The address Mrs. Whitecloud gave to Robert belonged to a halfway house for women in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. The Desert Hope House, a relatively short drive north of Santa Fe.
From the bench seat of Robert’s pickup, Brian used his electronic doohickey to find a listing online. Robert punched the number into his cell phone, dreading what he might learn. Had Katie survived her ordeal physically but not emotionally? Had she gone through so much only to land at a facility for people struggling to cope?
Or possibly the hospital had the name right, and Katy Morgan was not the Katie Morgon he sought.
The phone rang and his thinking backtracked. How could she have survived the worst of the blazes on the property? Especially the tank explosion? How could she have gotten several miles outside the camp on her own? In the half second the person on the other end of the line took to lift the phone off its cradle and answer, Robert wondered if one of Sanso’s people had taken Katie, whisked her away and done something unspeakable.
“Hope House,” a woman’s voice announced.
Robert forgot what he had planned to say.
“I’m looking for a Katie Morgon. Maybe she’s a resident there?”
“That’s a first.”
Robert didn’t understand. “Is there anyone who—”
“What makes you think she’s a resident?” the woman asked.
“Does she work there?”
“What’s this in regards to? Because Katie doesn’t have the time to deal with pranks or backdoor methods. If you’re a reporter, you of all people should know that. Let me give you the number of our PR agent.”
“I’m not a reporter.” He shot a look at Brian and hoped that sitting in the car with one wouldn’t be used against him.
“Journalist, member of the media, whatever you want to call yourself. If she spends any more time on the phone, this place will go to the dogs. I can’t imagine how many other ways you can possibly spin her success story.”
Robert scratched his head above his right ear. “I’m sorry. I’m an old friend.”
“Riiiight.”
“I’m not sure she’s the Katie I’m looking for.”
“I’ll say.”
The truck’s windshield magnified the afternoon glare and made Robert’s face uncomfortably hot.
“Would it be possible to speak with her?”
“Sure. Katie will speak to just about anyone, though I don’t understand why. You give me your number—”
“I’ll wait.”
“Well unless you give me your name you’ll be waiting for eternity.”
“Robert Lukin.”
“And you’re calling from?”
Robert’s impatience mounted. “If Katie doesn’t know who I am, she’s not the one I’m looking for.”
The woman muttered something that sounded like Romeo, only her inflection lacked anything dreamy. A wooden knock sounded like the handset dropped onto a desk.
Robert waited.
Not for eternity, but for several long minutes with nothing but Brian’s uneven tapping for background music. The reporter wrote, shoulders hunched and neck bent at an unnatural downward angle that would evolve him into a stooped old man one day. Though Brian acted as if he were alone, Robert had a hunch his ears registered everything.
Robert looked away.
What if this Katie was not his old friend? Disappointment loomed large. Robert braced for it. It would be within Sanso’s character to have fabricated the outrageous claim that Robert was not alone. Nothing would change.
Except there was no more Sanso to pursue.
He stepped out of the cab to separate himself from Brian, not able to predict his own reaction to the voice that might come on the line, whether it be familiar or strange. He shut the door and leaned against it, looking out over a flat red plain that rose across the miles to meet the Sangre de Cristo foothills.
The phone rattled on the other end.
“Robert?”
It was a familiar, comforting voice, straight out of the past, a voice he knew. Different in a way—older, wiser, calmer—but the same.
He exhaled audibly.
“Robert Lukin?”
“Katie.”
She seemed not to know what to say any more than he did at first. Then they both spoke at once.
“All the reports said everyone died.”
And “Why didn’t you tell anyone what happened?”
Robert laughed and drew his hand down over his brows, nose, mouth. His eyes watered. He hadn’t felt this kind of joy in . . . years.
“It’s so good to hear your voice,” he said.
“All this time . . . I had no idea. They said everyone was gone. That was the hardest news of all. I got over the rest eventually, but that . . .”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t I hear about you?”
“Sanso, the press . . . the DEA wanted my help. They kept it quiet. If I’d known, Katie—”
“No. Don’t go there now. How did you find me?”
“We arrested Sanso yesterday. He suggested I wasn’t the only . . . that you . . . I didn’t know what to think. Wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth. How he could know for sure. You know?”
Katie didn’t reply right away. He wondered if he’d made an ounce of sense.
“We don’t get a lot of news up here,” she murmured. “Not right away. It’s intentional—helps the women focus.”
“That’s okay. I wouldn’t expect—”
“You sound good,” she said.
“Older. More cynical.”
“No. Grown up. We both have, I’m sure.”
“I’ve missed you so much, Katie. Everyone.”
They fell into a silence that called up the memories of all the people lost to them. Robert’s heart felt heavy and light at the same time.
“I have so many questions,” Robert said.
“I’m sure we both do. Where are you?”
“Santa Fe.”
“Can you come up? I’d like to—” Her voice broke. “It would do my heart good to see you.”
“Is it a good time?”
“It’s fifteen years later than I would have liked.” Her laugh sounded more like an attempt not to cry.
“I’ll be there in a half hour.”
“We have a lot of catching up to do, Robert.”
“I have the time.”