The Gift of Remembering
C.L. Shaffer
The Gift of Remembering
Copyright © 2021 by C.L. Shaffer
Cover design copyright © 2021 by The Cover Collection
All rights reserved.
Published 2021.
Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Special Acknowledgements/Other Works by C.L. Shaffer
Chapter 1
Irene wondered if her children would need her anymore. It had been such a long time since she'd been home. She loosened the top button of her high collar lace blouse and rested her head against the window. She breathed in—this time more easily. It was somebody's joke to make late eighteenth-century shirts fashionable again. Running her hands down her soft blue jeans, she was grateful fashion hadn't fully reverted to that period.
She glanced up front to the steering wheel as it turned with the flow of the road. The car slowed but not enough for the sharp turn ahead. It veered suddenly to the right, jerking her left. Readjusting in her seat, she rubbed her arm, which took most of the impact. Self-driving cars still had a few kinks to work out.
She swallowed hard, recognizing the road she was on now. It would only be a few more miles. "Victor, play Piano Sonata, Number 14 . . . by Beethoven," she commanded the media center and slumped in her seat as if to hide. The song began to play, but it did little to soothe her.
As the car pulled into the driveway, her stone house looked the same, but it felt as if it were a stranger. The vehicle came to a stop, and the back door, where she was sitting, automatically opened. She pulled herself out slowly, adjusting her shirt and jeans as she walked from the car to the porch. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she opened the door little by little as if she were an intruder. She peeked inside.
"Mommy!" yelled Emma, her littlest one, as she struggled down the stairs with her two older sisters trailing behind her.
"Mom, you're home!" cried Vanessa, her middle child.
Irene knelt to embrace them as they wrapped their arms around her at the foot of the stairs.
Emma glared up at her two big sisters. "Nobody told me you were coming home."
"I know, dear," Irene responded. "I wanted to surprise you. Was I right to do it that way?"
Emma looked down, pouting. Her blonde curls, which matched Irene's, covered her face, but they failed to conceal the smile that was beginning to take form. "Yes, it was right."
"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that." Irene hugged her once again. She glanced over at her eldest who she knew, from a recent video-chat, had dyed the ends of her hair purple. They were now orange. "Tia," she began, "where's your father?"
Tia pointed in the direction of the study.
Irene knew what that meant. She stood up and looked past the living room to the closed doors.
"Mommy, Mommy," Emma broke in over Irene's thoughts. "I found a salamander on the back porch yesterday."
Irene smiled. News from Emma usually consisted of reptiles or various other animals.
"Yeah, we named him Vincent," Vanessa added, adjusting her glasses.
"Why did you name him after our next-door neighbor?"
"Because he's green!" Emma said, jumping up and down.
Irene tilted her head at her eldest.
"Remember," Tia began, "how dad is always saying that Vincent is 'green with envy' whenever we buy something new for the house?"
Irene chuckled. "Oh, I get it."
"I also saw two chipmunks with big cheeks like this." Emma puffed out her cheeks while crossing her eyes, making her sisters laugh.
"Well, girls, I want to hear all your news. But first, I need to check in on your father. I don't even think he knows I'm here," Irene said in the hope it was true.
"Oh, he knows," Tia responded with a hint of an attitude Irene guessed would only increase in frequency as Tia entered more fully into her teenage years.
Wanting to change the topic, Irene turned to her two other daughters. "And where is your nanny?"
"I'm right here, Mrs. Duncan," Beatrice offered as she stomped down the stairs with a basket full of laundry. "I thought I'd give you some time with the children before I made my appearance."
"Oh, thank you, Beatrice." Irene felt a tinge of guilt at the sight of Beatrice hauling the laundry down the steps. She extended her arms over the children to grab hold of the basket. "Let me take that for you."
Beatrice pulled it away. "Now, Mrs. Duncan, there's no sense in you doing laundry as soon as you walk in the door."
"You're our nanny, not our maid," Irene said, knowing she'd probably said the very same thing a hundred times before.
"But I enjoy doing it."
This was Beatrice's typical response, and Irene sighed as she looked at her smiling children, who were attentively watching the rerun. Perhaps, they found it comforting to see things returning to normal.
"I'll just finish up this load here and then make you all a nice lunch," Beatrice said as she hurried past them on her way to the laundry room.
"Okay, Beatrice," Irene said, giving up. She peered at the closed doors of the study once more and bent down to Emma. "How about if we all meet back in the kitchen for lunch? I really should look in on your father."
With little complaint, the children dispersed to their rooms, and Irene began toward the study's double doors. Arriving in front of them, she turned one of the doorknobs. Relieved to find it unlocked, she slipped inside.
Kent stood near the windows, looking outside. A hint of colon hung in the air. That was a good sign. Gaining more confidence, Irene moved closer to him.
