In Big Sur, the Landscape Changes
We are driving through Big Sur when Patty finally picks up.
“Sorry,” she says. “There was someone in the gallery. A tourist who wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t take a chance.”
“That’s okay.”
“Where are you now?”
I keep my eyes on the road, the almost impossible stretch of Highway 1 laying out before me. One of my favorite roads in the world, carved into the steep divide of mountain white rock and the sea below—Bixby Canyon Bridge not too far in the distance.
Now I’m just trying to get over it, as fast as possible.
“About a hundred miles from San Jose,” I say.
That’s not accurate, exactly. I don’t offer up where we are. I try to say where we are going. Just in case. Everything now is just in case.
“That works,” she says. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
“We’re set on that.”
“Good. That’s good. Then tomorrow morning, you need to be at the Napa County Airport.”
The Napa County Airport. It’s a private airport in the heart of wine country. It’s a small airport, but an impressive one. Mostly smaller planes fly out of there, but a few larger jets. All privately owned and operated. I flew there with Belle once when we were working on her St. Helena home. I flew there with Belle. And Avett.
I feel a tightening in my chest even thinking of them. Of Owen’s old boss, of his wife. Of the day (a lifetime ago) this all started.
“Can you be there by ten a.m.?” Patty asks.
“Yes.”
“When you get there, head straight to the tarmac. No one should stop you if you look like you know where you’re going.”
“I do know, loosely, where I’m going. I’ve been there before.”
“That’s why we chose it.”
We.I want to ask who she means by we. I want to ask at the same time that I know I can’t. For all the reasons she can’t answer.
“You’ll be leaving from Runway 19R/1L. Tail number 82165. Are you writing this all down?”
“I’ll remember.”
“Fine. Be there at ten a.m. Don’t be late, but don’t come too early. You’ll be met by the plane.”
I don’t ask the name of who is meeting me. I assume if she wanted to say the name, she would. I do ask her one thing though, so on that I can be clear. So I can be clear in terms of what I say to Bailey.
“Is it someone I know?” I ask. “Meeting us.”
“Not who you hope,” she says. “Not yet.”
Not yet.
My heart pounds in my chest. Bailey watches me and I put the phone on speaker so she can hear too.
“If you run into any problems, go to the office and ask for Tami O’Sullivan. Tell her that you are with the Roberts party. Don’t show anyone your ID. Tami will not ask for any form of ID, got it?”
“Okay.”
