“Are you married to Barbara,” the female voice asks on the phone.

“Uh, yes,” I reply. “Who is this?”

Heather tells me she lives in the Tri-Cities area, at least five hours away from us.

And she has a package with our name on it.

That her father-in-law has found it while driving on Interstate 82, alongside the road in a black plastic bag. It’s from my wife’s mother and father-in-law. There are only our names with no address.

Heather decides to use the Internet to try and find us. One search result said I was a publisher of something. Another one listed me as a survivor in an obituary.

Somehow she finds my old home phone number in Albany, which proves to be disconnected. Still not one to give up, she finally locates me at work.

Apparently, it’s a good thing I’m not on the run. Because of my trail left all over the Internet, I would have to enter the witness protection program or something.

And how did the package end up there? Family members were driving home with several items loaded in the pack of their truck. Despite their best efforts to secure the load, our package had a mind of its own.