"Are you done trying to save the world?" he asked, continuing to gaze out the window.
"Yes, I'm home—for good." She unhooked another button on her blouse and then another. Perhaps hearing her breath quicken, he swung around to face her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and then, as if not able to restrain himself any longer, he moved to her mouth.
He pulled away slightly. "You try my patience."
She ran her hand up his back to his shoulders. "You know what they say about distance."
"What?"
"'It makes the heart grow fonder.'"
"But I've always been quite fond of you," he quipped.
"Yes, I know. Our three children are proof of that."
He laughed, backing her toward the couch.
"You do remember this is how we got the three children?" she said.
"It is? Well, what's one more to add to the bunch?" he teased, kissing her again.
…
When Irene stepped into the bright, sunny kitchen still in her robe, she could see her family's morning routine was already underway
. Kent was at the stove, making eggs. He turned, giving her a wink and a smile. She attempted to suppress the grin forming on her face, sensing Tia watching her from the kitchen island. The child was becoming much too clever and observant for her own good.
"Daddy, my scrambled eggs are runny." Emma suspended her fork in mid-air and pointed to the yellow globs that fell from it.
Vanessa pulled down her glasses and leaned in closer to get a better look as if to underscore the point. "Yuck. Where is Nanny?"
Irene could tell they were about to gang up on their dad. That was her cue. Moving toward the stove, she reached out to grab the large fork that Kent was holding. "You're going to have a riot on your hands in about a minute. Here, let me do it."
Pulling away, he snapped a quick kiss on her cheek instead. "I got this. I got this," he insisted, dancing around.
"I know!" Vanessa said before taking a quick swallow of her orange juice. "Be his supervisor. When he doesn't do what you say, smack him on the rear end with a wooden spoon."
"Yeah, smack him with a wooden spoon!" Emma parroted.
"A wooden spoon, you say?"
"Yeah!" her two youngest shouted.
Irene looked about, playing along. Moving closer to the collection of wooden utensils, held in a crock, she picked one out and waved it at Kent.
"No, you don't," he said, snatching the weapon easily from her.
Tia peered up from her phone. "Oh, brother. Where's Nanny? I'm hungry."
Kent tossed the spoon onto the counter and lifted the pan from the stovetop. "I gave Nanny the day off." He scooped the eggs onto Tia's plate.
Tia huffed. "Finally."
"Are they runny like mine?" Emma asked.
Tia put a big forkful into her mouth. "Nope."
"Emma, I'll get you some more," Kent offered before turning back to the stove. "Eat your bacon while you wait."
"Okay, daddy. You make me happy."
Kent smiled warmly at her. "I'm glad."
Emma leaned her head to the side while taking a bite of her bacon. "Why did you give Nanny the day off?"
"We're going to the petting zoo."
"Yeah!" Emma bounced up and down in her chair. "I get to see the piggies!"
Tia stared her sister down. "You do know what that bacon you're eating is, don't you?"
"What?"
"Piggies."
Emma looked at her sister. She opened her mouth and let the bacon fall to her plate.
"Tia," Irene said, feeling a mix of both amusement and annoyance as she came over to wipe Emma's face with a nearby dishtowel.
Tia shrugged her shoulders. "The kid can't live in ignorance for the rest of her life."
"Well, a little ignorance can be good sometimes," Irene said as Tia returned her attention to her phone.
Irene looked back at her husband, who merely mimicked his daughter's shoulder shrug. "You told me not to change anything while you were away. As you can see . . . I didn't."
Irene teasingly hit him with the dishtowel. "What I'm hearing is you allowed Nanny to do most of the chores."
"Well . . . you know how she is."
"Yes, I know." Irene grinned and stepped back toward the sink to look over her family. Perhaps to anyone else, it was just an ordinary scene. But to Irene, it was a beautiful spectacle. She continued there until Vanessa asked her to tie a bow on her shirt, and Irene found her place once more.
Chapter 2
The recollections of her family were of times past. Perhaps the memories were more idyllic than what had truly taken place. Nevertheless, Irene allowed herself such indulgences as she stared out the small window of her cell. Only recently had she learned that others could no longer share in the luxury of remembering as she could. But on bad days such as these, a part of her wished she couldn't either.
As with most catastrophic changes, it had begun with a war. But the conflict that raged throughout the entire world did not take Irene's family away from her. That was caused by what took place afterward. Not millions but billions had died in the fight, and once the conflict ended, most were fearful of starting a new one. In certain segments of the population, quarrels became taboo. They were the unforgivable sin. Many went out of their way to keep from instigating the slightest of disagreements.
