay of her mind.
