JONATHAN EVISON
Wasn’t the return trip always faster? Didn’t it always work that way? So, why was it taking so damn long to get back down the mountain? Switchbacking down the steep grade into the basin, Abby slowed at every corner, yet still her tires protested at each turn, struggling for purchase. For all Abby knew, Laura had relocated years ago. Who knew if she had the same phone number ater all these years? And what if — in the unlikely event she was able to reach Laura — her old friend was unable to help her? A cold hand gripped her heart at the thought that she might have to face all this alone. About four miles down the mountain, Abby inally located a signal, and scrolled through her contacts, one eye on the road. Jesus, when did she collect so many contacts? McMillan, Nadler, Nelson, Lindstrom, Laura. Abby pressed dial, her eyes cycling between the rearview mirror and the road in front of her. “Hello, Abigail.” It was not the voice of Laura Lindstrom. Not even close. “You know, there’s a little hot spot around mile
18
