Kai’s already driving, but he pulls over. “Do you want to call before we lose reception?”

I look up and realize he’s right. We’ll lose reception around the next curve. As soon as we reach Waimea, the coverage ends. Don’t know why, don’t want to know why, just need to reach Daniel and find out what’s happened.

I call him without checking my messages. He answers immediately.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“What’s happened?” I ask.

“I’ve been calling you for the past three hours.”

“I didn’t have my phone with me.”

“What’s the point of having a cell phone if you don’t carry it with you?”

I close my eyes, fight panic. “What’s happened?”

“There’s been an accident.”

I knew it. “The kids?”

“Lisa was driving. William’s fine. Jessica’s in surgery now.”

Surgery. My baby. “How serious?”

“She’s stable. Mainly broken bones. Possible concussion.”

Oh God. “And Lisa?”

“She’s shaken up, but otherwise fine.”

Good. “And William? He’s really okay?”

“William wasn’t in the car. Lisa was on her way to pick him up when the accident happened.”

“What did happen?”

“A car ran the stop sign. They were broadsided.”

I can see it in my head, see it in slow motion, Lisa in her Jeep, Jessica in the backseat. I can see the impact, feel the crunch, the hit, I can see the Jeep spin out of control into the way of oncoming traffic.

“Jessica wasn’t wearing a seat belt,” Daniel says flatly.

“She always does,” I say, and I’m numb on the inside. I can’t believe this has happened…

“She wasn’t today. Not with Lisa.”

I hear the bitterness in his voice, the bitterness and blame. He doesn’t think I should have ever hired Lisa. Doesn’t think I should have left the kids. Doesn’t think I should be in Hawaii with a young surfer.

A heavy lump fills my throat, the same kind of lump that’s in my chest, making it hard to breathe. The guilt’s intense.

I need to be there. I should be there. What am I doing here?

I wipe away a tear before it can fall. “Will you call me as soon as she’s out of surgery?”

“Are you coming home?” His voice bites with sarcasm.

I battle rage. Of course I’m coming home. “Tell the kids I love them and I’m on the first flight out of here.”

I hang up, clasp my phone between my hands. For a moment there’s only silence, and I know Kai’s looking at me, waiting for me to say something. But I can’t. I can’t find any words because they’re all jumbled—anger, fear, guilt, shame.

“It’s your little girl?” Kai asks.