It’s finally stopped snowing, but everything is covered in a blanket of white and icicles hang from the eve of the house. I have such a sense of peacefulness surrounding me. It’s odd because I usually feel on edge. Ever since the deer nudged me with her nose, I’ve felt like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. California has been my home for the last twelve years, but it’s never felt like where I belong.

It’s bright and sunny with not one billowy cloud in the sky. I find the brochure that Keegan sent me about the covered bridge to find out how to get there from here. I wrap my long red scarf around my neck and pull my sock hat over my ears. I almost feel giddy about searching for Honeymoon Bridge.

The drive on the outskirts of town is beautiful. I see children playing on the slopes of the mountains with their dogs chasing them. A horse-drawn carriage has lovers burrowed in each other’s arms. Smoke comes out of the chimney of every home I pass. The snow is so thick, some of the road signs are almost buried. There are no cars on the narrow road winding out of town. Movement in the trees to the right of me catches my eye. A buck darts out in front of me, scaring me. I jerk the steering wheel to avoid hitting him, and the truck slides along the icy road, the wheels slipping. I try to regain control and end up in a pile of snow down in a ditch with my heart racing frantically. Once I’ve calmed down, I put the truck in reverse, but the tires spin in place and bury me deeper in the thick layers of snow.

“Damn it!” I dig my cell phone out of my purse and hold it up. “No signal. Just great.” I turn off the engine and open the heavy door. The first step lands me knee-deep in snow. I sink with each step as I make my way out of the ditch back onto the side of the road. I look at the direction I was headed, and I can see the red covered bridge. Maybe there will be somebody there that can help me.

The icy road is slick, so I try to stay to the side of it. With each step I take, I sink further down, but it’s better than falling on my ass. I finally make it to the entrance of the bridge, and it’s enchanting. White lights hang on the inside beams. It looks beautiful against the white, crisp snow. The color of the bridge reminds me of a red robin instead of an old barn like I thought. It appears to have a fresh coat of paint on its wooden walls.

Walking to the middle of the bridge, I look over the edge at the frozen river underneath it. A few patches near the embankment didn’t freeze, and there are ducks lying along its edge with their feathers sprawled out in the rays of the sun.

I close my eyes and listen to the soft breeze blowing. It takes me back in time to a voice I miss so much. Nara found me wandering in the woods in Utah. She belonged to a Pueblo Indian tribe in the deep woods of southern Utah. I had no idea how I got there. I was in pretty bad shape, and she nursed me back to health. When she found me, she said I wasn’t making any sense. My head was bleeding, and I eventually passed out. She built a stretcher out of thick branches and a shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders. She carried me on the stretcher back to her home that she shared with many others from her tribe. I wasn’t with her long before she left this world, but she and I bonded. She used to quote me the Pueblo Prayer every day as she was nursing me back to health.

---

Hold on to what is good, even if it’s a handful of earth.

Hold on to what you believe, even if it’s a tree that stands by itself.

Hold on to what you must do, even if it’s a long way from here.

Hold on to your life, even if it’s easier to let go.

Hold on to my hand, even if someday I’ll be gone away from you.

---

I was always grateful to her for finding me and taking care of me. She knew once I was better I would want to find my way home, wherever that was. After she died, the men in her tribe took me to California to search for my life. I never found it. After years of therapy, I still have no recollection of who I was or what had happened to me. I had to come to the realization that I died and started over. I couldn’t dwell on something that I didn’t remember. I could only hope that whoever had been in my life, healed from the pain of losing me. I felt saddened by the fact that I had no one that I recollect to grieve for, other than Nara.

The sound of the ducks quacking draws me out of my thoughts. I walk to the end of the bridge and down by the frozen water’s edge, squatting down to get a closer look. There is a momma and eight baby ducklings curled around her. I want to touch them, but momma is squawking a warning to leave them alone.

I stand when I hear a vehicle driving on the icy road. It’s the same black Wrangler I saw at the cottage, but now with chains on its oversized tires. I take the scarf off my neck and start waving it like a red flag. The brakes lights slam on and whoever is inside abruptly stops at the entrance of the bridge.

A man jumps out, leaving the engine running and his door wide open and starts running in my direction. He leans on the edge of the bridge, and I recognize him. It’s Keegan. Thank God. He’ll be surprised to see me, but I know he will help. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I could use some help getting the truck out of the ditch.

He’s not moving, frozen in place with his mouth hanging open. I smile and wave at him. He finally breaks whatever spell he is under and yells.

“Timber!”

Looking around, there is no one out here but me. I shake my head, not understanding why he would be yelling his wife’s name. I step up toward the bridge, and he comes running at me. He almost knocks me over when he hoists me into his arms, swinging me around in circles with him.

“Timber, my God, you’re alive.” Tears are streaming down his face when he pulls back to look at me. His hands run down my arms like he’s making sure that I’m real.

