It took two days to declare Stu officially missing, and another two to get a plane out searching for him. At least they knew where to look. Katherine turned the logistics over to Clay, who immediately flew to Fairbanks to try to help. But nothing helped. Clay went to Dugan’s cabin personally in a wilderness search-and-rescue plane with a state trooper, but they found it as empty as the pilot from the tour company had reported it to be. The fireplace and bed appeared used. The trooper took pictures and sent them to Katherine. It was large and modern place with a propane stove and animal heads on the wall, as Stu had guessed, but there was not much else to see. In fact, the absence of evidence was the most striking thing about the place.
The broader search would take longer. Stu was well equipped and, according to the trooper, could be anywhere within a seven-day hike. But Katherine knew they wouldn’t find her meticulous husband out hiking around. He would have been at the rendezvous point at exactly the appointed time with his bags lined up, checking the clock on his phone every few minutes.
Unless something happened.
Clay called from Fairbanks and offered to stay for the aerial search, but Katherine told him he might as well come home and leave it to the professionals. He would just be in the way, she said. Besides, she needed him in town. She could feel her world shifting. It was disorienting, and when she hung up the phone, she felt like she’d just stood up after drinking too much, or had just stepped off a merry-go-round.
Katherine arrived to pick up Clay at Logan, standing in exactly the spot she had waited for Stu. It gave her a queasy feeling, but this time the man she was waiting for appeared. She’d picked out black pants and a white blouse for herself, flattering but conservative. Comfortable shoes. It was not the time to be alluring, but she still looked good. Clay strode through security and embraced her, giving her a long, comforting hug.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “No matter what’s happened. I promise. But you need to be ready to adjust your life. Just in case. Okay?”
“He shouldn’t have gone.” When she started shaking, he held her tighter.
“I know. I blame myself. I shouldn’t have let him go alone, but he insisted. If I’d been there, I could have made sure…”
“You might be lost too.”
“I doubt that.” He scoffed at the idea. A bit callous but honest, too. Stu was lost, Clay wasn’t.
Clay released her with a reassuring pat on the hip and turned her toward the exit. “We need to carry on,” he said as he walked her out. “The search-and-rescue pros are on it, and sitting around waiting for news is the worst thing we could do. It doesn’t do Stu any good and it won’t do you any good. They’ll call as soon as they know something.”
It made sense, but she had trouble thinking of anything else. “What do you want me to do in the meantime?”
“Resist the urge to run tell everyone. That’s the first thing. The cycle of worry will just keep repeating itself if you tell the story over and over. Second, go work out. Hard. And third, find something to keep you busy.”
“I could do some shooting.”
“Maybe. As long as you stay away from moody or artsy. Take some saleable pictures. Make it like work.”
“It is work.”
“Perfect. Then throw yourself into it. That’ll be good for you no matter what happens.”
Katherine took a deep breath. “What if he doesn’t come back?”
“If it comes to that, we’ll deal with it. ‘Adjustable,’ remember? Open to change.”
“Got it.”
“Good.”
They climbed into Katherine’s Corolla in short-term parking. Clay made small talk, and they tried to avoid talking about Stu. He commented that she needed a new car, and she agreed. Then they embarked on a debate about which make and model would be best, which was both a relief and sort of fun after the tension of the last few days. They settled on an Audi. Classy and practical. Katherine wondered if there was a model with a refrigerated center console, but Clay didn’t want her to get something cooler than his BMW. Besides, he said, he could hook her up with a new client who had recently acquired a nice one for cheap.
“Where did you meet this guy?”
Clay laughed. “Larry the bondsman? He used to sit in the back of the courtroom while we asked for bail on new arrestees. The higher the bail I got on them, the more money he made when they had to go to him for a bond. Now he’s a client. He takes cars as collateral. When people don’t pay up, he gets them.”
“Is that legitimate?”
“Yeah, and talk about your legal issues. More business for our cheap associates, eh?” He winked at her.
Katherine chuckled. Clay made it sound so easy to work the system and come out ahead. Stu, on the other hand, saw easy opportunities as illegal and immoral, or made them more complicated than they needed to be. Clay’s don’t-sweat-the-small-stuff approach was so refreshing that she already felt better. But she noticed that as soon as Clay stopped talking, thoughts of Stu descended upon her again like a heavy weight. He was right; she needed to keep her mind off her husband.
Clay dropped her at home but didn’t come inside, and for that Katherine was both disappointed and grateful. She wanted company but appreciated the simplicity of the path forward he gave her. She called no one, went for a run, and spent as little time as possible in the house before heading to the photography studio.
The owner of the studio was Brad Bear, a tall blond man and self-made shooter with a penchant for skinny jeans. Very gay. He greeted her with a camera in one hand and a hug.
“Katherine, what a surprise. Welcome back.”
She didn’t mention Stu. “I’d like to log some hours. I can schedule some sittings, but if you have any overflow I’d be grateful.”
“Just family portraits and early Christmas card shots.”
“Perfect.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “A bit pedestrian for you, especially considering…” He gave her a sly grin.
“What? Considering what?”
“Some recent sales.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your last showing: the whaling series.”
“I sold one print.”
“The day of the showing, yes. But I’ve had a little run on your work since then.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Happened last week. I reconcile at the end of the month, and I was just going to call you.”
“Which ones sold?”
Brad’s sly grin became a full-on smile.
Katherine pouted. “Come on, tell me.”
He gave a little bark of joy. “All of them!”
“What? There were nineteen left. That’s crazy. I didn’t authorize a remainders sale. Doesn’t that kick in after a year?”
“I gave the standard discount for a full-series purchase, but otherwise it was a full-price sale.”
“Who?”
“Archie Brooks.”
“I don’t know him. Did he ask to meet me?”
“No. And I didn’t know him either. But his check cleared just fine.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He didn’t say much, but I assume he sparked to your focus on the decline and decay of the industry. Not everyone wants to see history propped up like a grinning skeleton.”
“Exactly. I was just telling my friend Clay that recently.”
“That’s Stu’s partner? The handsome one with the dark hair?”
“Right.”
“Is he completely straight?”
“Oh yeah.”
“You sound pretty certain.”
“Certain as I can be.”
“How is Stu?”
Katherine stiffened. “I’m waiting for him to come back from Alaska.” She turned away in case she began to cry. She pretended to examine a backdrop, but the tears didn’t come.
“Alaska?”
“He’s trying to find himself.”
“Well, that’s a big place to look. Your total for the series after commission is just under eight thousand dollars. Do you still want to do Christmas cards?”
Katherine drove home singing “Sweet, Fleet, and Upbeat” by Modern Moll at the top of her lungs. She’d never sold an entire series. But the dying whale industry theme had been a fabulous idea, if she did say so herself. It touched on the theme of a failing economy, the environmental and wildlife movements, and even the fading of traditional New England culture. A full-series sale was also the sort of thing that could jump-start one’s reputation, depending upon who the buyer was. He wasn’t a reviewer—she knew that—but he might be a socialite or collector who would display her work. She made a mental note to research Archie Brooks. She didn’t like to pester shy buyers, but it was good to know where one’s work went, and a thank-you-for-your-patronage note wasn’t out of order.
The whole thing was exciting and professionally satisfying in a way that regular money from commercial sittings could never be. But when she pulled into the driveway, Stu’s car was there waiting for her, empty and neglected. She hit the steering wheel in frustration; she’d only been able to enjoy herself for an hour.