The Memory of Toby

The Memory of Toby

Standing at the stove in her one-bedroom apartment, Karen made dinner for one —a routine she'd followed for the past two years since moving to the big city for college.

As she stirred, her mind wandered back to that grocery store moment.

She’d spotted him near the meat counter, turned just enough that she could almost see his face. Her breath caught. No—surely not? Her stomach flipped, and heat bloomed in her cheeks. Trying to stay casual, she drifted in his direction.

The haircut—still short and dark. Her heart knocked against her ribs. Then she saw it: the jean jacket. The same one he’d saved for months to buy. A faint trace of aftershave floated to her, achingly familiar. Her eyes fluttered shut. It had to be him.

Karen turned, smiling, ready to say his name—only to meet the eyes of a complete stranger.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” he asked gently.

“I’m so sorry,” Karen stammered. “I thought you were someone else.”

Flushed with embarrassment, she hurried to the register, stealing one last glance at the man watching her with quiet curiosity. She couldn’t leave fast enough.

Back in the stillness of her apartment, Karen replayed the encounter. Tears welled and slipped down her cheeks. She brushed them away, collected her dinner and a glass of wine, and sank into the couch. The silence in the room was loud.

She leaned back and surrendered to memory.

It had been last summer, just before everyone scattered to college. There was an urgency then, a shared need to savor the last weeks of freedom. She had been happy—with Toby.

She let herself remember him. Even though it always hurts.

They'd been inseparable since grade school, their friendship evolving naturally, effortlessly into something deeper. He never had to ask her to be his girlfriend. It was just understood. He was her person—her best friend, her first love. And he felt the same. She’d never doubted that.

Toby had dreams, too. He wanted to open his own publishing house, separate from the family business he'd grown up in. Karen had a place in that future—his editor, his partner in ink and life.

But life had other plans, and their “happily ever after” never came.

Karen took a long sip of wine. Its warmth slipped down her throat, stirring memories of heat-soaked afternoons and golden light. The last summer she saw Toby felt both close and impossibly far away.

She closed her eyes and let that final memory drift forward.

Back then, they spent their days wandering the forest—hiking, laughing, cooling off beneath the canopy. They knew those woods like second skin: every hidden trail, every secret hideout carved from years of exploration. Their favorite place was by the river—a winding offshoot of the main channel they used for rafting. They’d nicknamed it Old Man’s River, because a cave near its source resembled a weathered face carved into the mountainside.

The river had a mood of its own. On calm days, it was peaceful and gentle. But they knew its temperament could change fast—the dam a few miles upstream controlled its power, and when it opened, the water surged with force. You had to respect the current. One misstep, and you could be swept away.

Still, just off the main flow, they’d found a haven—a natural whirlpool sheltered from the rush. The water there swirled in slow, lazy circles, cool and still. It was where they always returned, a quiet oasis that washed the noise of the world away.

That afternoon had been no different.

Karen had packed sandwiches and brought a blanket to spread out later. They sat side by side with their feet in the water, sunlight falling in speckled patches through the leaves.

“How have your parents been? And the business?” she asked, looking sideways at him.

Toby exhaled slowly. “Dad’s doing fine. But Mom’s… not great. She hasn’t been feeling well lately. We’re not really sure what’s going on. My sister’s been helping at the store so Mom can see the doctor.”

“Oh no.” Karen’s brow furrowed. “I hope it's nothing serious.”

She watched his face—searching for reassurance, for hope. She knew how much he adored his parents. In time, they would’ve become her family, too.

“I asked my dad about it,” Toby continued, forcing a half-smile. “He says it’s probably just a stomach bug. Told me not to worry, to stay focused on school.”

But Karen could see it—the weight he carried just behind his eyes.

“What else is going on?” she asked, gently. “You still look like something’s bothering you.”

Toby looked around, as if checking to see if anyone else was nearby. Karen couldn’t help but roll her eyes and smile—there wasn’t another soul for miles, but she held her tongue and waited patiently.

“A big publishing company came to see my dad the other day,” he finally said.

Karen’s posture straightened. “Do you know which one?”

“I think it was Sailboat,” he said.

“Sailboat?” Karen gasped. “Toby, they’re huge. They’re the biggest publishing house out there right now. What did they want?”

“I think… they want him to sell the company.”

Karen’s heart sank. “What? No. He can’t. That business has been in your family for generations. We were going to grow it—together.” She reached out and took his hand.

“I know,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “But they this is not the first time they have tried to buy out my dad. He has always turned them down. I’m sure it will be fine.” Toby told Karen.

Karen looked at Toby seriously now. “Did this Sailboat guy come alone?”

“No,” Toby said with a grin. “He brought his son. You should’ve seen him—he looked like a quarterback stuffed into a business suit two sizes too small.”

Karen laughed. “Oh no. Let me guess—Dad’s all about legacy and profit, and the son just wants touchdowns and Friday night lights. That dynamic always goes well.”

