I couldn’t relax, couldn’t get Robert out of my head. I had an awful feeling, every muscle knotted. All these people around me seemed like they were operating on some other level, the same way those tourists at the Met had when I’d lost Lonnie for a few moments earlier that summer. No one else was paying any attention to the news—nobody cared. I nervously checked my phone, worried that someone was calling to fire me, and found I’d somehow turned it off without realizing it. I had no idea how long it had been off—I hadn’t had the urge to use it in a while. I pressed the POWER button and it illuminated bright blue and buzzing—vibrating over and over in my hand as more and more messages popped up on the screen. My stomach sank. Something had happened. “Aunt Wendy” came up again and again. “Missed call, Aunt Wendy.”

The last time my aunt had called me was the night my parents decided to split. I’d been at a friend’s house, applying cherry lip balm, when my friend’s mother handed me the phone so Wendy could tell me she’d be picking me up, that my parents needed some time alone.

I stepped onto the street, leaving my drink at the bar the way I knew Lonnie would disapprove of now, and dialed my voice mail. “Ella,” her voice came through. “Where the hell are you? Please call me.”

In the next message I heard her fumbling with something, breathing heavily, “Ella,” she said. “I hope this is your number. You need to call me when you get this.”

I pressed CALL BACK and listened as a phone, somewhere far away, rang and rang. It went to voice mail so I hung up and tried again. On my third call, she finally answered. “Hello?” she said. I could already tell the connection was bad. Her voice broke halfway through the word, replaced by that strange electronic static.

“Aunt Wendy,” I said. “It’s Ella. What happened?”

“Who is this?” she said.

“Ella,” I said. “Wendy, it’s me.”

The line was silent.

“Can you hear me? It’s Ella.”

“Ella?” I heard her say, relief in her voice.

“Yes. Can you hear me?”

“Ella,” she said. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but your dad had a heart attack.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I thought she might hang up on me, thinking she’d lost the connection, if I stayed silent so I said, “My dad?”

“Ella,” she said.

Silence. Then one long unbroken sentence, “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I think you should come home.”

“Is he okay?”

Then silence again.

And more silence.

“Wendy, is he okay?”

“He’s okay,” her voice finally came through. “He’s asking for you.”