The flash drive changes things. I just need to find out how much.
I reach for the laptop, pulling it onto my lap. The marine compass staring at me when I click open the screen.
I tap on the album Owen created most recently, the album labeledHannah’s Work. There are several photographs of my furniture and larger pieces, a selfie that Owen took of the two of us at one of the first exhibitions of mine that he ever went to, in Los Alamos—a small town north of Santa Barbara.
That photo of the first exhibition, bringing me back to the last exhibition.
Last night’s exhibition.
What Owen said to me there.The could have been boys still love you.This morning’s text.Get out of the house.
All of it is obscure. Why is he being so obscure? I know the answer is wrapped up in keeping us safe. And, maybe, keeping himself safe too.
Which is when I start to wonder how those two things are tied together now.
I clickHannah’s Workshut and turn back to theSausalitophoto album, the first album he created, like a small clue of where to look first. Where to focus most.
All those photographs on our docks, with Carl and his family, Bailey’s astute question about them. Why all those photos?
I power up the new phone. I have no numbers saved in there. The only numbers I need, I have long ago learned by heart.
And I call the first number I’ve memorized.
Patty. Carl’s wife. She curates an art gallery in downtown Sausalito. I don’t call Carl directly. That feels too risky. That feels like a call that someone could be watching for at this point. So it’s Patty I call. Patty at her work.
“The Sausalito Collective,” she answers. “This is Patty.”
“Hi, it’s me,” I say. As though it has been five minutes, not five years.
She doesn’t say anything. But she doesn’t hang up. Which lets me know she may have been waiting for this call.
“I think I need to speak to your husband,” I say.
“No, you don’t,” she says. “This has nothing to do with Carl.”
I start to get off the phone. I start to let it go.
“Daniel is who you want.”
“Daniel?”
It takes me a moment. Daniel is Carl’s brother. Daniel who is in the photograph with Owen and Carl.
What do I know about Daniel? He lives in Morro Bay with his partner and their dogs. A beautiful house on the beach that they renovated themselves, all glass and steel. They have no kids, but a bunch of dogs, in part because of Daniel’s work schedule. Which is when I remember the rest, my heart starting to race.
Daniel is a pilot.
“Give me ninety minutes,” she says. “But you should head north.”
“I already am,” I say.
“Keep going,” she says.
Then she hangs up.
We pull over to get gas.
While the tank fills up, we head into the convenience store to get some food. A cable news station is playing on the convenience store television. The small television over the checkout counter.
