Cassidy played the series of events in her mind, from her goodbye to the students at the campground to when Izzy would have slipped from the van, hid until it left, then used the ATM to withdraw cash, and finally, hopped a ride with a stranger.
A sudden thought surfaced: could Charlie have picked her up in Biggs? Cassidy thought of the report from Bridget about Izzy texting someone at the rest area, so involved in the exchange that she lost track of time. Could Izzy have been texting Charlie about a ride? Why would he agree to do something like that, especially when it would be obvious that she was ditching the van. Charlie wouldn’t have let her to that.
Cassidy made a mental list of the other students sharing the same van as Izzy: Alice, of course, then McKenzie, Serena, Toshi, Josh . . . could one of them explain Izzy’s need for escape? Then it came to her: Cody and William had also climbed in Izzy’s van. The same two who had been on the dock with Izzy the night before, smoking pot and playing music until the wee hours of the night.
With a jolt, Cassidy remembered that she still needed to ask Alice for a critical piece of information: When had Izzy come back from the resort area that night? Alice would know—they shared the tent. Cassidy made a mental note to call her. Though what would such information tell her? Her zeal died instantly.
Cassidy watched the open hills of black, cindery lava covered with dead sage turn to farmland, the perfect squares of harvested wheat passing in a blur. The little towns blipped by: historic buildings, tired and dusty boardwalks, sad-looking playgrounds baking empty in the hot sun. Little by little, the landscape changed to one of sparse, high pine forest as she rose in elevation, then after cresting to a flat ridge, descended into the broad valley. The towns were bigger, more modern, the farms became more industrialized, the land greener.
She passed a town named Deschutes, named after the famous rafting river, and her mind wandered to a time when Pete was researching for his book and had tried whitewater kayaking. The person he’d interviewed offered to take him on a mellow section of the Skagit, but even Pete, who could play any sport, pick up any new skill in a flash, had managed to flip his boat in a Class II rapid. Unable to roll it upright in time, he had to eject from his boat and swim for it. “I was upside-down, just like that,” he had said, snapping his fingers, his bright blue eyes humbled.
Seeing him again in her mind caused a slug of pain to loosen from the place she kept it hidden, smearing its terrifying thickness over her insides, making her feel heavy and tight. The sob choked out of her gut, sounding so loud inside the empty cab. Her eyes blurred at the expansive landscape but she was quick to wipe the tears away. A few months from now, she will have been without him for two years and this was still happening to her. While her career continued to progress, she felt like her mind—and her heart—were stuck in the past.
Her phone chirped with a text from Martin.
Found it: 1220 Hawthorne Ave
Cassidy immediately loaded in the address, which pulled up her map program and pinpointed Charlie’s location. She checked the time: almost four o’clock.
If Izzy’s with you, she thought, trouble is coming.
Ten
Cassidy pulled up to Charlie’s green A-Frame style cabin, her tires crunching the crushed-rock driveway. A two-car garage that matched the house stood connected via a breezeway. Cassidy parked at the edge of a faded brick patio and sat for a moment, listening, breathing the dry air. From her open window, she could smell the sweet Ponderosa pine coming from the sparse forest surrounding the property. She had passed the last neighbor nearly a mile back and wondered the extent of his family’s land. From the vast feel and stillness, she guessed at least several acres.
The white stone patio held a free-standing bench swing and two other chairs made of shiny, honey-colored wood. Several large trees sprouted from a green planter between the garage and the entrance to the house, creating a swath of shade. Cassidy’s flip flops scuffed the stone pavers dusted with windblown grit and pine needles. Either Charlie wasn’t the housekeeping type, or he wasn’t here.
Or he’s too busy with a house guest to sweep his patio.
Swallowing the sour lump in her throat, Cassidy stepped up to the front door and knocked. Cassidy couldn’t resist peeking inside the dark windows. A shaded hallway led to another room in the back of the house. The space was empty. A gust of hot wind swirled around the corners of the house, stirring the scraggly pine branches. After a long moment of waiting, she moved to the side of the house and peered in the windows again. This room was an office and showed signs of use. She noticed small, neat piles of 8 ½ x 11 paper stacked on the floor—chapters. She realized that she was looking at Charlie’s book. Several coffee cups had been abandoned in various places: the desk, the small table beside the large leather chair in the corner, the floor near a red pen.
So Charlie was here, just . . . out. But was Izzy with him? Cassidy imagined the two of them enjoying a luxurious lunch together, with Izzy entertaining him of stories about the weeks of field camp he’d missed.
Cassidy moved to the rear of the house, passing a guest room—bed tightly made, vacuum marks on the carpet)—to a view of the kitchen through a large patio door. Though the space was neat—no dirty dishes in the sink, for example, Cassidy noticed little clues of occupancy, like the stools at the breakfast bar unevenly pushed in, a