I sever his touch by pulling away from him. “I’m Shay. Shay Fox. You wrote me about Wolfe. You told me about this place, so I came for a visit.” Why do I sound so mechanical? I can’t decide if I’m frightened or not.

He’s shaking his head, stepping toward me. “No, you can’t be. You look exactly like Timber.” He reaches out to touch my face, and I move backward again, slipping on the ice. My head hits hard and the ice cracks beneath me. Water rushes over my body as I am submerged underneath the frozen river. Shockingly cold water starts to fill my lungs. I try to swim to the surface, but the weight of my clothes and shoes weigh me down. Keegan reaches in and seizes me by my coat before I can drift under the ice.

I scratch at the ice, trying to pull myself up. “Don’t fight me, I’ve got you!” he yells. He hauls me out of the frigid water and drags me to the edge. My body is so cold it’s numb. I can feel my lips shivering as my teeth chatter and I can’t breathe.

He gathers me up in his arms. “Breathe. I’ve got you.” He keeps repeating it over and over as he walks. He places me in his truck and starts grappling to get my coat off. “I’ve got to get you warm,” he says as he tugs my arms out of the sleeves. Once I’m out of it, he takes his jacket off and drapes it over my body. He closes the door and runs to the driver’s side, slinging the door up and climbing inside, slamming the door shut. He cranks the heat up and pushes the vents in my direction. He then scoots to the middle and wraps his arms around me.

“I’ve got you, Timber,” he says, again.

My voice is shaky. “My name is Shay.” I shudder in his arms. I want to move away from him, but I need his body heat.

“Okay, Shay. Let’s get you back to the house so you can get out of these wet clothes.”

“My truck is down the road. I almost hit a buck and slid off the road into a ditch.” My teeth chatter as I talk.

“I’ll call someone to come pull it out. We need to get you warm first. Hypothermia and frostbite can set in quickly.”

“I’m staying at a cottage—”

“I know where you’re staying,” he cuts me off.

“How could you possibly know?”

“I saw you…” He shakes his head. “I thought I saw you yesterday in the window when I drove by. I thought I imagined you.” Suddenly he slams on the brakes, sending us both forward in our seats. I’m able to anchor myself against the dashboard before my head hits the window. “Oh my God, Emmalyn.” His face is veiled with pure panic.

“Your daughter?” I straighten up in my seat and fasten the seat belt.

“Were you in town yesterday, coming out of the market? She said a woman that looked like her mother almost knocked her over.” His eyes are wide for a brief moment then he blinks rapidly.

“Yeah, there was a little girl in a red jacket…she kept…looking… at me…funny.” My words slow as I realize what he’s thinking. “I’m not Timber. Emmalyn is not my daughter. Please just take me back to the cottage.” I slip my arms through the large sleeves of his jacket and pull it tight around me. I can’t seem to stop shivering, but I’m not sure if it’s from being cold or from what he’s thinking. I can’t be Timber. I would know if I had a daughter. I could never forget something like that. This has to be a strange coincidence. First, he thinks I’m Wolfe’s sister, now his dead wife.

“Your daughter, she has black hair like mine and high cheekbones. That has to be it. Timber was part Indian like me. We must look very similar to you.” I try to find any excuse he might believe. I absentmindedly rub my arms trying to get warm.

“I know my wife, and you are Timber.” He’s having a hard time keeping his eyes off me as he starts to drive again.

We don’t say another word until he pulls up at the cottage. I need to get away from him as fast as I can. I unbuckle and jump out, rushing to the front door, but he’s on my heels.

“Thank you for bringing me back.” I try to get in the door and shut it, but he pushes it open and storms inside. “I’m sorry for the confusion and not telling you that I was coming here for a visit. I was going to surprise you tomorrow at the outdoor store. I brought Wolfe’s box with me to give back to you. I’ll go run upstairs and get it.” I ramble but don’t move under his harsh glare.

“We need to talk. I’ll make some coffee and start a fire while you get into something warm and dry.” He walks off before I can respond.

I march upstairs and change out of my soaking wet clothes into a black flannel shirt and a pair of jeans. I brush out my hair and pull it up into a messy bun on top of my head. This is all so crazy. He’s so sure that I’m his wife and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise. I dig my phone out of my bag. Still no service. I throw it down on the bed, wishing I could call Paul.

He’s not going to leave on his own, so I might as well get this over with. I really wanted this to work out differently, and I’m not sure what to do now. Picking up Wolfe’s belongings, I warily tiptoe down the narrow stairs and lean over the railing to see what he’s doing.

He’s standing in front of the fireplace rubbing his hands together, talking to himself. The last step squeaks as I pad down, jarring him away from his own conversation.

“I was afraid you were never going to come back down and that I was going to have to come up after you,” he says, walking toward me.

