As she drove back to town, Natalie repeated the words like a mantra. Don’t let it get to you.

The mantra didn’t work, so she switched on the car radio and sang along with Eddie Vedder while the sunset panorama of the countryside swished past. The song “Wishlist” had her compiling her own list of wishes. A different job. A different attitude. A different life.

“More on our breaking news story …” An announcer interrupted the next song.

Annoyed, she reached over to switch the station but stopped when she heard “Aviation Innovations.” That was Rick’s company.

“The FAA is investigating a crash of a small plane registered to Aviation Innovations in Lake Loma this afternoon,” the announcer said. “Both the pilot and passenger were apparently killed on impact. The names of the deceased are being withheld pending notification of the families.”

Natalie listened with gathering dread and a guilty sense of relief. It was Rick’s company, but the victim could not have been Rick. He was flying solo today, a test flight. She pulled off to the shoulder of the road and called him. No answer. Then she sent a quick text message to him. I just heard about the crash. I’m sorry. Anyone you knew?

There was no reply, so she continued driving. It had to be someone he knew. It was a small company, after all. She might even know the victim. She and Rick had socialized with some of the other pilots, going on wine-tasting flights and scenic tours. She found herself wondering if life with Rick was really so bad. He was steady. Predictable. Reliable. Everything she valued.

On impulse, she turned off the main road and drove to the Aviation Innovations headquarters. The parking lot was jammed with official vehicles and people rushing around. She looked for Rick in the crowd—a squeaky clean–cut all-American guy with big shoulders, a clipped haircut, and a nice smile.

She didn’t spot him amid the personnel swarming the main building and the hangars. Then she spied Miriam, his assistant, sitting on the front steps, talking on her phone.

Miriam looked up and saw Natalie. “I’ll call you back,” she said into her phone.

“Hey, I just heard,” Natalie said. “I came to see if Rick got back yet.”

Miriam took hold of the stair rail and drew herself up. “Natalie …” The woman’s face was as white as the puffy clouds sailing over the Sonoma hills.

Natalie stopped in her tracks. Dread dawned in stages—confusion and disbelief, then flat-out denial. “It wasn’t Rick,” she said. Her voice sounded harsh, almost mean. Probably how she sounded at work, come to think of it.

“Oh, Natalie. It’s terrible. Horrible. I’m so sorry. I can’t even …” Miriam reached for her hand. “Come sit.”