Their laughter faded slowly as the weight of reality crept back in. They finished lunch, packed up the blanket, cleaned their spot, and headed toward town. Toby promised he’d talk to his dad, get more information, and let Karen know if there was anything they could do before college swept them away.

They emerged from the forest onto Main Street, still hand in hand, lost in conversation about how to bring it up. Karen offered ideas, suggestions, and reminders to be calm but honest. They passed the little motel at the edge of town—neither noticing the old curtain twitching shut behind its windowpane.

At Karen’s white picket fence, Toby kissed her gently and watched as she slipped through the gate. Then he turned and walked down the familiar path to his house.

As he stepped inside, he heard the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Relief washed over him—“This is a good sign,” he thought.

But when he entered the room, it wasn’t his mother standing there. It was Aunt Martha, drying her hands on a towel. She turned to him, her face solemn.

“Oh, Aunt Martha… I thought you were Mom. Where is she?”

She folded the towel carefully and met his eyes. “Toby, sit down. We need to talk about your mother.”

The air changed. Toby sat, tension rising in his chest. He didn’t like where this was going.

—

Later that night, Karen was startled by a soft tapping at her window. She rubbed her eyes, pulled back the curtain—and there he was.

Toby.

He hadn’t climbed up to her window since middle school. Something was wrong.

She quietly shut her bedroom door, unlatched the window, and pushed it open.

“Toby? Is everything okay?” she asked in a hushed voice, her heart pounding.

“No,” Toby said softly, his voice barely rising above the crickets outside. “I just found out about my mom. Can I come in?”

Karen immediately opened the window and stepped aside to let him climb through. As he entered, she saw his eyes—red and puffy from crying.

“The doctors found a mass in her throat,” he said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “They don’t know yet if it’s cancer. They’re still running tests, but either way, she’ll need surgery to remove it.”

Karen sat beside him, listening intently as he continued.

“She can’t work at the press anymore—for now, at least. The doctor wants her resting. So now, on top of everything, my family has to figure out how to cover medical bills, care for her, and keep the business running.” He rubbed his face. “My aunt and sister offered to help, but they both have their own families. They can only do so much.”

Karen rested a hand on his back, offering what comfort she could.

“Then I heard the one thing I was dreading,” Toby added, his voice cracking. “My sister brought up the Sailboat deal again. They’ll buy the company. Dad can stay on and work for them—and he'd get full medical benefits. It sounds like a lifeline… but he’d be giving up the company our family built from scratch. The one that gives unknown writers a chance. Sailboat only cares about the big-name sellers.”

Karen’s heart broke a little more hearing it said out loud.

“I hate that your family is in this position,” she whispered. “How soon does your dad have to decide?”

“Soon,” Toby said, his voice barely a breath.

“What if we help?” Karen suggested. “We could defer college for a year—or take online courses. Stay here and help your dad run the press. Maybe that would buy him time.”

“I already offered,” Toby said. “He shot me down. Told me college was paid for and he wouldn’t let me put my future on hold.”

There was a pause. The weight of their dreams balancing against the reality of their present.

“Come on,” Karen whispered. “Stay here with me tonight.”

Toby looked into her eyes, kicked off his shoes, and crawled under the covers beside her. He wrapped an arm around her, and they lay in the quiet, each of them lost in the impossible question of how to save the future they’d built in their minds.

—

The next morning, just as the sun pushed over the rooftops, Toby slipped back out through the window. Karen promised to meet him later—at their spot in the woods around 3 p.m. Her parents had errands for her and planned to take her out for lunch.

They shared a quiet kiss at the windowsill—one of those soft, lingering goodbyes that says more than words ever could.

Karen returned from shopping with her mother to find a folded note tucked beneath the flower vase in the kitchen. It was from Toby:

“Family’s meeting with the doctor and Sailboat tonight. I’ll meet you after dinner at our spot. Can’t wait to see you.”

Her heart was racing. Every bone in her body wanted to run straight to his house, but she made herself stay calm. She helped make dinner, cleaned up afterward, and told her parents she was meeting Toby for ice cream. Moments later, she was out the door, heart pounding as she headed for the woods.

The river was at full strength today, the current roaring in its rocky bed. Toby was already there, standing by the water’s edge.

Karen ran to him, threw her arms around his shoulders. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s okay,” Toby said, breaking into a wide smile. “It’s not cancer. Just a mass. It can be removed with surgery, and the doctor says she’ll make a full recovery. She just needs to rest.”

Karen exhaled deeply, tears springing to her eyes. “That’s wonderful news.”

“There’s more,” he added, his grin widening. “Dad told Sailboat no. He’s not selling.”

Karen gasped. “Seriously?”

“Yep. They weren’t thrilled. Apparently, this deal was supposed to be some kind of proving ground for the guy’s son. Since he didn’t land the acquisition, it won’t look good for him. But that’s not our problem.”

Karen kissed him then, long and full of relief. The storm that had hovered over them for days was finally breaking. They could see their future again—clearer now, closer.

