“When I got married.”
“When Lily was born.”
“I would look at whatever empty chair was nearest and imagine him choosing not to be there.”
She wrapped both hands around the cup.
“I feel ashamed now.”
“Why?”
“Because I was wrong.”
“You were six years old when someone gave you the wrong story.”
“I kept believing it when I was thirty.”
“What else were you supposed to believe?”
Anna looked at him.
“My mother had twenty-seven years to tell me.”
“Yes.”
“I’m angry at her.”
“You can be.”
“And I miss her.”
“You can do that too.”
Anna gave him a tired smile.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No.”
Colter shook his head.
“I just stopped believing feelings have to stand in single-file lines.”
Anna thought about that.
“You loved your wife.”
“Yes.”
“Were you angry when she died?”
Colter stared into his coffee.
“For a while.”
“At her?”
“At everyone.”
“At doctors.”
“At people who complained about traffic.”
“At the weather.”
“At myself.”
“I spent months acting like grief was a job I could do correctly.”
“How did that go?”
“Poorly.”
Anna laughed softly.
Colter smiled.
“My daughter finally told me she didn’t know how to talk to me anymore.”
“That must have hurt.”
“It did.”
“What happened?”
“I told her she was wrong.”
Anna raised an eyebrow.
“That worked?”
“Not remotely.”
“What did work?”
“I’m still figuring that out.”
He looked toward his phone.
“I called her last night.”
“Because of all this?”
“Because Lily scared me into becoming emotionally responsible.”
Anna laughed again.
From the motel room, Lily called sleepily, “I heard my name.”
Anna turned.
“Go back to bed.”
“Okay.”
A door shut.
Colter whispered, “Terrifying child.”
Anna covered her mouth to keep from laughing.
Then her expression softened.
“Thank you.”
“For coffee?”
“For stopping.”
Colter looked confused.
“On the highway.”
“Anyone would have.”
“No.”
Anna shook her head.
“Not everyone does.”
He looked toward the paling sky.
“Maybe.”
“Then thank Lily.”
“She made it hard to keep riding.”
Later that morning, Harriet called.
They had reached the end of the eastern passage.
The group returned to Cedar Hollow.
By then, Anna was using crutches.
Lily wore brand-new shoes Tess had bought her.
Bright purple.
Lily disliked them because they had no lights.
Tess promised to negotiate better terms next time.
Noah said almost nothing during the drive.
At the cabin, Harriet met them beside a temporary command tent.
“We found an exit.”
“Where?”
Noah asked.
“Far side of the ridge.”
“Was it open?”
“Not anymore.”
“A landslide sealed it years ago.”
“But in 1999?”
“Probably accessible.”
Noah looked at Anna.
“Then they could have gotten out.”
“Possibly.”
Harriet held up a hand.
“There’s more.”
Everyone waited.
“We found another sheltered pocket near the exit.”
“Inside were food tins, blankets, tools, and dated newspapers.”
Anna felt her pulse quicken.
“How late?”
“September 2001.”
Noah sat down.
“My uncle survived.”
“It appears somebody lived there.”
“For how long?”
“At least intermittently for nearly two years.”
“Why wouldn’t Eli come home?”
Harriet looked uncomfortable.
“We found a notebook.”
Noah shut his eyes.
“Another one?”
“Yes.”
“His?”
“We believe so.”
Harriet handed him several copied pages.
The handwriting was cramped.
Some words were missing.
The first readable entry was dated ten days after the 1999 collapse.
Thomas found me.
Caleb gone for help.