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The picture held an awesome beauty for Vern.

The Tetons in Wyoming, summits soaring to the sky like the spires of majestic cathedrals. His eyes crinkled as he lost himself in it, sitting in the waiting room.

Vern hoped this new, unscheduled appointment, coming so soon after his last one, wouldn’t take long. A good thing about being here was that big framed photo of the mountains on the wall, because it took him away.

“Mr. Hamilton,” the assistant at the reception desk called to him, “the doctor will see you now. Second one on the right.”

With an obliging nod, Vern took his hat from his knee and went into the examining room. His physician, Dr. Bill Clark, gestured for him to sit on the cushioned bench next to the examining table. Knowing Vern didn’t care for small talk, he got down to it.

“Your recent tests and scans have come back.” The doctor’s face was serious as he read information from his computer screen. “The results are not encouraging.”

“Give it to me straight, Bill.”

The doctor was solemn. “Vernon, your condition’s deteriorating faster than we expected. I’ve shared your numbers and consulted with two specialists in Houston.”

“And?”

“You don’t have years. It’s now months.”

“Months?”

“Three, maybe four. I’m sorry.”

Blinking, the edges of Vern’s mustache drooped.

“Are you in discomfort?” the doctor asked.

“The pills and whiskey take care of it.”

“You shouldn’t be mixing them, Vern.”

The two men exchanged a glance, acknowledging the futility. The doctor picked up his prescription pad and began writing.

“I’ll increase the dosage.”

Vern shrugged.

Slowly pulling the page from his pad, the doctor put his hand on Vern’s shoulder. “I wish we could do more.”

Vern nodded.

“You have your daughter and grandchild back—some time to put things in order.”

Folding the paper, tucking it into his shirt pocket, Vern stuck out his chin, nodded his thanks, got his hat and left. He climbed behind the wheel of his pickup, sighed, then drove off.

Time was ticking down.

Feeling his pulse in his throat, he contemplated the doctor’s verdict. Vern realized that, as a cop, he’d made his share of notifications, the worst part of the job. Showing up at the door of a mother, father, husband, wife, son, daughter, partner, relative or friend. Telling them their loved one was never coming home. Confronting the shock in their faces, their screams; steadying the ones who collapsed. A piece of him dying each time.

He thought back to the picture of the mountains. Some things last forever, he thought, but people don’t.

Driving through town, he got gas and made a few other stops, nodding to folks who knew him. Soon he was outside town passing through the gate of Oak Rock Cemetery, following the roadway to his wife’s grave. He placed fresh daisies and lilies at her stone, touching it tenderly, a storm of emotion and memory thundering through him.

The arguments, his petty jealousies, his regrets, his sins. And all the rumors: that I got a temper; that Carrie’s quick to anger. And worse. The things they said about your death, about what I did. And the things they said Carrie did.

It all rose up in Vern’s chest.

Music played in his mind; he closed his eyes and he was back with Doreen, dancing in their kitchen, the radio playing her song.

A breeze swept by, and Vern could smell her perfume.

Hearing the song, he thought, I’ll be dancin’ again with you real soon .

Patting her stone, he straightened.

I’m sorry for it all. I ain’t perfect. But I’ll protect her and our grandbaby with my dying breath, against the lies.

And the truth.

Vern cast a look in the direction of Abby’s and Erin’s graves. Where the truth was buried. Hyde’s confession and execution should’ve put it all to rest. But the file got out. The story in the Chronicle gave it more attention. And it wasn’t letting up.

Little by little, Carrie was remembering.