Irene found her husband agreeing with the new sentiment. He insisted she not raise her voice nor argue with him about anything. He thought it a bad example for their three daughters. He would say, "We might have messed up, but their generation won't." That was the gist of the slogan for his new world.
Frustrated, Irene dug through her old books, retrieved the Bible she'd not opened since the start of the conflict, and pointed out how Paul argued with the pagans of his time. After that, Kent didn't speak to her for three days. That was when he came home with the brochure.
She knew her husband was struggling. His parents had been killed during the war, and he'd fought alongside a significant number of men who'd been tortured or who'd died as well.
"I hate them," he confessed to her one night. "I hate the other side for what they did." He then seemed to snap out of his anger, wiping his hand across his face, appearing guilty. "I can't get past this."
As time went on, he seemed to believe more and more that the information in the brochure could offer him the hope he was looking for and a better outcome than what time and his faith could deliver. The technology would allow him to forget. She resisted the idea, and when her disproval and caution led to further disputes, Kent became even more determined.
"Maybe we should let the girls go through the process too," Kent suggested nearly in tears one morning after a particularly rough night with Tia, who'd awakened from a nightmare—a common occurrence caused by what she'd witnessed during the fighting.
Irene went ballistic.
"Okay, okay," Kent conceded, apparently not wanting to start an argument. "I'll go. Just me," he said, taking Irene in his arms.
She remembered feeling both relief and guilt. Relief because her husband relented at targeting their daughters and guilt because, despite her reservations, she thought perhaps being processed was the right course of action for him. In processing, he would choose what he wanted to forget from a catalog of his own memories. For most, the war was a top choice.
But her husband was more meticulous than most. Unlike others who wished to forget everything about the conflict, he wanted to remember the men he'd fought alongside. He valued their friendship and the acts of courage he'd seen them perform. He also didn't want to forget the military skills he'd picked up while serving. For these reasons, he only selected the most horrific events of which Irene guessed were many.
When he'd awakened from the procedure, he turned to her without a sign of recognition. "Who . . . are you?" he asked, laying in a hospital bed as she held his hand. At first, she thought he was joking—his sense of humor choosing an inappropriate time to make an appearance—but he insisted, "Lady, I don't know who you are."
"Doctor," she uttered anxiously, slipping her hand from his. "Doctor!" she yelled out into the hall.
When a nurse appeared, she said nothing. Instead, a couple of men entered the room—giants compared to Irene's stature. They took hold of Irene, pulling her into another room.
Hours later, the locked door to the room, where Irene had been forced into, opened. A woman in a white doctor's coat stood at the entrance.
"What's going on?" Irene yelled.
"There's no reason to be upset, Mrs. Duncan," the woman said in a soft, calm voice as she held a clipboard.
"No reason to be upset? Are you not going to admit that you've just destroyed all of my husband's memories? He doesn't know who I am." Irene felt as if she were collapsing in on herself. She shook her head and attempted to dispel the hopelessness descending on her.
"What has happened is a good thing," the woman said in a robotic tone. She jabbered on about the common good and all the politically correct nonsense of doing right by society by not raising one's voice or sta
rting disputes.
Kent often said the same things, and Irene felt the vein in her neck begin to pulsate. "Stop rattling on about all that and tell me how you're going to undo what you did to my husband."
"You're not listening, Mrs. Duncan." The woman glanced down at her clipboard. "There's nothing to undo. Your daughters have been processed as well." The woman pointed to something written on the page.
"My daughters? What are you talking about?"
"Yes, it is all right here on the schedule." She motioned at the paper once more as if it were some sacred text that no one could disagree with. "Your husband brought your daughters in for processing. A pointless gesture since we would have found them anyway. And according to my list, you are to be processed next."
"Processed?" Irene took a step back toward the wall. "I don't want to be processed."
"Oh, I'm afraid it's no longer a choice, Mrs. Duncan. It has been chosen for you. It's been decided for everyone. We have been doing it quietly for some time now." The woman peered down at her clipboard. "Seeing your husband was just a mercy granted to you before you are processed. I personally disagree with that sort of thing. It's futile, really, but it was a decision made by one of the higher-ups."
Reappearing at the doorway were the same men Irene had seen in her husband's room. She tried to rush by them, but it was no good. They backed her into a corner and grabbed hold, forcing her out of the room and down the hall.
…
Awakening, Irene had found herself in a hospital bed. Remembering why she was there was confirmation that her memories were still intact. She attempted to sit up but found her arms strapped to the bed. Looking about, she noticed a few monitors attached to her, but she could not determine their purpose.
A loud voice boomed in the room. "What is your name?"
Irene scanned the room, trying to find the source of the voice. She noticed a large brown speaker suspended high in a corner.
"What is your name?" the voice asked again, this time with a tone of irritation.
"I don't know!" Irene shouted in the direction of the speaker.
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