Page 94 of The Night We Lost Him

“Sorry about that.”

Sam is in a hoodie and old jeans, untied Converse sneakers, everything on him wrinkled and messy.

“I took the early flight,” he says. “No one should have to be here alone.”

I am already hugging him to me. I am already hugging him tightly, like this is something we do.

“It’s Grace,” I say.

“What’s Grace?”

“All of it.”

San Ysidro Road Leads You Home

Noone Properties’ West Coast satellite office is in the Upper Village of Montecito—a quiet enclave in Santa Barbara, not too far from Windbreak, not too far from The Ranch. The office is in a wooded area, on the second floor of a small brick building. Ivy covers the front door. Flowerpots line the small waiting area. Mountain views and treetops sneak in from every window.

We walk past the receptionist and into Joe’s office.

He is sitting at his desk, on a phone call. He covers the receiver with his hand.

“Would it kill you two to send a text first?” he asks.

“He was going to leave it to Grace?” Sam says.

But Sam isn’t really asking. We know the answer. I put the copy of Jabberwocky on the desk in front of Joe.

“What the hell is this?” he asks.

“We know, Joe,” I say. “We know they were involved.”

Into the phone he says, “I’ve got to call you back.”

He hangs up and starts paging through the journal. He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. Maybe he can’t believe that my father kept it. Maybe he can’t believe that it’s sitting in front of him now.

He looks up at us. Then he motions toward the chairs on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat, then.”

“We’re good to stand,” I say.

“Then you’re going to be standing for a while. If you want to know the whole story…”

“We wanted to know the whole story last week,” I say. “We wanted to hear the whole story before we knew there was a whole story to tell.”

“Come on, guys, you know it wasn’t my story to tell.”

“No, we totally hear you on that,” Sam says. “It was a lot better for us to try and figure this out for ourselves.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, angry. Hurt.

Joe meets Sam’s eyes and sighs. Then he moves to the front of the desk, the side that we are on, and sits down on the edge of it.

“Okay,” he says. “What do you want to know?”

All of it, I want to say. Where it all started, what happened next, and how it all ended here.

“They were together in high school?” I ask. “Grace and Dad?”

“Define together.”

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