Hardcover: 384 pagesPublisher: Random House (May 13, 2014)Language: EnglishISBN-10: 1400062128ISBN-13: 978-1400062126Lost and FoundPeter BirkenheadSee them on news, holding photos of daughters who never came down to breakfast. Or huddled in airports, waiting for information on mysteriously missing planes. We see them snoozing on cramped couches in intensive care units, or rocking back and forth on courtroom benches, wondering what they did to deserve to be cast adrift, in sight but not within reach of land; wondering how it is possible that time neither continues nor, mercifully, ends, but simply stops. In Brett Anthony Johnston's quietly devastating novel, Remember Me Like This, "they" are Laura and Eric Campbell, whose son Justin Campbell, 11 at the time of his missing birth, has been missing from his home in Southport, Texas for four years. They're still posting flyers in store windows in town and in nearby Corpus Christie, they're still searching websites for missing children, they're still celebrating Justin's birthday and buying him Christmas presents. But they barely hold on. Their bonds with each other are fraying, worn down by fatigue, guilt and corrosive hope. They speak in terse sentences that barely hint at the cacophony of their inner lives. Laura channels hyper-attentive, almost frenetic energy into monitoring a sick dolphin in an animal rescue lab. Late at night he goes back and forth on the ferry across the bay. She steals bottles of nail polish, cuts her palms and wrists with seashells and throws sweet tea in the face of a stranger who tells her "I'm still so devastated about your son." Eric, a high school history teacher, was, in the words of a n...... middle of paper...... there until night fell and he was able to go down the ladder in the dark. [...] He wanted to slap him in the face to wake him up, because he seemed to have dreamed of living a life that didn't exist. Yet she couldn't remember a time when she loved him more. This is the kind of love that can win out in the end. Hard fought, forward thinking, humane. The love of people who can be seen and who deserve to be more visible in our literature. Remember Me Like This closes with an epilogue that unites Campbell's full, post-storm voices in a tentative series of unanswered questions, a perfect grace note that evokes the book's most striking and indelible image: of four creatures terrified and broken sitting around a kitchen table, driven by an impulse beyond their understanding to take each other's hands, close their eyes and bow their heads.