I pull up the text from Ramsey.
It doesn’t really matter what the coordinates say. I was in that area at that time, and during that time, I saw no one else. Not a one.
I was alone.
Which was what I wanted at the time.
I don’t need to read the text to find out what I already know.
That fire… That fire that destroyed my Syrah vines.
It was started by a camper.
By me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ashley
I wake to the buzzing of my phone on the night table.
What time is it? It’s light outside, but I have no idea. I grab the phone without looking to see who it is. “Hello?” I say frantically.
“Ashley.”
My mother. Her voice is…colorless.
This is not a good sign.
“Mom,” I say. “How’s Dennis?”
“I can’t believe it.”
“What? What happened?” My heart beats ridiculously fast.
“He’s…gone, Ash. He…didn’t make it.”
“Wait, wait, wait…” Her words make no sense. Again the words disassemble into colored letters above me. Then the color dissipates into a dull gray.
“It was a stroke, but they caught it early. They…”
“What?” I say into the phone.
“Something about his heart. The stroke. I don’t know, exactly.”
“Mom, my God. His heart? I don’t understand.”
“A heart attack. At his age. A stroke. At his age. He’s in such good shape.”
Her words are colorless still. Without expression. She’s in shock. Numb.
“How?” I ask. “How did this happen?”
Already I know the question is moot. My mother is in shock. She won’t be able to answer me.
“Mom, I’ll be right there, okay? I just need to get some clothes on.”
“Okay, Ashley. Thank you.”
“Just stay at the hospital. You shouldn’t be alone. I’ll be right there.” I stumble out of bed and trip over my evening bag from last night. I fall to the floor, banging my knee. “Ow!” Pain shoots through me, but I don’t care. I pull on the first comfortable clothes I find. Jeans and a sweatshirt. Sneakers and socks.
“Dale!” I scream as I leave the bedroom. “Dale, where are you?”
No response. I hurry to the kitchen and let Penny in. I feed her a small portion of kibble, in case Dale didn’t feed her earlier, and refresh her water.
“I’ve got to go, girl,” I say, petting her head. “I hate leaving you alone so much, but I have to get to the hospital. Where’s your daddy?”
I pet her again and head out quickly to the car I borrowed from the Steels. I plug the hospital address into my map app and go.
“We’re running tests,” the doctor tells me as I stand next to my mother in the hospital chapel. “But from what I can tell so far, Dennis’s blood pressure was extremely high, and so was his cholesterol.”
“He never said anything about that,” Mom says absently.
“He most likely didn’t know. There’s no record in his insurance database of him having a physical in the last ten years, or seeing a doctor for any reason. Not unusual for a healthy man of thirty-three. Hypertension and high cholesterol are usually asymptomatic.”
“Did that cause the stroke?” I ask.
“No one knows the exact cause of a stroke,” the doctor says, “but Dennis’s extreme hypertension was probably a factor.”
“And the heart attack?” I ask.
“Same. He was high-risk except for his age. The stroke put pressure on the body and led to the heart attack. We tried to revive him, but we couldn’t.”
“Did you try the paddles?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am, we tried everything.”
My mother’s pallor is gray. Everything in the hospital is gray. My insides are gray.
How I wish Dale were here.
I haven’t called him or texted him. I just got in the car and headed straight to the hospital. I send a quick text.
“Mrs. James,” the doctor says, “you’ll need to fill out some paperwork.”
“Can’t that wait?” I ask.
“I’m afraid not. We need to know what you want us to do with the body, and—”
My mother sways, and I steady her.
“Is all this really necessary right now?” I ask again.
“I wish it weren’t,” the doctor says. “But we do have protocol.”
“I’ll take care of this, Mom,” I say.
My mom falls into a chair. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“I’m afraid we need his next of kin,” the doctor says, “and that’s your mother, not you.”
“Can I at least come with her?”
“Of course.”
We follow the doctor back to a hospital room.
A body lies covered on the bed.
My mother grabs my arm.
“It’s okay,” I tell her.
But it isn’t. It’s not okay at all.
The body…
It’s Dennis…
Young and robust Dennis.
Nausea claws at me.
Strong. Must be strong for Mom.
Where’s Dale?
Why hasn’t he called? Texted?
I need you, Dale. I need you.
I glance through a mountain of paperwork reduced to a tablet. Page after page. Click after click.
“Sign here, Mom.”
Absently, she signs.
“What do you want to do? Bury? Cremate?”
“I…don’t know. We never talked about this stuff. He’s so young.”
The fact that my mom used the present tense isn’t lost on me. In her mind, he’s not gone yet. She’s still in shock and will be for some time.