by Lisa Gardner
“How about we both do some clothes shopping tomorrow?”
“Okay.” Shopping with a friend. I’ve heard of such things. Maybe Sophie and I did it once upon a time. But it’s been so long.
“Oh, and I want you to have this.”
“Another gift?”
Luciana smiles, holds out a paracord bracelet. It’s in shades of brown and dark green, and the clasp contains a sawtooth edge, similar to the one she lent me at the beginning of our wild adventure. “In case your emergency whistle isn’t enough,” she tells me.
I snap it around my wrist, genuinely touched. “I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.” Now I’m mortified. She’s been so thoughtful; here I am, the selfish one.
“Frankie, stop it.” She grabs my hand. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. This makes us happy. That’s gift enough.”
I’m going to cry. Except I’m tired of crying. So I hug her instead. Then Daisy wants in on the action, and it quickly becomes a silly, laughing affair that shifts something in my chest. Ever so slightly, but enough. I find that I can breathe for the first time in weeks.
Later, after another huge dinner, I lie in bed, fingering the bracelet around my wrist. I think of what she said. That maybe I could do something different, something I haven’t even thought of yet.
What would that be?
What am I really searching for?
We shop. Luciana looks amazing in everything. She decides she needs real cowboy boots, and then while she’s at it, ends up with a hat as well. I contain myself till we get to the giant outdoor gear store. Then I can’t help myself. I go a little nuts picking out wicking fabrics and pants bulging with pockets that can also be turned into shorts. Multipurpose clothing for the minimalist on the go. I also purchase new boots and a ton of socks.
I have a pang when I genuinely miss my old boots. I console myself that they led a good life and served me well to the end.
What is it I’m really trying to find?
More food. Many of the local establishments know us by now. We return to the steak house from that very first night, where we’re immediately told not to worry about the bill. We chatter nonstop and try not to stare at the place where Bob should be sitting or at the half of the table that should be loaded down with platters just for him.
What am I truly looking for?
Final evening before our morning checkout. We both pack, me organizing my new wardrobe into my reliable old suitcase. We indulge in a midnight snack of homemade brownies, then turn in for the night. I lie in the middle of the soft, decadent bed. I listen to the comforting sound of Daisy snoring, the small rustlings of Luciana shifting in her sleep.
Tomorrow, Luciana and Daisy will drive me to Jackson, which has many more transit options. They will then continue on for home.
And me?
On to the case of a missing eight-year-old boy the world has forgotten?
Or something else?
What am I searching for?
Paul accused me of using my cold case obsession to run away from everything. I argued I was running toward. Ten years later, I’m still not sure which one of us was right. The life I lead—my presence matters; my absence never leaves a mark. I keep telling myself I’m okay with that. But maybe, lately . . . Someone in Oregon loves me. A teenage girl in Boston still thinks of me. And Luciana and Daisy, they will always remember me.
It’s something, each little pinprick of connection like a distant star. Till maybe someday, I’ll no longer be just a shadow passing through, but a constellation of lives touched, people healed, differences made.
Maybe someday, I will return to Boston. Except this time, I’ll be ready for it. No longer a woman floating along the edges of life, but a woman who’s learned how to seize it with both hands. No longer a work in progress, but a complete soul who understands her worth.
Then, just like that, I have the clarity I need. Who I am now. But also, who I want to one day be.
And then . . . I’m ready to go. The switch has been thrown. It’s time to depart.
I climb out of bed in the darkened room. I slip on my new pants, old sneakers. Retrieve my jacket, zip up my bag. I can feel Daisy’s eyes upon me as I draw out the thick envelope of bills and count out enough to cover my half of the room. Luciana will squawk when she sees it. But their gift is too much, and a woman with my lifestyle shouldn’t be carrying around that much cash anyway.
I cross lightly to Luciana’s bed. She’s still sleeping. I kiss two of my fingertips and press them lightly against her temple. Then I hug Daisy’s boxy head. I tell her, “Never forget, somewhere in this big ole country, there’s a drifter who loves you.”
I carry my bags to the door.
I could wait till morning, a proper goodbye, a ride to the next town. But this feels right. This . . . feels like me.
One last moment to look around. To feel sad, to feel optimistic. To acknowledge what I’ve lost, to recognize what I still hope to gain.
