“Forty-five minutes,” Stella said.
“You called from up there?” Sam asked, looking at the ridge.
“Barely any signal. Had to stand very still.”
Sam looked at her—not sideways, not brief, not on the way to Bea. She looked at Stella like she was seeing something she hadn’t noticed before.
“Your father taught you that,” Sam said.
“My father taught me a lot of things.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. Stella’s flashlight was still in her hand, the beam pointed at the ground between them. Then Sam pulled her cardigan tighter and looked at the sky.
“He was always the practical one,” she said. “Even when he was small. The other two would be running around the house and Tyler would be in the corner making sure the flashlight worked.” She was quiet for a second. “I should have paid more attention to that.”
It lasted about four seconds. Then she turned to Bea and said, “Did you see the Milky Way? Look—right there, above the ridge. It’s extraordinary this time of year.”
And the moment passed.
But Stella had heard it. And she filed it in the same place she filed everything—carefully, without comment, for later.
The tow truck came in thirty-eight minutes. A man named Ray with a gas can and a Diamondbacks cap who filled the tank and checked the oil and said “you ladies be safe out here” and drove away. Sam tipped him forty dollars because Sam tipped like a woman who had once been tipped herself.
They drove home on the highway, not the ridge road. Sam talked about the stars. Bea fell asleep in the front seat with her head against the window.
Stella sat in the back and texted Tyler.
used the AAA card.
The reply came in under a minute.
what happened
ran out of gas on a canyon road. Sam forgot to fill up. also left her phone at the restaurant.
that is the most Sam thing I have ever heard. are you ok?
we’re fine. Ray from AAA saved us. your membership dues at work.
tell Ray thank you.
I tipped him. well, Sam did. forty bucks.
that’s also very Sam.
Stella smiled in the dark back seat. She put her phone away and watched the desert go by through the window and thought about her father in Laguna with his AAA card and his jumper cables and his flashlight in every vehicle, being practical from one state away.
She was his daughter. That was something Sam could see now, even if she’d forget by morning.
That was plenty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bernie called Margo at eight-fifteen on a Wednesday morning, which was unusual because Bernie did not call people at eight-fifteen on Wednesday mornings. Bernie called people at reasonable hours or not at all.
“I need to get out of this house,” he said.
“Good morning to you too.”