Toby brushed a strand of hair from her face and leaned in again. Just as their lips met, slow clapping echoed from the edge of the trees.

Karen whipped around, startled. A figure stepped out from the shadows.

“Well, well,” Toby muttered. “Shouldn’t you be back at the motel, packing up to leave with your daddy?”

Karen narrowed her eyes. “That’s him, isn’t it? The publisher’s son.”

A tall blond guy in jeans and a tight white T-shirt stepped into the fading sunlight. His brown eyes burned with resentment.

“So this is your little girlfriend,” he sneered. “Figured I’d run into her, eventually. Thought I read about her on a bathroom stall.”

Karen’s stomach turned. She took a step back, repulsed.

Toby stepped forward, furious. “Watch your mouth,” he snapped. “I’m surprised your dad let you out of his sight, especially after your little failure back at the shop.”

Karen saw it in Greg’s eyes—his fists clenched, jaw locked. Fury simmered just beneath the surface.

“But you’re just a dumb quarterback, not an entrepreneur,” Toby said, not backing down. “Isn’t that what your dad called you?”

That did it.

Greg lunged. Toby didn’t see it coming. Greg drove his shoulder into Toby’s stomach, knocking the wind right out of him. Toby crumpled, rolling onto his side, gasping for breath.

Karen screamed and leaped onto Greg’s back, clawing at him to keep him from striking again. Greg reached over his shoulder and hurled her off like she was a rag doll. She hit the ground hard.

Toby staggered up to help her, but Greg cut him off. There was no calming him—his rage had tipped into something darker. Toby’s instincts screamed: get Karen and run.

He turned—thank God; she was getting up.

“Karen, run! Get out of here!” he shouted.

“I’m not leaving you!” she cried back.

Toby glanced away for half a second—too long. Greg’s second blow caught him in the gut, lifting him off his feet. Karen screamed his name.

Then came the crack of his head striking stone, and the icy rush of the river as it swallowed him whole. In an instant, the current dragged him under. The world slipped from him in a numbing blur of dark water.

Karen’s world slowed to a crawl. She saw Toby’s head strike the rock, his body disappear beneath the surface. Her lungs froze. She ran to the riverbank, heart thundering in her chest, calling his name again and again.

Nothing.

She sprinted along the bank, scanning the rushing water, praying he’d surface. Still nothing.

“TOBY!” she screamed, over and over. Her voice tore through the woods, but no answer came.

By then, Greg was gone—vanished into the trees. Karen did not know where he’d run, only that he was a coward. A destroyer.

Locals found her still on the river’s edge, soaked in tears and panic. She told them everything. The sheriff came. A search party was formed. They found Greg the next morning, hiding in a cave and crying.

But there was still no sign of Toby.

The town searched all night, hoping, pleading. But sometimes rivers don’t give back what they take. Old Man’s River ran through the mountains—twisting, rising, vanishing beneath rock and forest. Toby could be anywhere.

Karen remembered she was inconsolable. His family shattered. And the silence where Toby had always been settled like fog over them all.

Moving to the city, carving out a life during college as an editor for Oaktrees Publishing—a rising competitor to Sailboat. After what had happened to Toby—and the role Sailboat played—she found quiet satisfaction in campaigning for the underdogs and giving a voice to stories that deserved to be heard.

Now, in her one-bedroom apartment in Illinois, she looked around. No happy ending here.

Karen took a steady breath, then dialed her mother.

“Hi, Mom—it’s me. Yeah, I’m okay. I was wondering if I could come visit for a bit?… That’s great. Hey, do you know if the old publishing office is still there? And Toby’s family?”

She smiled at the answer. “Thought so… I might stop by and say hi. Okay. Love you too. I’m looking forward to being home.”

After hanging up, she walked to her closet and pulled out a suitcase. Carefully, she packed her essentials, her work computer, and something she hadn’t touched in years—a notebook filled with handwritten letters to Toby.

Meanwhile, in a small town in North Carolina, a young man with black hair and warm brown eyes worked quietly at a local printing press. He moved with precision, reviewing edits, stacking finished pages, and checking deadlines.

An elderly man approached him, smiling.

“Well, Henry, what’ve you got there?”

“The morning paper’s ready, Sir,” the young man said, pride lighting up his face.

“Now, Henry, no need to call me ‘Sir.’ You can call me Bob,” the man chuckled. “Maybe one day, when your memory comes back, we’ll find out your real name. But ‘Henry’ was my late son’s name, and… well, you remind me a lot of him.”

“I’ll always be grateful to you,” Henry said sincerely. “For finding me by the river, nursing me back to health, and giving me a job.”

Bob’s eyes softened. The boy looked so much like the son he lost. He knew he wasn’t really Henry… but at some point, that stopped mattering.

He should’ve told the sheriff. But he couldn’t let the boy go. Not yet.

“To the world,” Bob thought, “he’s just the new guy at the press.” And maybe that was enough.

Bob clapped him gently on the back. “Alright, then. Let’s get this paper out.”