Then I step out the door.
My name is Frankie Elkin.
There’s a missing eight-year-old boy who deserves to come home again.
And I’m going to find him.
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
People familiar with Wyoming and the Shoshone National Forest are probably reading this going, Devil’s Canyon? Where the hell is Devil’s Canyon? That’s because I made it all up. For this particular story I needed a location with some distinct geographic features. While I’m an avid hiker, and now a big fan of Wyoming, nothing in the real world fits all the requirements I had. So being a fiction writer, I decided to write fiction. It happens.
Writing this book during the pandemic also clipped my research wings. I generally like to personally visit any location I use in a novel. Travel restrictions, however, made a trip to Wyoming infeasible. Instead, I had to rely on my experiences as a hiker plus previous trips west to fill in the gaps. On the other hand, by the end of this novel, I convinced myself I now need to spend some quality time playing in Wyoming. Can’t wait!
For information on wilderness searches, I’m deeply indebted to retired New Hampshire Fish and Game conservation officer Rick Estes for sharing his stories and walking me through best practices. For survival tips and tools, I’m also appreciative of Steve Sanborn from New Hampshire Outdoor Learning Center for his daylong survival course. Most fun playing with fire I’ve ever had. And like Frankie, I’m now obsessed with the rule of threes.
For readers interested in learning more about the number of people who have disappeared on national public lands, I highly recommend the novel The Cold Vanish, by Jon Billman. I also loved discovering the real-life role Bigfoot hunters have played in searching for missing hikers. For more information, check out North America Bigfoot Search as well as the Olympic Project. Please understand my novel is a work of fiction and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
As a dog lover, I’ve always been amazed by the incredible skills of working canines. I’ve had the pleasure of visiting various dog teams over the years. Fictional Daisy came from a real-life story I heard from one of the handlers—how she rescued a pup during one of her deployments and brought it home to be a pet, only to have the goofy mutt surpass all her purebred charges and become her all-time best searcher. To all the Daisys out there, and the humans who fall madly in love with them, this story is for you.
Speaking of rescued animals, congratulations to Lisa Rowell and Laurie Banks, who won character-naming rights after a ferocious bidding war in honor of the Conway Area Humane Society. Lisa chose to have her own name immortalized, while Laurie Banks requested a part in honor of her late birth father, Jim Kelley. My deepest appreciation for your generous donations on behalf of the shelter, and I hope you both enjoy the finished result.
In other good news, there were two lucky winners of the annual Kill a Friend, Maim
a Buddy/Mate sweepstakes at www.LisaGardner.com. Joanne Cobb won the right for Bobby Monfort to meet a grand end, while Anna Hajlasz nominated herself for fictional fun. Anyone wishing you could also die in one of my novels, the contest is once again open for business. Dream big!
My love to my family and friends, many of whom heard about the making of this book way too much and too often. To Michelle and Larissa, my favorite hiking partners in crime, who also thought spending a day playing with fire in a wilderness survival course was a good idea. To my neighbors Pam and Glenda, who’ve taught me most of what I know about hiking and, given their nearly encyclopedic memory for trails, continue to recommend new challenges. To Bob, for sharing his own memories of hiking days past while beating me at cribbage, and to Carol, for support and general cheerleading along the way.
To my daughter, fellow booklover, and preferred brainstorming partner, who is now launching an exciting new chapter of her life. I am so incredibly proud of you, and miss you already. Can’t wait to see where your story goes next.
Finally, in a year and a half that’s been like nothing any of us could’ve expected, my deepest gratitude to my publishing team for hanging in there for all the highs and lows, including my brilliant editors Mark Tarvani and Selina Walker, and my crack agent, Meg Ruley. I’m also so impressed by local bookstores and libraries, who truly went above and beyond to keep us bibliophiles well supplied. Finally, my love to my readers, for sharing the ride and never forgetting the best way to deal with anything is to get lost in a good book.
Looking forward to seeing you all in person someday soon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisa Gardner is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of twenty-three suspense novels, including The Neighbor, which won Thriller of the Year from the International Thriller Writers. An avid hiker, traveler, and cribbage player, she lives in the mountains of New Hampshire with her family.
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