“It’s perfect.” I reach inside the lining of Dad’s coat for the small flip cell phone and charger he put there. In the orchard, when he stopped me from hugging him a second time, he guided my hands back to my sides and I felt the bulge inside the down jacket. Later, in the hotel lobby bathroom, I finally had the chance to look. The lining had been slit, nylon edges neatly tucked and sewn so they wouldn’t fray and a tiny snap added to keep the pocket closed. Dad doesn’t sew. Mom is an expert. The phone was fully charged and he’d turned off the ringer. I used it to call Lucas from the shower the morning after Thomas and I had sex—when he wouldn’t look at me. I told Lucas everything and he shared what little information he’d been able to dig up.

I slide the charger, phone, and a scribbled note, Love always, Sylvie, into the envelope, address it to Dad and Mom in High River, then hand the concierge a twenty. “Snail mail is fine.”

Elliot glances at the address. “I can’t imagine it’ll cost that much. I’ll have the change sent to your room.”

“Please don’t. Consider it a tip.”

“Thank you,” Elliot says. “Oh, Ms. Young, you have a card. I was going to send it to the room but since you’re here.” She hands me a thick white envelope with the hotel’s name embossed in one corner. “It’s from one of the hotel employees. It’s not our policy to message guests, but she explained the circumstances and I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Moose and I walk outside. It’s not raining yet, but the sky is a dingy smear of gray. We walk toward a patch of grass a few blocks down and I take off his leash, let him wander while I open the envelope and withdraw the note.

Dear Sylvie,

You may have heard that my brother, Brian, was killed in Iraq by a suicide bomber. I think that you already knew. When we talked, you referenced him in the past tense. What you said, about him being at peace with the choices he made, has been a comfort to my mom, sister, and me. Maybe that message was directly from him? I will still be at your show on Sunday. I don’t expect you to pick me for the final reading. There are other people who haven’t heard from their loved one and need you more. I just want to thank you and bless you for sharing your gift with us.

Love,

Madison

We take the long way back to the hotel. In the elevator, I say, “If I told Thomas about the phone, he wouldn’t believe in anything I’ve said as a psychic—and some of it was real.” Moose licks my hand, as usual bestowing unconditional love.

Thomas has ordered banana pancakes. We drench them in syrup. When we’re done, I give him Madison’s note. He doesn’t say anything, but that’s better than shooting holes in it. When the hotel room’s phone rings, I don’t move. There’s only one person who’d call me. Thomas raises one brow. I say, “It’s Lucas.”