It was some sort of camping/wilderness resort place. I paid two dollars to get in. The lady in brown in the tiny cabin where they take admission was all smiles. She handed me a park map.

I unfolded it and searched for the cabins, then cabin number 43. I couldn’t find it. There was a cabin 42 and a cabin 44 way up on a hill apart from the others.

I went back to the smiling lady. “Excuse me, Miss?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a cabin 43?”

“Do you see one on the map?”

“No, but..”

“Then there isn’t.” She smiled and turned her back to me.

I blinked. Once, Twice, Three times, and backed away from the tiny cabin with the overly cheery, and obviously lying, lady.

I decided to hike into the park and find out for myself. I headed toward cabin 42.

16 cars passed by me towing boats, boat trailers, or RVs. None of them stopped. Lonely.

I wasn’t alone, HE was with me, and he had a blue and gray tackle box. HE fished from the dock, his pant legs rolled up mid-calf.

The memory was gone.