“The feds are going to want to grill both of us,” I acknowledge finally. “And I would like to see Miguel and Scott released from the hospital. Not to mention we should meet Latisha. Have you seen her? I’m expecting full-on goddess to have captured so many hearts.”
“Exactly. And afterwards we can eat our way through Ramsey and take naps three times a day and use up all the hot water.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“That’s it. I’m booking a room for a week, and someplace way swankier than a budget motel. We deserve room service, a soaking tub, and a big-ass TV. I’ll even insist on extra dog treats for Daisy. She’s worth it.”
Luciana’s enthusiasm makes me smile. She paints such a pretty picture, everything I fantasized about just two days ago.
She’s only missing one thing: a certain detective I once knew in Boston and have never spoken to since.
If I dialed his number right now, would he answer? If he did, would I stay on the phone?
Luciana is happy. She already has her cell out, looking up hotels. I lag behind till I come to a small alcove where I can duck out of sight.
I tell myself I’m not exhausted or heartsick or world-weary.
I instruct myself that there’s still a missing eight-year-old boy waiting for me to take up his case.
I remind myself I need to track down Bob’s husband. I have to tell him how Bob died saving the rest of us. I must deliver Bob’s dying words of love.
I feel a break then. Something deep inside, tearing away. I don’t think I’ll get it back again.
I push away from the wall. I resume shuffling forward.
Miguel ordered me to run.
But I’m not sure I have many more steps left in me after all.
EPILOGUE
Luciana finds a top-floor suite of a gorgeous B&B where the owners love dogs and are so appreciative of her and Daisy’s work that they comp the room half price. The bathroom features a claw-foot tub. We fill it to the brim multiple times a day. And eat every crumb of food they graciously send up to the room. The wife is a baker, allowing for a steady stream of muffins, scones, and fancy breads. Even Daisy exists in a state of bliss.
Neil is discharged two days later. We join him and Anna for their first meal together out of the hospital. Halfway through our enchiladas, Neil gets down on one knee, pulls out a makeshift ring he fashioned from his hospital bracelet, and pops the question. She squeals yes. They both jump to their feet. The entire restaurant applauds and another table sends over a pitcher of margaritas to celebrate the happy event. I drink my ice water and dab moisture from the corner of my eye.
Miguel gets to leave the hospital next. It’s a regular festival in the parking lot. I meet his parents and tell his father how hard he fought to save his friends’ lives. Then we hug and we cry and when they’re finally ready to depart, they beg me to visit. Mi casa, su casa, and all that.
I smile and nod. Miguel leans over long enough to whisper in my ear, “I know you won’t, but just remember, someone in Oregon loves you.”
Which makes me cry a little more, though I’m terribly weepy these days.
Luciana and I meet Latisha. And she is gorgeous, a six-foot-tall former college volleyball player who radiates energy and health even seven months pregnant. From her curly black hair to her sculpted cheekbones, she rivals Luciana for jaw-dropping beauty. Latisha starts by clutching our hands in gratitude, then gives up and pulls us both in for a tight, teary embrace.
Scott, still pale and weak, but doing better each day, smiles in near embarrassment. Later, out in the hall, Latisha grows more somber. She thanks us for finding Tim as well. She blesses us for finally bringing her first love home.
Scott and Latisha don’t go with the big exit, but instead, one week later, quietly slip away. I don’t blame them. I imagine they need time together as a family to heal, reconnect, and relish their new life, about to begin.
I get to talk to the feds a lot. And Sheriff Kelley. Plus even more stern-looking people in suits. They mostly seem suspicious as to how I became part of the expedition. I think that’s beside the point. It’s not the beginning that mattered. It was the end.
It will take months to identify all eight mummified corpses, but the ME’s department releases Bob’s remains by the end of the week. Luciana and I drive out to meet his husband, Rob, who turns out to be an elegantly garbed Italian with neatly trimmed dark hair and striking wire-rim glasses. He is both smaller than I would’ve thought and very serious. His hand shakes so badly while trying to sign the paperwork accepting his husband’s body, I have to steady his arm. Together, we escort the plain pine casket to a local mortuary, where Rob has arranged for the body to be cremated. Later, Rob will scatter Bob’s ashes somewhere on the Olympic Peninsula, a fitting resting place for a man who spent his life chasing Bigfoot.