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Palm Springs

January 4, 2023

2:00 P.M.

I took Brady’s call in our bedroom so I could be out of earshot of Dort, March, and Octavia. Melody—bless her—had brought over some boxes of her old stuff for them to sort through, not so much to get rid of it, but to keep them preoccupied. They had their pick of vintage Pucci and Halston, plus some Hermès scarves.

“Well, we’re up against some issues,” Brady said. “The bloodhounds didn’t last long. The cacti hurt their noses. We called them back, and I’m sorry to say, but it looks like we’re going to have to wind down the search.”

I’d read Grant’s journal. I knew how much trouble he was in. It felt as if Brady were killing him. “Please—”

“The winds are already thirty knots. I’m sorry, but I can’t send my guys up in that. We’re going to have to sit on our hands until this storm passes. The search will change to a recovery instead of a rescue when we resume. I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear. We’ve done everything we can, Kim.”

That’s how I knew we were really in trouble: he used my first name, just as Grant’s journal entries were addressed to me. Just beyond the door I heard March and Dort chatting with Melody. How could I possibly tell them? Should I?

“Can you try just a little more, a few more hours? What if he’s—”

“I’m wishing the best for you and your family. I truly am sorry. I’ve got to keep these guys safe.”

The shutters banged from the wind. I looked through the windows, already splattered with drizzle, and saw the mountains in the distance. How could I ever live in Palm Springs after this? What would it be like to look at the mountains all the time and know Grant was still up there?

But then again, how could I ever leave?

My mind used to wander every time Grant had ever left. I’d imagine all the trouble he could get into, the problems he could have. Never had I imagined this most horrible version of waiting, one that could stretch into and define all my remaining days.