“I’m not sure what to say… to you. I really wanted to surprise you, not scare the hell out of you.” I reluctantly hand him the box. For some reason, I’ve grown attached to the items inside and don’t really want to part with them.

He takes it from me and sets it on the oval glass coffee table. “Let’s start from the beginning.” He splays his hand out toward the couch for me to sit. My shoulder brushes against his arm as I walk by him and I hear his deep inhale. I take a seat on one of the two cushions and fold my legs underneath me as he joins me.

“I came here to get away from my busy life. You made this place seem so inviting. I didn’t tell you I was coming because I didn’t know if your invite was sincere or you were only being kind. I wanted to meet the man behind the letters, but on my terms.”

He runs his hand over his face and into his warm brown hair. “I’m glad you’re here, but we need to figure out how you are here in the first place. You died twelve years ago.” He has a fine mist in his eyes.

“I’m not your wife.” I look down, staring at my empty hands trying to hide behind my own lost past. A past that I have long since moved on from and not sure I want to revisit.

I close my eyes tight when his hand touches my chin, lifting it up. “Tell me your story.”

I open my eyes, and I see myself painted in his hazel-honey eyes. I see love buried inside them, longing to get out. It nudges me to tell him my story. He engulfs my jittery hand into both of his hands, instantly calming my nerves. He has passion rolling off him in waves. I’ve never felt anything like it from another human being. There is a connection between us that I can’t deny. I felt it even from his letters. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.

“My life started twelve years ago.” I swallow hard, wanting to tell him. “I don’t know what happened to me. I woke up on a mountainside in the woods. I had no idea who or where I was or how I’d gotten there. An old Indian woman found me. She took me in and took care of me until all my wounds were healed. The outward ones anyway.” My fingers toy with the scar on the nape of my neck.

“Where specifically did she find you?”

“In Utah.” His eyes start to sparkle at my answer. “I woke up facedown at the bottom of a mountain, covered in muck and dried blood. I don’t know how long I had been there. It was pitch black out when I got up and started aimlessly walking. My thoughts were scrambled when Nara found me. She took me to her village deep in the woods. I lived there until she died. That’s when I went to California to try and find my life. I didn’t match any of the listings of missing persons.

“I saw doctor after doctor with no answers other than my memory loss had been caused by head trauma. They sent me to a shrink who tried various therapies including hypnotism, but none of it worked. If I were going to live again, I had to move on. To let go and start over. Nara, the Indian woman I told you about, gave me the name Shay Fox, so I kept it and started rebuilding my life. The only job I could get at the time was waitressing. I saved enough money in tips and bought a keyboard. I could play anything. I don’t know how other than it was a stored memory.”

He releases my hand, and I see redness filling his eyes. “You could remember the music, but not your family?” His chin quivers.

I want the warmth of his touch. I take his hand back in mine. “You’re making the assumption that I’m your wife. I’m not saying any of this to hurt you, Keegan. You wanted my story, so I’m giving it to you.” His eyes search mine for a long quiet moment.

He sniffs. “You are my wife. I know it in here.” He places his hand and mine over his heart.

“Then why didn’t you look for me…I mean Timber?”

“You and your best friend were on your way to a high school reunion in Utah. The two of you were taking turns driving.” He blinks a few times, fighting back his emotions. “I will never forget the phone call in the middle of the night from the state troopers. Your car was hit by a fuel tanker. The driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and lost control, swerving into the driver’s side of your car. The fuel leaked out, causing a massive explosion. The driver of the tanker died later in the hospital from the burns covering his body. They determined that Kara had been driving at the time. The only thing they found remaining in the car was her wedding ring. Everything else was ashes. I was told that neither one of you survived. I didn’t realize I needed to look for you.” He rests his head on the side of the couch, and his tears finally start to fall. There is something else I see in them. He takes a long, deep, pained breath and then swallows several times, making his Adam’s apple bob.

“It was all my fault.” He says the words like he’s been holding them in for years and they’ve finally been released.

“How was the wreck your fault or the fact that you assumed I…she was dead?” Something buried inside me wants to comfort him so badly.

“You talked yourself out of going the night before. Emmalyn was only an infant, and you weren’t ready to leave her. I convinced you to go.” He’s trying to brush his tears away as fast as they are falling, but he’s failing miserably as they slide onto the front of his shirt.

There it is. The guilt this man has been holding on to all these years. His tears turn into sobs, and I draw him into my arms. I’m caught up in the depths of his emotions and tears sting my eyes. I don’t know what to think. How is any of this possible, that I find my life after all these years from a man who wrote me letters from the other side of the country? How could I forget a love like this or a daughter? My head starts to throb trying to recall anything. There’s nothing, not the first memory, but I feel something that I shouldn’t for this man. Maybe in a way, the feeling is a memory like the music was to me. My mind can’t grasp anything else from it. It is simply not possible.

How do I walk out of his world again, back to my life? The only life I know. His sobs finally slow and he moves out of my arms.