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NINETY-FIVE

FIRST STEP OF THE plan: blast this audio file.

I pull up my email at the computer station and run into a username-password prompt. I remember my username but not my password. On my laptop at home, I’m never asked.

I have an option for Forgot your password? I click on it, my heart racing. Now that I have a plan, I can’t wait to execute it.

It says it will send a password reset to my phone. But my phone — I can’t turn it on. If I activate it, Blair can find me. The feds use that real-time cell-site location capability all the time.

I breathe out. This is the only email I have.

I try passwords I’ve used: Dietrich0414 , my maiden name and birthday. MDB0414 , with my married-name initials. GraceLincoln343 , with our street address on Cedar.

No, no, and no. And it’s telling me that with one more wrong password, I’m locked out.

“Shit,” I mumble through gritted teeth.

Fine. No choice. I need my email server to send me a new link. And it will only send it to my cell phone. So here goes.

I turn on my cell phone and wait for it to awaken. It lights up and shows me a screen saver of the kids and David lying in the grass and hugging.

It takes a moment to refresh, makes me type in my phone password to open it.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon …

Then the text messages kick in, several of them. I go straight to the one my email provider sent me. I click on it to reset my email password. It opens to a new page. I type in the new password and press a button. There.

Then I shut off my phone immediately. And pray it didn’t ping a cell tower in the roughly forty-five seconds it was turned on.