The air was cool, the wind fresh off the mountains. Insects swarmed the streetlamps overhead.
Asking directions, I made my way to a two-story yellow structure with a banner saying LIGHTHOUSE above its front door. A few patrons lingered outside, cigarette tips glowing orange in the dark.
“Mom! Mom, here!”
I looked up.
Katy was waving at me from the second-floor terrace.
“Come on up!”
Yes! Oh, yes!
Ankle forgotten, I beelined through the door and up the stairs.
The place was packed, only one free table. I was worming toward it when Katy swooped in, beaming, arms spread wide.
As we hugged, I was astounded by my daughter’s strength. By the new hardness of her biceps.
“Holy fuck, Mom. You really are here.”
“I really am.”
“I went by your B-hut, but you were out.”
“Yeah,” was all I said.
A Marine lance corporal approached the empty table behind us. A look from Katy and he reversed course. We both sat.
“Something wrong with your foot?”
“Pulled a muscle.”
“Wuss.”
“Right. I got your note. Did Scott Blanton contact you?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Katy had cut her hair very short. Not required, but my daughter has never been a fan of half measures.
“I got your e-mails.”
“And didn’t reply?”
“Our unit’s been outside the berm. Just got back.”
“Doing what?” Casual as hell.
“Can’t say. You’re cool to that. Besides, we both know how you get.”
“How I get?”
Katy bugged her eyes, opened her mouth, and slapped her cheeks with her palms. “Crazoid!”
“I do not get crazoid.”
“Fine. But you worry too much.”
“Or you don’t worry enough.” The fatigue. The ankle. I regretted the words as soon as they were out.
Katy’s jaw set.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve had a long day.”
“I’m doing my job, Mom, same as you do yours. You came here. I came here. We both knew we weren’t heading to Club Med.”
“You’re right. Crazoid. I’m sorry.”
Katy’s expression softened.
“Don’t be sorry. I’d be crushed if you didn’t worry. Who else will do it for me?”
We ordered snacks and coffee strong enough to give a pachyderm the shakes. Ongoing conversation was confined to safe subjects. Happenings back in Charlotte. Pete’s upcoming wedding to Summer.
Before long Katy put her hand on mine.
“Early day tomorrow. And you look like you’re flying on fumes.”
“I am. And I also have to be up at dawn.”
I paid the bill. We rose. Katy turned to go. Turned back, mischief in her eyes.
“And thanks.”
“For what?” I had no idea.
“For not dissing my hair.”
When Katy left, a good chunk of my heart went with her. But I would see her again soon.
Walking through the dark, I debated. Shower? Hit the DFAC for more food and ice to pack my ankle?
Screw it.
Back at the B-hut, I set my iPhone alarm, removed my jeans, and slipped into bed.
I drifted off to the sound of engines screaming overhead.
I AWOKE TO THE SOUND of engines screaming overhead.
My ankle was better but my head throbbed, a combination of jet lag, lack of proper dinner, and thin desert air.
I dressed hurriedly and checked e-mail. Nothing from Larabee. Eight days since the girl had been found. I feared my hit-and-run case was rapidly cooling.
At the DFAC, I scored eggs and hash browns, poured coffee, and found an empty table. I’d barely started eating when Blanton slumped into the chair opposite, a dark crescent under each of his eyes.
“Another day in paradise.”
Bits of bacon clung to the stubble above Blanton’s lip. I considered telling him. Didn’t.
“Sleep well?”
Blanton pulled down a lower lid to expose the bloodshot sclera. “Like a baby.”
“That going to be a problem, Mr. Blanton? Lots of detail work today.”
“By you, not me.”
“I’ll need everything documented.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo, my dear.” Blanton smiled, saluted, and headed off.
As I finished my coffee, I considered. Did this jerk actually make Slidell look good? My mug hit the tray. No. But the gap was closing.
Welsted and the village delegates were already at the hospital when I arrived.
“The remains have been X-rayed.” Welsted filled me in as we walked to the room we’d been assigned. “Shall I have them brought here?”
“Please. Where are the films?”
“On one of the gurneys.”
When she’d gone I looked around.
White tiles, two spare gurneys, a floor-stand surgical light, portable illuminator boxes, two deep-basin steel sinks with counter, a small collection of cutting tools, calipers, and a magnifying lens. Not what I had in Charlotte or Montreal, but it would do.